33. Mya
33
I jumped in front of Oliver to block his path so he didn’t continue wearing down the floor of the bedroom as he paced.
Aside from exchanging a few words with Teddy and Easton after they’d arrived, he’d said nothing since the confrontation with his father. Not to me or our hosts. After getting Teddy and Easton settled, he’d taken off to do a perimeter check, and so the last thing I’d expected was for him to come blazing into my bedroom without knocking first only to walk back and forth while shoving his hands through his hair, further mussing it up.
“Talk to me,” I begged, touching his chest in hopes I’d calm him down or get him to open up.
His eyes were bloodshot, and I half-expected to smell alcohol on his breath, but there was nothing there.
“Oliver.” I slipped my hand up and around to the nape of his neck. “That limo window can come down for a minute, can’t it? I think you need it to.”
His eyes fell closed almost in slow motion. How much more heartbreak could we work into one day? If only at midnight we could reset the clocks and all the pain would fall back to zero, and we could forget.
“He told me I’d feel better when I got justice,” he gritted out, low and raspy under his breath, but at least he was talking. “By the lake, in nearly that same spot we were earlier, he said those words to me. Now he’s acting like . . .” His cheeks puffed up with air, then he let go of the breath.
I was pretty sure Sam was suggesting he didn’t regret having his revenge, he only wished it hadn’t come with the high price of losing his family. I hated that Oliver was borderline there now himself, and I had to help him see we could take down our enemies and still have a future together. It wasn’t too late for us.
But, given his state of mind, I didn’t want to press him about that now. I wasn’t exactly in the best state, either. Our parents had both given us one hell of an evening, but for very different reasons.
“You should sleep.” Oliver deflected again, refusing to share more of his feelings, trying to keep that wall up. “We have to get up early tomorrow. It’ll take us much longer to get to the airport since we have to make sure we’re not being followed.”
His expression was all business, full operator mode, his eyes open and a stern expression there. It was as if he was trying his best to eliminate the conversation with his father from his mind.
Not in the mood to fight, which would happen if I pushed him to keep talking about his feelings, I asked, “Will you sleep next to me?”
“I can’t, and you know that. I may accidentally hurt you.” He removed my hand, let go of me, and lifted his chin toward the recliner in the corner of the room by the window. “But if you don’t want to be alone, I can sleep there.”
“No freaking way.” I supposed an argument was going to happen regardless. So stubborn. Like me, that’s the problem. “You’re hurting.”
Did he really need the reminder? He was currently holding his lower back and wincing. The pain from carrying me was probably now catching up to him in other parts of his body.
Despite a little tension in the back of my skull from whacking his jaw, I was shockingly fine. I credited that to him taking the brunt of the fall, keeping my dead weight on top of him. Once again sacrificing himself for me. Just like he did for everyone, always.
Well, it was time for him to stop and let someone do something for him for a change.
“You’re sleeping with me, not in the chair,” I insisted.
“Mya, goddammit, I can’t sleep next to you.” The man rarely swore at me like that, especially not in that way. He was truly adamant about the bed situation. Terrified he’d hurt me if he had a nightmare.
“I unintentionally hit you in the head earlier, so if you accidentally swipe me, it cancels out what I?—”
“There will never be any getting even when it comes to you being hurt,” he hissed, eyes nearly bulging from his face. “If I hit you while I was asleep, you think I could live with myself after that?”
His father had warned me of that same thing early in the morning. “You wouldn’t mean it. There’s a huge difference.”
“I’ll never take that chance.” He shook his head and retreated to the chair.
He was still in the tee and sweats, and he couldn’t sleep how he normally did since he was missing his boxer briefs, so he was dooming himself to be completely miserable and uncomfortable. All because he was so damn stubborn.
Vanessa had tossed our clothes in the laundry, including our undergarments, so at least we’d have those tomorrow for the plane. I hadn’t exactly been excited going panty and braless at dinner tonight, but I’d had no choice. As soon as I’d returned to my room, I’d changed into a plain oversized tee but was still naked beneath.
Sitting down, resting his elbow on the chair arm, he lowered his chin onto his palm, eyes toward the bathroom instead of on me as I went over to the bed and pulled down the comforter.
“What about a pillow wall between us? We’ve done that before. This time it can keep you from coming to my side if you have a nightmare instead of us just being childish like in the past.” Those pillow-wall days had been before we’d given in to desire, set up for the sole purpose of not doing that very thing. Clearly, we’d had a change of heart.
“Not even a pillow mountain would work,” he retorted, still avoiding me.
“Who knew it was possible to grunt words. You’re a pro.” Under the covers now, I contemplated killing the lights and letting him win, but I wasn’t ready to concede quite yet.
