14. Dont fight me. Fuck me
Chapter 14
Don't fight me. Fuck me
LETTIE
D ay five as a free woman. And I made it through the police interview.
As I exit the restroom, familiar turquoise eyes greet me.
Dabbing at my last few tears with a tissue, I nibble at my lower lip before finally answering his unspoken question. “That was brutal. But I think I’m okay.”
Brutal is putting it mildly.
He wraps me in his arms and pulls me to his chest. “Sugar bear, I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Detective Patterson and a female detective, whose name escapes me, left a little while ago. They recorded my interview so I wouldn’t have to talk to the FBI right away. Apparently, there’s some big trafficking investigation, considering the large number of women rescued this week. I’ll have to speak with the FBI eventually, but the recorded interview will hold them over for the time being.
Since they left, I’ve been camped out in the bathroom, waiting for my tears to dry. It was a lot like waiting for the pot to boil.
Same as always, James, err Tomer , waited at the bathroom door for me. As much as I adore his support and comforting presence, I needed to cry on my own this time. He understood and told me he was sitting with his back against the door. Occasionally, he’d call out to me, reassuring me that he was near.
I was in there for so long I lost track of time. After recounting those horrors in such graphic detail, it took a while to reset my mental and emotional state. I wasn’t fit for company.
But I also stayed in there alone because I didn’t want my sobbing to upset... Tomer more than it already has.
Ah . A small victory. I’m getting better at remembering his name. Maybe it’s the ADHD meds I finally remembered to take this morning.
Related, isn’t it ironic that the only way to help myself remember shit is to remember to take a pill. And despite having executive dysfunction that makes things like keeping doctor appointments and refilling prescriptions extremely challenging, I must do both of those things to get the freaking pills.
Gah.
But I digress.
Inhaling slowly through my nose, I let his clean scent calm me.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? How’s your pain?”
I squeeze his waist tighter and shake my head, not wanting to end our hug. Almost immediately, I change my mind. “Actually, I’m plumb tuckered out, thirsty, and could use some ibuprofen. A snack too.”
He points his chin at his bed. “Do you want to rest in here while I run to the kitchen to throw something together for you?”
Craning my neck to one side, I quirk a brow at him.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. “I guess I’m not thinking clearly.”
He insisted on listening to every word I said during my interview. Held my hand through agonizing minute after agonizing minute.
If I didn’t know better, I might think he was intentionally punishing himself.
Just kidding. There’s no if about it. That’s exactly what he was doing. Now we both know what happened in that hell hole.
Well, most of it.
Guilt is going to eat me alive until I can figure out a way to come clean with the last bit of information. I’m not entirely sure why I couldn’t tell the detectives about Viktor. Each time the thought came to mind, I batted it aside, practically choking back the words.
You can bet your buttered butt that I sang like a canary about Vanessa faking being drunk and how she was in cahoots with the guys who drugged me. Gave them full descriptions of hair color, eye color, accents, tattoos, and anything else I could recall about the slimeballs who visited to procure services from me and my fellow captives. I told them everything about the two men at the club and when I saw them again at the house. Spilled the beans on every detail my nosy-southern-self picked up on while I was trapped inside those dirty walls.
Left nothing out.
Except . . . Viktor.
While I was bawling my eyes out in the corner of the bathroom a few minutes ago, I figured out why words about that monster didn’t make it past my lips.
It boils down to loyalty.
Viktor did more than imply my boyfriend was the reason I was targeted. He flat-out said it was payback. Vanessa’s role in the whole mess supports his story since she was approached by someone asking about me. Not the other way around.
Imagine if I said that in front of Jam ... Tome r. He already blames himself because he thinks Vanessa orchestrated it out of jealousy. His rage and need for revenge would be unimaginable if he knew the real reason. He’d never forgive himself.
He may have lied to me about a lot of shit, but I can’t do that to him.
I won’t.
And I won’t let him go and get himself killed or thrown in jail out of guilt.
Then there’s my father to consider, despite his role in all this still making zero sense. If I admitted to the detectives what Viktor said about Papa, would I be opening a hornet’s nest that could taint my father’s memory? I bet they’d start looking into his business dealings to find the connection. While I don’t believe he was involved, how can I be sure? He was able to lie about being my father for my entire life. Who’s to say there weren’t more secrets? Heaven forbid they find a connection between him and the mafia. His name would be tarnished, and he’s not here to defend himself.
Nope. I won’t let that happen either.
So when the detectives stared me down over the kitchen table and asked if there was anything else I could recall, I lifted my chin and confidently said, “No.”
I’m left wondering if I perjured myself to protect the man who raised me or the man who was holding my hand?
Or both?
While we’re eating a light lunch, my eyes grow heavy. Crying always makes me dog-tired. Hence the frequent naps I’ve been taking.
After putting my sandwich plate into the dishwasher, I yawn and stretch my arms over my head.
“Tired, sugar?” Tomer asks.
“Yeah. Can we rest in bed?”
Glancing at him from underneath my lashes, I wait for his response. He’d probably prefer working in his office on his fancy computer setup. This morning, he told me he was letting the cops handle Davidov. But he couldn’t make the same promise about the other man who drugged me and also... well, did other stuff to me.
Apparently, he was the man on the video. His name is Yev-something. And to think, he was so friendly that night at the bar. Davidov was the one who creeped me out the most.
They are both despicable. But Yev sure had me fooled.
Then again, fooling me isn’t much of an accomplishment.
My track record speaks for itself. Let’s see. For starters, my parents, Vanessa, and the man I love. Hell, some random dude at a bar pretending to be nice for an hour barely registers a blip on the fool me once radar.
I exhale and shake off the fog of self-loathing. “Well, babe. What do you say? Nap with me?”
