8. CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
I vy
I can’t sleep.
I don’t know how much time has passed since I’ve been lying in bed wide awake but it feels like hours. No position I assume seems to do the trick that would plunge me into the depths of blissful unawareness.
Last night I was tense and worried about my and Iris’s safety. I was unsure how everything would pan out so it makes sense that I couldn’t sleep. However, ever since arriving at our cabin, a sense of safety has cloaked us. The cabin is far away from the main building and we are unlikely to run into strangers. It’s also close enough that we can call for help.
For now, at least, I’m not worried about anyone getting us. So why can’t I just relax and sleep like a normal person?
I throw the covers off my body and sit up. My head spins and I have to stay still to allow it to settle. Exhaustion weighs down on me but for some reason, my eyelids have rejected the invitation to stay closed long enough to let me have some pleasurable hours of thoughtlessness.
And I do need those hours.
All I can think about is—not the twisted situation I’m in with my sister— but rather, I’m thinking about Brody. My brain is betraying me.
I wish I can say it’s because he’s been a douche to me since we arrived, but no. I can’t stop reliving the glimpse of his back. What would it feel like to run my hands down it, exploring every hard edge? What would I uncover reading the inscriptions below his large tattoo?
I wonder if he’s a moaner or a groaner. Would he tell me what to do with that deep, compelling voice? I bet he’s stern in bed too. He would scold me and try to dominate me when I protest.
I groan and cover my face with my hands. I can’t do this for another minute.
I climb out of bed. Maybe a drink would help clear my head of these naughty thoughts. Imagine if he finds out I’m thinking such things about him.
Never. I’m not telling anyone. Not after I’ve raised a storm about how much I dislike him.
I open the door careful to do it quietly. The hallway is dark but I pad across it easily and into the open-concept kitchen. My eyes are instinctively drawn to the living room. The fire has died out in the fireplace, but I can still spot the body sprawled across the couch from the soft light coming in through the window.
Callum told us earlier that Brody would be taking over for him. I didn’t stay out long enough to say hi, but I’m aware that’s him. He’s sleeping there peacefully while I’m struggling. Ugh .
I pull the fridge door and scour through, taking out a bottle of fruit juice. Maybe I should slam the door so he wakes up too, then I wouldn’t be the only one having a bad night. But he needs sleep so he’s sharp and alert when he has to protect my sister.
Choices, choices.
As I sip and contemplate my plan, a sound pulls my attention. My ears perk up and I stand straight. I dart my gaze left and right, looking for the source of danger. It comes again, and this time, my eyes are drawn to the living room couch.
I drift to the couch and peek over the backrest. Brody lies face up with a blanket half covering his oversized frame.
Asleep, he looks harmless.
His shaggy blond hair paired with his full lips make him look kind.
I know differently, so I ignore the warmth growing in my belly.
It doesn’t matter that he’s a fine man. He’s a fine, infuriating man, and the latter part obliterates the effects of the former.
Why then am I preoccupied with thoughts of lying cocooned in his big, beefy arms?
My wayward thoughts are cut off when his scrunches up tight and a grunt falls from his lips. It’s the sound I heard earlier. He tosses and turns, dislodging more of the blanket. A sheen of perspiration dots his forehead.
“No, no...” he mutters, tossing left and right. “Not now.”
My chest squeezes. He’s having a nightmare.
“Hold,” he says, voice strained.
I round the couch to stand before him. It looks painful, what he’s going through, even though it’s not real. I wished he wouldn’t have a peaceful night, but I actually can’t stand to see him under so much tension.
I crouch by him and tap his shoulder. “Brody.”
He shies away from touch still caught in the clutches of the nightmare. “Hold still.”
My breath halts. Something is about to happen in the dream. Something very bad.
“Brody!” I shake his shoulder harder. “Wake up. It’s just a dream.”
His eyes fly open and fixate on me. His chest rises and falls with the force of his breathing.
I stare down at him. “It’s okay.” I’m not sure what possesses me, but I run my fingers through his ruffled hair. “It’s just a—”
Brody grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth. He draws a deep breath, then he kisses the pulse point on my wrist.
My heart stutters. What—what is he doing?
He groans and rises on an elbow. Then he snakes around my neck and drags my face to mash against his. Our lips meet awkwardly before the softness of his registers. He tilts his head sideways and fits our mouths together.
I stop breathing. My pulse rages in my head. Did I wish this into existence?
Brody kisses me like he’s been needing to for years. Hungry grunts escape his throat as he possesses me. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I sink into him.
But I can’t do this. This is Brody. He doesn’t like me and I don’t like him.
His tongue finds mine before I can find the words to protest. The taste of him, the pressure of his tongue steals whatever sense I have. I forget myself and give in to the sensations taking over me. A strong arm circles my waist and drags me into his lap. I run my hands up and down his chest and around his glorious back.
He groans low in his throat and angles deeper, his tongue scouring my mouth, his teeth biting my lips. I give him back in the same measure, tasting his mouth and teasing his lips between my teeth.
Then he stops. Our harsh breaths and racing heartbeats are the only sounds that fill my ears.
I blink open and his eyes are glued on my face. This time, they gleam with awareness.
“What the fuck?” he mutters.
I push away from him and stand, wrapping a hand around my beaded nipples poking through my pajamas top. “You kissed me!”
“And you...” He runs his hand over his chest and raises his shirt. Nail marks run down his tensed abs.
“You started it!” I huff, making a show off cleaning off my lips. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
I can’t even look at his face to see what he thinks. I have no doubt it’ll be disgust. I hurry back to bed and tuck myself beneath the covers, my heart racing.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t enjoy it. His kiss was subpar. Nothing special there. I’ve had better.
Yet, I can’t explain away the wet feeling between my legs or the delicious ache on my lips.
No, I didn’t like it one bit.