Chapter 16 Marla
MARLA
Something felt weird.
Why did my body feel weird?
Usually, when I arose, it was cold. Dark. Lacking. But I felt warmth this time around. My body slowly chug-a-lugged its way out of sleep, and when my eyes fluttered open, I expected to see the dark ceiling of the closet.
But instead, I found myself staring at a turning ceiling fan.
My head lobbed to the side, trying to take in my surroundings, and there he was. Ranger. With that mussed-up beard of his and his long hair just shimmering in the little bit of light that his desk afforded the room.
I slowly blinked, trying to recall the memories of last night.
Did I… cry myself to sleep?
In his arms?
I turned onto my side to get a better view of him.
He snored softly, his cheek pressed against the same pillow I had woken up on.
The instant I turned onto my side, it was like his body detected the moving.
He shuffled forward. He reached out his arm, and for a moment, I froze.
What was he going to do? Where was his hand going?
I watched it settle in the groove of my waist before his hand splayed against the small of my back.
Oh.
His arm tugged, and I went sliding. Not far, maybe just a couple more inches toward him. But it was close enough that I felt his breath against my face. My heart leapt into my throat. My stomach dropped to my toes.
I hadn’t been this close to a man since…
Since…
A pressure at my thighs made me gasp softly, but when my legs parted, all I felt were his. The hair on his legs caressed mine, and at that moment, I was painfully aware of just how hairy I was as well. I tried to remember back to the last time I shaved anything.
I grimaced at the texture.
But he didn’t budge. He laid there, holding me, his cheek pressed into the same pillow that mine was. I should have felt vulnerable, with his leg in between my thighs. With his hand splayed across the middle of my back. I should have been terrified.
I wasn’t, though.
There was a respect about him, even when he slept. He didn’t force his way into my space. He didn’t try to wrangle my body closer to him. It was as if he was comfortable just like this, like his body, even in sleep, dictated that personal space had to be a thing.
It was… refreshing.
I studied his sleeping face. The hair of his beard. The small scar I didn’t realize he had on his forehead.
Then my eyes dropped to his lips.
I wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
The fuck?
I yanked my eyes away from his mouth and cleared my throat softly. He flinched at the sound, and I watched as those intelligent brown eyes of his slowly fluttered open.
I watched his lips spread into a tired smile.
“Hey,” he rasped out before drawing in a deep breath through his nose.
I watched as he flopped over onto his back and stretched. His arms, reaching over his head. His legs, trembling as the stretch reached all the way down to his toes. He made this half-growl, half-groan sound before he turned back onto his side, and I had to admit, I missed his connection points.
Why did I want his body back against mine?
“Thought I felt eyes on me,” he mumbled before he yawned.
I smiled softly. “Sorry.”
He just turned back onto his side, shaking his head softly. “No need.”
A lopsided smile graced his face. Small. A bit tired. He was clearly still disoriented from sleep, and it only added to how endearing he looked.
The moment didn’t last for long, however.
“I’m worried about Lizzie,” I whispered.
The sparkle fled from his gaze as he reached out, tucking a strand of rogue hair behind my ear. “I know you are. We all are.”
“Please promise me that you’ll find her.”
He simply nodded. “That’s a promise I can keep, because we won’t stop. We will find her, just like you found us.”
“Sorry, I just… can I…?”
I wasn’t sure what in the hell my body sought out, but the pull to be closer to him grew. It felt odd, wanting to be next to a man. Wanting to feel his warmth. I wasn’t sure that sensation would ever come back, and yet here it was, staring me in the face.
With a beard, those bright brown eyes, and muscles that just wouldn’t quit beneath the layer of softness that coated his body.
I loved that about his body.
I scooted just a smidge closer on the bed before he crooked an eyebrow at me. A sheepish smile crossed my face, but it wasn’t long before his arm threaded back over my waist. I felt his hand splay across my back once more before he tugged, sliding me closer to him on the bed.
I tucked my head against his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked as his hand ran up and down the expanse of my back.
“Could I…?”
I wasn’t sure if I could ask.
Was it bad to ask?
“Can you what?” he asked softly.
The crying from last night came back in snippets, and one of those snippets had felt so… comforting.
“Can I lay my head on your chest again?” I asked softly.
