Thumper by Marie James

Chapter 32

Thumper

Rustling wakes me, and I want to hiss at Cara for wiggling in the damn recliner and waking me up, but then I remember that she crawled into bed with me.

Did she leave again?

I channel my senses to my side, and nope, she didn’t leave, and the movement to my side is rhythmic. Maybe a nightmare?

Then she moans, a low whimpering sound that shoots straight to my dick.

Fuck me, if she isn’t touching herself.

She crawled in bed earlier, lying on top of the covers, but I can feel the warmth of her skin near mine, indicating that she crawled under them at some point.

The movement is soft, a slow, luxurious roll of her hips, the slightest brush of her arm near mine, and I hate that her body is trapped beneath the blanket. I want to crack my eyes open and see her. I want to watch her fingers working over that tight bundle of nerves to see exactly how she likes it. Fast or slow. Soft or hard. A little of both maybe?

I want to smell her arousal as it permeates the air around us in a humid cloud of need. I crave the taste of her skin on my tongue, her orgasm pulsing against my mouth or around my cock when I’m buried deep.

I want her moaning my name in desperation, begging me to take her over the edge and sending her shooting to the stars.

My cock aches, the relief I found in the shower earlier evaporating the second she stepped inside the bathroom with me. She has to know how much she turns me on. Even the hand towel I covered myself with didn’t hide how she affects me.

And that kiss? Jesus. It had more healing power than time and medication, the jolt of her tongue against mine like a shot of adrenaline straight to my heart.

Unbidden, my legs spread an inch, and she freezes. I no longer hear her whimper or the rustle of the sheet against her body. Hell, I don’t even think she’s breathing. I hate that I have so little control over my body right now, and if she stops, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

Long minutes go by, but then I feel the movement begin again, this time with a hint of agitation lacing her tone. Her hand moves faster, the bed shaking a little more, and it’s clear she’s struggling.

Is it the reminder of who is beside her? The man who seemed to callously take her freedom. Is it something she can never fully move past?

So slowly the movement doesn’t even register, my fingers begin to drift toward her, the creep of them slowing even more when I can feel the warmth of her skin only an inch or so from the tips. I let my eyes slit open only a fraction, and I can see that hers are squeezed tight as her fingers work faster. The heat under the covers is nearly unbearable, in that it makes me want to slide her under me and get her there myself. I want that warmth against me, around me, taking control.

I curse my existence when my finger twitches against her bare skin, but to my surprise, she doesn’t stop or pull away. She’s too far gone, too close to stop now. Her legs spread a few inches further when I brush her outer thigh, and that gives me all the permission I need to sweep my fingers over the heat of her flesh.

She groans, a sound of desperate suffering when I inch closer to where her fingers are working. I’m the luckiest man on the damn planet when her teeth release her lower lip, and she doesn’t hold back the whimper. I swear I could come just from the sound alone.

“Touch me,” she moans, but I can’t even make it to her slickness of her desire before her body jerks with an orgasm. The throaty groan causes my cock to leak uncontrollably as she shudders.

God, I want inside of her, but instead of running my fingers through her release, I gently rub the inside of her leg as she comes down from bliss.

“I—I’m—” She scrambles out of the bed. “I’m sorry.”

I see a flash of bare skin as she makes a hasty exit to the bathroom. When I first realized what she was doing, I figured she just had her hand down the front of her leggings. When I touched bare skin, I presumed her leggings were around her knees or pushed down just enough to access what she needed. Had I known she took those and her panties completely off to touch herself right beside me, I never would’ve been able to resist rolling over and begging her to ride my cock. It’s a good thing I didn’t know. I don’t know if I would be able to handle her doing it and then running away like she just did.

Is it shame or embarrassment that made her scurry away?

I refuse to touch my cock. I don’t think her coming out of the bathroom and catching me stroking the damn thing will make her feel any form of comfort. I also don’t want it to look like I’m making a suggestion or asking for something from her. I have no right to either.

So, I lie perfectly still and wait for her to return.

