In a complete stroke of luck, Jesus happened to be staying in a town on the night I was assaulted. In an even larger stroke of luck, his phone was turned on. He immediately hitched a ride to a bus station and headed back into the city. He made it back only 6 hours after I had called him in tears. He held me and kissed me and loved me and made me feel safe and warm and like everything was going to be okay if only I could spend the rest of my life in his arms.
Several hours after he had returned home, I was still tangled up in his limbs and his love. I kissed him as deeply as I could. I placed his hands on my breasts and asked him softly if he would touch me, but only *there*. I craved him to touch me gently and nicely and softly and safely, but only on my breasts. He followed my lead, stroking and kissing and sucking and caressing my nipples while I writhed to orgasm on his leg. And then I pulled him up over me, placed his erection between my breasts, and let him come on my chest.
I threw my arms around his neck and he lowered himself down onto me as I sobbed into his neck. It was exactly what I needed to remind me that I was safe.