Chapter 18 Sonya
SONYA
“I need you to let me take care of you, Sonya,” he murmurs into my ear, spooning me from behind. We’re naked, and he’s dragging the length of his cock through my wetness. Back and forth, teasing me with his shaft without entering me. “Can you let me do that?”
I open my knees wider, because he’s so close to hitting the right spot.
“More,” I try to order, but really, I’m pleading.
He chuckles, grazing his mouth along my neck, nipping along the sensitive skin.
“No, darling, I’m in charge here.” He reaches around and cups my entire pussy with his palm. “And you’ll stay right where I can look after you, won’t you?”
“But I need—”
“I know what you need.”
The shallowest circles tracing over my clit.
I could scream. I could riot. I could practically beg.
“Is that not enough?” He laughs, teasing me while turning me over so I’m on my back. “How about this?”
His hands squeeze my breasts and he plays with my nipples until sensation shoots straight to my core. I’m burning up, but it’s not enough. I feel empty.
“You said you’d look after me,” I grumble, my hands reaching for his strong shoulders. “But I doubt you can.”
He spins me around and pulls me up onto his lap. My back to his front, he hugs me tight. “I promise you, darling, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll forget your own name. That’s how I’m going to take care of you, Sonya.”
He’s about to lift me up and sink into me with a single stroke, burying himself to the hilt when…when…
My eyes fly open, and I wake up.
It’s dark, my legs are twisted in sheets, and I’m staring at a ceiling I don’t recognize. My heart pounds so fast, I can feel my pulse in my throat.
“No,” I mumble, my face blazing with heat. That didn’t happen… I didn’t dream of…
I did.
It’s because I’m in his room, I justify rapidly to myself. Sandalwood, soap, mint. That delicious smell is everywhere.
I bolt upright, because it all comes back to me. The hospital. How he brought me here. My plan to sneak out, before I fell asleep.
Okay, you’re awake now. Time to go.
Just as I’m about to roll off the bed, my eyes adjust to the shadows, and I freeze.
In the corner of the room, Hughes is passed out in a chair. He’s not sleeping in a comfortable way. His head is lolled to the side at a strange angle, and he’s going to wake up with a neck cramp.
I push off the covers, trying not to be affected by the sight—and failing. A tremor runs through my hands.
My bag must be here somewhere. All I need to do is find it, then I don’t have to dwell on thinking it’s considerate of him to… What? Follow the concussion protocols so closely and watch over me? I swing my legs over and step down…
Right on my bag. It makes a loud noise.
“Sonya?” I snap my head up and see Hughes rubbing his eyes. “You awake?”
“No,” I lie. My voice is scratchy.
“Okay,” he rasps, getting up.
“Have you been here all night?” I blurt out.
“Yep. How else was I supposed to look after you?”
I choke on my breath. Oh, no. He didn’t just say that, and in that husky, sleepy tone. But he did. Now on top of everything else, I’m remembering my dream. Heat spreads through me, teasing between my legs. I cross them, and that doesn’t help. It applies pressure to my clit.
A lamp is turned on, washing the room with soft yellow light. Hughes yawns and walks over to me. That’s when I notice he’s in a robe. There are no visible pants. I don’t want to imagine he’s naked underneath, but I have a feeling he’s naked underneath.
Why, though? Who knows. Trying to understand the captain of the Vancouver Wings is a futile exercise. So is cursing the fact that his thighs are thick, tanned, and lightly dusted with hair darker than the blonde on his head. Right now, I can’t avoid how unfairly hot he is.
Hughes’ eyes scan over me. He frowns. “You look a bit flushed.” His features shift, worry creasing his forehead. “Do you have a fever?”
“No, I don’t have a fever.”
I promise you, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll forget your own name.
“You got hit on the head, Sonya. I’m not taking any risks.”
He steps back and pulls his phone out the pocket of his robe.
“What are you doing?” My tone comes out accusing.
“Calling my doctor.”
I go up on my knees. They sink into the mattress as I reach over and grab his wrist. “I run hot. This…happens all the time, so don’t you dare call your doctor.”
“Sonya,” he states quietly, “It’s my job to look after you.”
“So ask me if I have any other symptoms,” I insist, my voice rushing out.
Hughes shakes his head, but he’s smiling softly to himself now, as if he finds my stubbornness frustrating but also, maybe cute. I must be concussed. That is the only acceptable explanation for why my mind is thinking this way.
“Okay, how’s your head? Any headaches or ringing in the ears?”
“No.”
“Do you have any sensitivity to light?”
“No.”