The shower turns on, and I don’t even try to stop the groan that bubbles out of my mouth, knowing she’s wet and slick, imagining warm water dripping off every inch of her. Jesus, I’m kind of grateful it’s nearly impossible to walk on my own because if I were fully capable, I’d probably invade her space and throw out every reason I have in my head for staying away. Nothing could stop me from going to her.

When minutes turn into an hour, it makes me wonder if she’s in there touching herself again. I pound my fists on the mattress at my hips, uncaring that pain ripples up my arms, the tightness of my stitches and healing flesh not at all impressed with the action.

Like an angel stepping through fluffy clouds, the bathroom door opens, and she emerges with only a towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes dart in my direction, shifting away immediately when she finds me watching her.

“Hey,” I manage, the one word sounding like a croak. “Can we talk?”

She shakes her head, grabs a handful of clothes, and disappears back into the bathroom. It takes forever for the door to open back up again. I know she’s trying to wait me out, hoping I’ll fall asleep, but there’s absolutely no chance of that. I don’t know if the hunger I’m feeling will ever fade.

When she finally emerges from the bathroom with clothes on, I don’t pull my eyes from her, following her all the way across the room until she starts to lower herself back into the recliner.

“Don’t do that,” I whisper, pulling the blankets back on the side of the bed closest to her.

“I guess we can’t pretend it didn’t happen?” Her words are soft and pleading, but I have to be honest with her.

“There’s no way to forget it.”

“There are a lot of things I can’t forget either.”

“And there’s no amount of words that will make what I did to you okay.”

“I’m not really talking about me. I’m talking about the website, the one linked to what you were doing in El Salvador while you were working.”

While I was working. What a soft way to describe running a skin trade business. If she only knew just how many websites there were out there that do the exact same thing as the one I was using.

“The guys said they can’t shut it down.”

“They can’t,” I tell her.

“But more girls are getting hurt.”

And despite all the efforts by many organizations, it’ll never stop. We’ll never be able to eradicate sex trafficking and knowing that kills a little part of me each day.

“Several agencies monitor those websites. They’re used as much to try and stop what’s going on as they’re used by the sick fucks that buy abducted women, men, and children. It helps them track the victims’ movements so they can attempt to rescue them. Without the websites, everyone would be operating blindly. Taking them down won’t stop it and doing so would handicap those trying to help.”

She nods, mulling over my explanation.

“I know you jacked off earlier.”

I freeze, slow blinking in her direction.

“I wasn’t being very quiet about it.”

“Apparently we both struggle in that department,” she mutters, shadows bouncing around her face, and I hate that the room isn’t fully lit up. I’d like to be able to tell if she’s blushing or if she’s ashamed. “You were loud on purpose?”

“I wanted to know if you find me as irresistible as I find you,” I tease.

She doesn’t laugh at the joke and I don’t know what to make of her non-response.

“Come on,” I tell her after a long silence, patting the bed beside me.

“That didn’t turn out so great last time.”

“I thought it was perfect. I won’t deny my attraction to you, Cara. I felt it like a sizzle of electricity the second I laid eyes on you for the first time, and I’ve felt shame for it every second since. You were beautiful even with tears streaking your cheeks and burn marks on your wrists, and I know how fucked up that sounds. I wanted to kill the men who hurt you and bruised your body. I want to skin the men alive that made you lose all faith in men.”

“I haven’t lost faith,” she whispers, and it makes my throat seize.

She’s so damn strong, and her ability to live in the now instead of being stuck in the past, hyper-focused on what happens to her gives me hope.

“Can you deny the connection we have?”

“No.”

Another long silence fills the space between us, but it doesn’t feel as far apart as it did those times she sat on the couch in the office watching me while I tried to focus on anything but her and failed every single time.

“Get some rest,” she whispers. “It’s the middle of the night.”

I close my eyes, needing to give her everything she asks of me as an apology for all those things that are unforgiveable.

I don’t move a muscle a while later when I feel the bed shift under her weight, and before long, after she releases a long breath, I fall asleep with the heat of her body beside mine.