“Sleep.”
“Grunt, grunt, grunt.”
That time, he looked right at me, but it was only so I’d see his dramatic eye roll.
“It’s too bad we’re flying on Carter’s smaller jet, the one without the bedroom. I was hoping we could finally make use of that room, too.”
My out-of-left-field statement had his jaw dropping and his hand falling to his lap. It was short-lived, his mouth quickly snapping shut, but I could tell my name was probably on the edge of his tongue. And I wasn’t sure if he’d hiss it as a warning or murmur it as an, If only we could.
“Your parents may be evil and keeping secrets from you, and you’re teasing about joining the mile-high club?” He cocked a brow, skipping over using my name.
“What makes you think I haven’t joined that club?” Instead of being a brat in hopes it’d get him to shockingly peel back his layers like it often worked in the past, I should have told him what was really on my mind—that I needed a distraction from reality. From pigeons and wheels. And my parents possibly being evil.
At the same time, I was also relieved no one on our team was hurt, and that Steve’s mom and sister were okay, so I didn’t feel guilty about wanting to escape for a few minutes.
“Don’t do that.” He stood, striding over to the bed. “I know you’re trying to piss me off to get me to talk, but . . .”
With Oliver’s lips twisting into a grimace, remorse over my awful joke hit me, and my guilt intensified, threatening to choke me.
“I don’t want you hiding your pain with jokes anymore, as much as I’m sure you don’t want me doing the same.”
I could feel another point coming from him. He scrunched his face as if the idea of me having sex with anyone else, anywhere, was akin to eating poison. Sea, land, or in the air.
“And also, don’t make me jealous. I’m too unhinged for those comments, kidding or not. I just might murder another innocent man for the crime of ever having made love to you.” His expression morphed from angry to sad to angry in a flash. “Now that you know I’m capable of murder, don’t test me.”
“You’re not a murderer.” I lowered the covers and swung my legs over, resting my feet on the floor and looking up at him, but not rising to meet him. “And to be clear, I’m not in that club. No need for jealousy.”
His eyes flicked down my body, landing between my legs, his gaze inciting an unexpected level of arousal in me. I’d wanted an escape, but . . . was I wanting it in the form of an orgasm? A release it seemed only Oliver could provide me?
“You’re wrong about the killer part.” God, he sounded so defeated, and I hated it.
“Oliver.” I stood, and my one step closer sent him back two. “So stubborn.”
“That’s my line for you, buttercup.” His nostrils flared, a sign he regretted the use of my nickname.
I had to get him out of his head and to a safe space. He was drowning in pain and darkness, and that was the last place he deserved to be. It was a place created and flourishing in lies and deception. I had to share the truth about my feelings for him.
Working up the courage, I admitted, “I’ve never made love before you. Sex and love are different. And what we had, and still have, is worth fighting for. I refuse to give up on you or us.”
The continued look of defeat twined with sadness was not the reaction I’d hoped for.
“What do you want from me?” he rasped, the pain in his tone breaking me in half.
“Right now, or?—”
“Tonight,” he said under his breath. “How can I make you feel better tonight?”
And tomorrow, and the next day. And all the days after that. But I’d work with what he’d give me for now and go from there. “I want you to sleep next to me. I’m a bit relentless when it comes to getting what I want.”
“I can’t do that.” He slowly met my eyes. “What else?”
He stared at me, offering a textbook example of what it meant when eyes darkened with desire. Brows drawn, he slipped his gaze to the hem of my shirt, and my hand fell right along the trail, and I lifted it.
“Then touch me like I want you to, and like I’m pretty sure you want to do.”
He’d never set his hand between my thighs in that tub, and now that was all I wanted him to do. I needed him to free me from my problems for a handful of moments and take away the bad, and replace it with something good.
“This isn’t me removing my walls if I do that. It’s me giving you what you need because I promised I’d be there for you while you work on healing.”
I recognized what he was doing because I’d pushed him away so often before Thailand. Taking a chance, I practically confessed my love without the actual words.
“And if it takes me another fifty to sixty years to heal, will you spend the rest of your life being there for me?”
His brows snapped together. “You’re strong. You’ll pull through much quicker than you think. Likely when this op is over, which I’m thinking will be much sooner than any of us thought it’d be.”
He was trying to keep his voice level, void of emotion, but his eyes and the tight lines cutting across his forehead told a much different story. He didn’t want me for fifty to sixty years. He wanted me forever. For eternity.
Staring back at him, my walls officially down for the first time in my life, I realized I wanted that, too. I wanted him. Because I . . . loved him.
