Thumper by Marie James
Chapter 33
Cara
Warmth engulfs me when I wake, the nice dreams and relaxation slowly ebbing away. At first, I relish the heat, but then stiffen when I realize where I am. Before opening my eyes, I try my best to get all my other senses to come back online without moving.
I remember being unable to get comfortable late last night and waiting until I was sure Javier had fallen asleep before moving from the recliner back to the bed. I didn’t crawl under the covers with him like he’d suggested, rather choosing to lie on top of the blanket and cover myself with the one I was using in the chair.
His skin is touching mine now, but it’s only one arm around my waist. Somehow we’ve managed to lock our hands together, and the heat of his front is plastered against my back.
And somehow, I don’t hate that he’s holding me like this. I feel protected, and deep down I know that this man, despite how we met, would rather hurt himself if there was ever another threat against me then make me suffer through something like what happened again.
His fingers flex in mine, telling me that he’s awake.
“I have morning breath,” he whispers, the heat from his words ghosting over the skin on my neck.
God, I didn’t realize just how close he was.
“But I still want to kiss you.”
I turn my face, smiling into my pillow before deciding to turn around and face him.
I choose to stop thinking, to stop overanalyzing.
I press my mouth to his in a sweet kiss. It’s a simple light brushing of our lips, but it still sends heat rushing down my spine.
I pull my face back, looking down at him.
“Your color is better this morning.”
“The healing powers of holding a gorgeous woman all night.” His eyes trace my face, settling on my lips for a long moment.
I inwardly wonder how many healing nights he’s had in his life, but I shove those thoughts down. I don’t want to think about anything else but this moment, this small segment of time where no one exists but the two of us.
His stare gets too intense for me, and I don’t know how to respond, so I do the only thing I can think of. I press against him, trying to move away, but his hold on me won’t allow it.
Instead of staying under the scrutiny of that gaze and the millions of questions floating around in my head, I press my face to his chest, the scent of his skin and the light tickle of his chest hair somehow calming the emotions raging inside of me.
“Do I want you because my head is messed up?”
“I don’t know,” he says, and I think the answer is perfect and honest.
He could’ve easily said no. I could spend hours trying to convince him that what I feel has nothing to do with being his captive. That my gratitude for not being hurt is the only reason I could possibly be in this bed with him right now.
I press my lips to his skin, immediately noticing the increased kick of his heart.
I feel completely insane right now because I no longer want to pull away. I can’t imagine putting distance between us. I want to tug my leggings out of the way, shove his sweats down, and take him inside of me. I want to watch his face as he comes because I know it will look better than I imagined it did yesterday. I want to see his face screwed up when I tell him to wait, to last just a little longer as I rotate my hips, seeking that very same release.
I can admit that I’ve never felt anything close to what I feel for him, and I don’t know how it’s even possible. It’s not love at first sight. There’s no way that’s a possibility because I thought for the longest time that he was an evil bastard who would either rape me or sell me to someone who planned to do the same before I was eventually considered useless and was murdered. I lived with that fear for days and days trapped in a cage in the dark basement in a house I didn’t even know the location of.
That’s why I feel insane, because as I lift my head to look into his eyes, none of that fear exists any longer.
I now know he’s not that monster. He never planned to hurt me in that way.
Being in his arms, resting on his chest when I know it has to cause him pain somehow feels right, like this was how it was always supposed to be, and that’s more difficult to wrap my head around than anything else.
I remember thinking that I would run from this man had I met him on the street. If I caught him watching me from across a room, I’d do my best to slip away without him noticing. Now, his dark eyes on me are all that I can seem to think about.
I crave that attention from him.
He doesn’t say a word as I look up at him, and I know he’s giving me the chance to steer this situation in whatever direction makes me feel comfortable.
But there’s no comfort to be found. My body is a live wire, urging me to do crazy things. My heart is pounding in my chest reminding me just how alive I am in this moment, and there’s only one thing missing. There isn’t an ounce of the fear I felt for so long where this man is concerned.
“I feel like I’m insane,” I confess.
He only nods, as if he understands, and we continue to watch each other.
I want to ask him what he sees when he looks at me, but I’m afraid he’ll give power to the voices in my head telling me I’ll always be a victim. It’s what I see when I look in the mirror. It doesn’t matter that the bruises have healed and there are only faint lines around my wrists from the abrasions caused by the ropes. The damage is more internal than anything, and I guess I should be grateful for that. Megan wasn’t as lucky as the rest of us. I’ve tried to reason with myself that it could’ve been worse, but honestly, it never should’ve happened in the first place.
The world is a wicked, cruel place and I’m only one of millions that will suffer from that realization.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, one arm still around my waist holding me close, the other hand moving to my face to brush my hair out of the way.
“That I—”
A gentle knock hits the bedroom door, but before either of us can respond, the door shoves open. His hold on me tightens rather than letting me slide away from him.
My cheeks flame. We weren’t even doing anything that would be considered inappropriate. Hell, there are still two blankets and several layers of clothes between us, but that doesn’t keep the shame from hitting me in the chest, residual guilt from my time in the cult.
“Prez says you’ve pretended to be hurt long enough,” comes a man’s voice at my back. “Meeting in the conference room in thirty minutes.”
The door closes, and I smile when his laughter shakes me.