He didn’t respond. He didn’t reject me. Instead, all he did was band his arm against my back.
He rolled with us until he flopped onto his back, and my body laid there on top of his.
My legs, naturally parting for his broad waist. His hands, holding me against him as they meandered mindlessly up and down my clothed spine.
I shivered a bit as I laid my head against the beating of his heart.
“You okay?” he muttered as his hands continued their mindless ministrations.
I was very focused on the fact that my legs were spread. Around him. My heart rate ticked up. Memories bombarded my mind.
“You’re safe,” he whispered as my mind flooded with things I never wanted to remember again, “I gotcha. I’m right here.”
That mantra of his was grounding for me.
Something to latch onto whenever the panic and the memories welled up inside.
My eyes fluttered closed. I forced the memories to stay at bay.
And even though a few of them still rose up to taunt me, the changed movement of his hand against my spine pulled me out of my thoughts.
Especially when he massaged my muscles.
“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered.
“Is it helping?” he whispered back.
I closed my eyes and relished it for a moment.
The feeling of his fingertips kneading into my aching muscles.
How careful he was with my left side, which was still tender from the nights I spent sleeping in the closet with nothing but a couple of blankets and pillows.
He worked on a rough knot toward the base of my spine, and I whimpered softly before the knot released.
“Yeah,” I groaned as I felt the muscle finally relax.
He chuckled softly. “Good. I won’t move from this, okay?”
And sure enough, he didn’t.
I fell into sort of a relaxed trance as his hands worked their way up and down my clothed back.
But the longer he worked on my back, the more I felt his fingertips rumbling over the marred skin.
I felt it every single time his fingertips brushed over one of my scars.
I tried counting them in my head, especially since I wasn’t brave enough in a while to look in a mirror.
I mean, sure, I took passing glances at my face in the bathroom, but I didn’t study myself.
I didn’t take a look at anything since running for my life.
“Can you feel the scars on my back?” I whispered.
His fingers stuttered their motion for a moment before they continued their ministrations. But instead of massaging, it was like he ran his fingers all along my back. He paused every time he felt a small bump beneath my shirt, and then I felt him nod as I laid there, still perched on his chest.
“A few,” he whispered back.
“What about on my backside?”
“You’re wearing pants.”
I paused for a while at that. To be honest, I wasn’t sure why I asked the question in the first place. Of course, there would be scars on my ass, especially given how many times they dragged me on it.
The memories welled my eyes with tears.
I wanted to know, though.
I wanted to know what they did to my body.
I just wasn’t brave enough to look myself.
“I trust you,” I whispered, keeping my voice soft.
It felt like I asked for something bad. Something wrong. Something… unnatural.
“Do you want me to feel or look?” he asked.
I loved that he kept his voice a whisper, too. It was a conversation just for us anyway. I didn’t want anyone else to hear it. It was a good question, though. Did I want his hands on me? Or his eyes?
Why did it feel so intimidating for him to just… look?
“Feel, please,” I whispered.
I felt him nod before his fingertips slid beneath the band of the basketball shorts I put on. There were calluses on his hands. A roughness that belied his gentleness. It scraped across my skin and I jumped at the sensation.
Goosebumps skittered across my skin.
If he felt them, or even saw them, he didn’t say anything.
All he did was continue to creep his hand over my ass until the whole of his hand palmed one of my cheeks.
It caught me off-guard, how his entire hand splayed over one of my whole ass cheeks.
Since when did I get small like that? I felt his thumb brushing, and it ripped me out of my thoughts.
I peeked up and found his head bouncing as he stared at the ceiling.
His eyes, completely locked with the moving fan.
Like he made it a point to follow my directives.
My stomach fluttered at that as I settled my cheek back against his chest.
“You’ve got a long one that cascades through this cheek, and a small little knick toward the juncture of your cheek to your thigh,” he whispered. “I’ll check the other one now.”
His other hand slid into the shorts, and I closed my eyes. I braced myself. I felt his hand cup the whole of my ass cheek, and it only reinforced how much weight I lost. His thumb traced softly. His fingertips explored.
I felt his hand slide out of my shorts. “None of that side, though. It’s just the one that’s got scars.”
Tears crested my eyes with the news.
There was a place on my body that didn’t bear their scars.