My skin tingled and chills dusted across every exposed inch of me. And when he secured a hand around my waist, drawing me against him, I nearly declared my feelings right there.
But it wasn’t the right time, not after what we’d learned earlier. We kept getting bucked off the bull, and yet, we didn’t give up on trying to ride. That was how I was starting to feel, at least.
Never give up. One thing my dad did teach me I’d choose to listen to.
“You sure you want this?” He dipped in closer, his lips near mine, both an invitation and a tease.
“Absolutely.” The word was more a breath of air, and he captured it with his lips, his mouth meeting mine.
His free hand worked up and down my silhouette before he found my heated skin, dragging his fingertips over my flesh and around to squeeze my ass cheek.
He swallowed my moan.
Tasted my surrender.
And chased away my chills with his touch, warming me up with the sweetest caresses.
When he found my center, his thumb gently met my clit, and a stuttery breath from him was met by one of my own.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, sounding choked up. And with his lips against mine, I could physically feel his anguish.
This was different from the tub. He was the one getting me off, not me grinding against him, and he had to be thinking back to that day in Thailand, to the man who nearly . . .
He was scared. But I’m not.
“Oliver, look at me.” I reached between us to hold his cheeks, demanding his eyes. He hesitantly gave them to me, not continuing to caress me, but not removing his hand, either. “I trust you. I want you. And I . . .” Love you. “I—I want you to touch me. I need this.” I think we both do.
He took another moment to stare at me, and I’d swear he’d heard my thoughts and telepathically sent them back to me. Then his lips parted as if he was experiencing ecstasy himself.
“You’re soaked.” He rested his forehead against mine as my hands fell limp at my sides, desire consuming me. He took his time to touch me, to feel me, to dive his fingers inside me. “God, I’ve missed you.”
Accidental admission or not, I’d take it. It felt like years ago, not this morning in the gym, that I’d forced him to confess that same line. But this time, it sounded like it’d come from his soul.
My thoughts were abandoned the second he slanted his mouth over mine again, claiming my tongue this time.
There was kissing, and then there was kissing Oliver. No real words, or my made-up ones, could do it justice when our tongues danced in perfect rhythm together like this.
Lifting my hands, feeling ravenous, I fisted his hair before my attention went to his biceps, then to his back. I wanted to skate my hands over every inch of his hard body and prolong our time together, but he was already so close to drawing out my orgasm.
The heel of his hand created friction as he worked his fingers in and out of me, and when he commanded, “Come for me,” his words rough against my lips, I fell apart.
I kissed his bearded jawline as I came down from heaven, nearly sliding to the floor, but he kept me upright.
“Time to sleep.” His words shocked my eyes open.
“No. I want to?—”
“No arguing.”
He let me go and walked back a few steps, sporting a full-blown erection that needed to be handled. And why wasn’t he going to let me help? I held his gaze, just as stubborn in my desire to help him as he was in helping me.
“Bed. Now.”
“Grunting words again, I see.”
“Please, I want you to go to sleep.”
“And I want to get you off.” Why was he pumping the brakes on this so fast, dang it?
He adjusted himself. Well, he tried, but his dick didn’t obey. Grumbling under his breath, he waved me off and pleaded, “Please, Mya. I should never have . . . in the tub, either, and I shouldn’t now.”
“Shouldn’t, or don’t want to?” There was a difference. No meant no from a guy the same as it did when a woman said it, but if he was rejecting me because he felt he didn’t deserve a peaceful moment himself, then?—
“Bed.” Not exactly an answer, but at the same time, it was for him.
My heart shriveled at the torn look in his eyes. He really did believe he was unworthy of being loved.
It wasn’t only because he’d been forced to take a man’s life, but it was the culmination of everything he’d been through. I could see it clearly now, particularly after witnessing his confrontation with his father. He’d felt abandoned by his dad. Alone.
He raised his hand between us, expecting me to fight him. And I was. I was ready to use everything I had in me to help him understand he was deserving of everything and then some. Including forgiveness he felt he needed but couldn’t have—for whatever happened before, during, and after Thailand.
“I can’t do this with you anymore.” The pain in his voice was a knife to my soul. “When I’m around you, I forget everything. I forget I’m hurting, that I’m supposed to be angry and guilty. You make it too easy for me to feel . . . and it’s just so effortless to slip back to . . .”
His jarring fragmented fill-in-the-blank statements were about to send me over the edge, hurting for him. For everything he’d been through.
“I forget it all because I become so wrapped up in you and how you make me feel.”
I couldn’t help but whisper, “And how do I make you feel?”
“Not broken.” His shoulders fell. “Not fucked beyond repair. Not wrecked.” His head dropped, and I lost his eyes when he added, “Not alone.”