“Played hurt?” I mutter. “They are aware just how badly you were—”
“They’re the toughest men I know,” he says, his fingers still tangled in my hair, his eyes full of awe. “I’m surprised my reprieve was this long.”
The fingers in my hair tangle further, but it wouldn’t take the pressure he puts on my scalp to make me move my face closer to his. At least I can blame his need for satisfying mine when our lips touch. This kiss is no less electric than the one in the shower yesterday, and my hips roll without thought.
He groans into my mouth, his own body flexing against mine, and right now I hate the decision to climb on top of the covers last night.
Then his lips are gone, and I know I have to look like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing repeatedly at the loss of his.
How is he this restrained? I haven’t been with many other men, but I don’t know a single one of them that would put a stop to the direction this was heading.
“Let’s make a deal?”
I nod without even hearing the rest of it. He laughs again, his teeth digging into the corner of his bottom lip.
“God, you’re so sexy. This fucking red hair is everything my fantasies are made of.”
“You want to pull it?” I ask, my heart kicking up a notch, and for the first time since I woke up, I realize it’s not pounding in a good way. I’ve borne witness to what he’s into, and I don’t know how to tell him I can’t be that person for him.
He shakes his head. “It’s like the sun and cool autumn nights all rolled into one.”
“What’s the deal you mentioned?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I want you to keep those thoughts you were having when your body was just rolling against mine and be right here when I get back.”
“A deal implies we both get something.”
The dirty glint in his eye tells me he’d love nothing more than to give me everything I desire.
Instead of agreeing, I roll off of him and stand beside the bed.
He hisses in pain as he swings the covers back and sits up on the edge of the bed, and I feel like a jerk for lying on him while he was hurting.
“Let me help you.”
“I got it,” he says as he stands. He’s moving better than he was last night, and I don’t have that same fear that he’s going to lean to the side and crash to the floor.
His steps are slow but methodical when he walks to the bathroom unassisted.
When the shower turns on, my mind goes directly where it did last night when he was in the shower, and I have to tug on a sweater and leave the room. If I don’t get out of there, I’m going to end up in there with him again, only this time I know I won’t spend that chance washing his back.
I’m running my hands through my hair as I walk down the hall, smiling at knowing how much he likes it. Many men are fascinated by the color, but I don’t get the feeling that Javier is looking at it as a way to check something off his bucket list like many men I’ve encountered in the past.
“Thumper must be feeling better,” Gigi says the second I step into the kitchen. The light chuckle that fills the room tells me that they presume Javier and I were doing the very things I was picturing in my head, and the heat of embarrassment races over my skin.
“Enough, Georgia,” Kincaid snaps before looking at me. “You’ll have to excuse her. She has no filter.”
I swallow, looking around the room to see who all is witnessing my unease.
No one is really paying attention to me, so I cross the room to make a cup of coffee. I know the offer for me to stay is there, and more than one person has offered their hospitality for as long as I need it, but I know I can’t stay forever. I just don’t feel comfortable being dependent on people for all my basic needs.
I’m putting butter on a slice of toast when a cheer goes around the room. Looking over my shoulder, I see Javier walking into the kitchen. His eyes lock on mine before he frowns at the men making the noise. It’s clear they care for him, but it’s easy to see that he’s not comfortable right now.
“Can we get this meeting over with?” he asks before turning around and walking out of the room.
All the men in the kitchen stand and follow him out, leaving just a handful of us women watching as they walk away.
“We have an assortment of jellies and jams in the fridge,” Ivy says, probably noticing that I’m just holding a slice of toast in one hand and a knife in the other.
“Butter is fine,” I tell her, getting back to work.
I doubt I’ll have the stomach to eat. Javier doesn’t seem happy, and that makes me worry.
I take a seat beside Ivy and regret that it puts me across from Gigi. The woman is grinning at me like she knows a million secrets, and since I’ve been in her presence several times already, I know she isn’t going to hold anything back.
I choose to start the conversation in an effort to lead it away from whatever that woman may be planning to say.
I turn to Ivy. “Do you know of any places around town hiring or anyone looking for a roommate?”
“What kind of work are you looking for?” Ivy asks in return.
“Roommate? Job?” Gigi interrupts. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I can’t stay,” I tell her, taking a bite of my toast, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “I have to be able to provide for myself. I can’t just live off others.”
“I can ask around—” Ivy begins but Gigi isn’t done speaking.
“Being Thumper’s woman means that he’ll take care of you.”
Ivy shakes her head, sighing as if she and her sister have had this conversation more than once. “Just because you’re okay with Jameson taking care of you doesn’t mean everyone else is as ready to let a man spoil them.”
Gigi chuckles, giving her sister a pointed look. “Are you saying Griffin doesn’t spoil you?”
“Okay,” Ivy conceded. “I am spoiled, but I like working. Maybe Cara is the same way.”
“I’m not his woman.”
“You are,” Gigi argues.
“We saw the way his eyes went to yours the second he walked in the room. They were filled with—”
“Dirty, dirty thoughts,” Gigi finishes.
“I was going to say care and affection,” Ivy corrects.
“Yeah, there was that too, but he was also undressing you with his eyes.”
“I’m not his,” I continue to argue.
I don’t doubt that he’s lusty. Hell, I am too, but sex between two people does not equate wanting more than that release of dopamine.
“Does Thumper know you’re not his?” Gigi asks. “Because if he wasn’t claiming you with one look then the earth is flat.”