We run through more symptoms. I don’t have any of them. Because that’s not what’s wrong with me.
He tests my forehead again. “Huh. Your temperature’s gone down now. Maybe it’s not a fever.”
“Glad that’s settled,” I retort, using sarcasm to cover how my pulse blips every time he touches me. First the dream, and now this? “I want my own bed, so I’m going home. You can’t stop me.”
Hughes’s stance falters for a moment as if he’s been smacked in the chest. “It’s the middle of the night, Sonya.”
“So?”
Panic flits across his features. “Think of my conscience. I’ll die of guilt if something…” He stops and rubs the back of his neck, adding quickly, “I mean…Quinn. He’d be so mad at me if he found out. I have to look after his sister.”
“I don’t need you sleeping in that chair again.” What I really mean is that I don’t want myself to have any more dreams like that one. And I’m bothered that if I stay, I will.
He must hear something tense in my voice, because he immediately retreats, putting space between us.
“Not if that makes you uncomfortable.” Hughes points to the bedside table on the left.
“There’s a charger wire inside. For your phone, in case you need to call me.
I’ll be close by, but not here if that’s better. So just stay.”
Before I have a chance to argue, he’s gone.
Alone now, I flop back on the bed, cover my face and swear. Ten minutes later, I decide I’m still leaving. I need to get out of this house, away from any more confusing, inappropriate dreams, and then I can act like myself again.
The door opens.
Seriously?! Is the man psychic or preternaturally lucky, able to sense when women want to flee his presence?
But no, it’s not him.
There are no sounds of footsteps, but something lands on the bed.
It’s a furry white muppet. That moves. Is breathing.
And is very, very ugly. Like possibly the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen with its very scrunched up features, heavy brow bone, and crooked teeth.
But also cute because of the explosion of white tufts of fur underneath its chin and around its pointy ears. A cat…maybe?
It hisses viciously at me.
And that? I deeply connect with. There are more than a few days where I could just blatantly hiss at people.
The muppet-thing pads closer.
I brace myself, remembering how sharp claws can be.
Yellow-green glowing eyes judge me.
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving. You’ll never have to see me again.”
It licks its paw, bored. My comings and goings are not relevant to it, so I should talk about something more interesting.
“I had a dream…” I shake my head. “Wait. Never mind. I’m concussed. Potentially. That’s why it happened.”
The muppet creeps closer.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want him. There’s absolutely no attraction. He’s ugly. So ugly that when he walks into a room, I can’t look away from his ugly, wretched face—”
It nudges my arm with its head.
I’m confused.
It nudges me again until I lift it.
Suddenly, I have a warm muppet on my chest.
“Okay, what’s your name?” A collar winks at me in the darkness. I inspect it. My finger traces the letters. “Hey, Diana. I’m Sonya, and I’ve never had a pet before, so I don’t know what to do.”
Her little nose touches my hand.
It takes some time, but I tentatively stroke the fur on Diana’s belly. She lets me.
“Is this okay?” I whisper.
She flops further into my arms, purring.
“Oh, that’s a really cool sound.” This strange contentment sinks into my chest. This is…good. Nice. I don’t mind it at all.
We stay like that for a while before I speak again.
“He slept in a chair,” I confess clumsily into the dark.
Somehow I think Diana knows I’m talking about her owner. She purrs again.
“I know, but why? I’m not used to letting anyone do something like that for me. Not that I let him…”
Diana nuzzles my fingers.
Tentatively, I scratch her chin, wondering if she’ll like that. She does.
“Let me know if I do anything wrong, okay? I’m really new at this,” I whisper.
“Not that you should trust my judgment right now, because look at me. Clearly, I’m not myself.
I mean, there was that dream…” I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling heat spread across my neck and cheeks.
“No, I said I wasn’t going to talk about it, and I won’t.
It doesn’t mean a thing… I’m not letting it…
“A lot has been happening, okay? Shit I shouldn’t be dealing with, that I don’t understand.
But also I shouldn’t be getting this comfortable arguing with him, either.
” The rhythm of my petting falters. “Like I should be un-fucking-fazed. But no. It feels like I’m going…
I don’t know. Backwards? I don’t need that.
It took way too long for me to get this strong. It’s not like I’m—”
Lonely.
I blink. And squeeze my lips together.
Why did that word pop up in my head? It makes no sense. I don’t know, and I try not to judge myself for it, but it’s hard not to. Because I’m not lonely.
At least Diana doesn’t say anything, but stays in my arms. I can’t stop stroking her soft fur. Who knows how much time passes when my eyes drift closed again.