He stares me down, indecision racing behind his troubled eyes.
It’s painful to stay away from him, so I close the distance between us and fold myself around him. He wraps one hand around my shoulder, holding me close. With the other hand, he strokes my hair and twirls the strands around his fingers. A sound escapes him that I can’t quite pinpoint. It’s like frustration and contentment rented a room in the back of his throat and are throwing a party.
It’s obvious he wants to hunt down the men from the trafficking house. After what he saw last night and what he heard me say today, I don’t blame him.
That doesn’t mean I’m gonna let him go without backup.
However, I’m A-OK with him doing his hacking shit. I overheard him tell Detective Patterson he’d do his part to find the missing traffickers.
There was an odd dynamic between Detective Patterson and James. Fucksticks . I mean Tomer.
It was clear they had quite a bit of experience working together. Yet it was a touch antagonistic. And I couldn’t tell which side it originated from. I wonder what their past relationship is. But not enough to get into a discussion about it today. After reliving my trauma for the cops, my brain might as well be minced meat pie.
And not the good kind like Michelle Blackwell used to make for the church potluck back in Climax.
Unless you count the strange groan-sighs coming from Tomer’s chest, several seconds go by without his response, so I offer a compromise. “What if I slept on the couch in your office?”
Since I’m buried in his chest, I can’t see his response. But I sure do feel it. Frustration was evicted from his throat apartment, and relief moved in.
Pulling my head back, I glance up at him and am rewarded with his turquoise eyes shining. One corner of his mouth quirks in the slightest of smiles.
Then his expression melts suddenly, shifting into a grimace. Out of nowhere, he announces, “No. I’ll lie down with you.”
My eyes draw to thin slits as I study his expression. Where on earth did this about-face come from? I know he wants to get on the computer and do whatever hacking shit he does. And I’m making that concession for him.
Why isn’t he taking it?
Unable to read him, I simply ask, “Don’t you want to do your research?”
Without an ounce of hesitation, he says, “I want to be here for you more.”
Well, damn.
I dive back into his embrace, aching for him.
He’s choosing me over his need for revenge.
A few minutes later, we’re cuddled up in bed, and my head springs off the pillow. “Oh no!”
I promised Stella I’d have a video call with her last night because she’s been getting suspicious from all the short texts.
His entire body tenses. “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry for freaking you out. I just remembered I never called Stella last night like she was expecting. Has she texted you today? Is she worried? I don’t want her to call Freya because then Freya will have to tell her what happened to me or lie about it. I don’t wanna put her in that position.”
He grimaces. “Oh yeah. Sooo . . . about Stella.”
My pulse spikes. “What about her?”
He sits up, backing himself against the headboard. “I hope you don’t mind, but I contacted her early this morning for you. She’ll be here around 1500. Her flight lands at 1415. My coworker Jonesy is picking her up at the airport and bringing her here.”
Tears fill my eyes again, and my throat gets scratchy. “My Stella Bella is coming here?”
He nods, tentativeness woven into the movement.
Sweet man.
“Today?” I squeak.
“Yes. Is that okay? I thought you’d want her to help you through all this. So I bought her a ticket. I’m not great at all?—”
Cutting him off mid-sentence, I fling my arms around his shoulders and crawl onto his lap. “Thank you.” I kiss him once. “Thank you.” Another kiss. “Thank you.” Peppering him with rapid-fire smooches that drift from his lips to his chin, to his forehead, then all over both cheeks and up to his eyes. I kiss his entire fucking face. “Thank you, babe. I love you so much. Thank you. Thank youuu .”
A rich chuckle I don’t usually hear from him meets my ears, warming my heart more than this thoughtful gesture. Pulling back, I release my death grip on his cheeks to wipe away my tears of happiness.
“Your smile.” I fight back a sniffle. “I haven’t seen it enough lately.”
His face softens, happiness ebbing. “There hasn’t been much to smile about, sugar bear.”
“I guess that’s fair.” I slide my hands up his pecs and onto his shoulders, reveling in the heat of his skin. “I know we’ll be happy again soon.” A genuine smile dances up my cheeks. “Because you saved me. You’re my real-life hero.” I give him one more kiss, this time letting our lips linger.
The feel of his scruff abrades my chin, heightening the heady sensation of being this close to him. In almost the same way that it did last night, my desire spikes from zero to a hundred in two seconds.
When we break out of the kiss, he wobbles his head from side to side and starts to object. “I haven’t done enough. I’m not a hero. I still need to?—”
“Shh.” I bring my forehead to his. “You’ve done everything I’ve needed. Absolutely everything.”
“I should’ve done a better job of protecting you.”
Despite the mysterious connection between him and my father that Viktor claimed exists, I refuse to let this man blame himself for my carelessness.
“Hush your face,” I admonish while hardening my eyes at him. “I’m the one who fucked up. I had no business being there alone. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “Lettie. I’ll always blame myself for not protecting you. Save your guilt for something else. Save your tears for happy times. I’ll take this one. Let me bear it for you.”
Oh my heart.
While I struggle to catch my breath from having the wind knocked out of me by his words, he continues. “I couldn’t protect you like you deserved, but I can take the blame off your shoulders. Please let me.”
What is a girl supposed to say to that?
His strong palms travel up my body and settle on the sides of my neck. Tenderly, he tilts my head to the side and claims my mouth.
When our lips align, tiny sparks tingle all over my skin. I open for him, welcoming his tongue as it tentatively touches mine. Warmth floods my body, and my core pulses with need.
The arousal is so overwhelming I begin to tremble. The steep flare of neediness was shocking last night, and it’s just as unexpected today.
I worried I’d never want this again.
But I really fucking do.
And I want it now.
Grabbing his cheeks roughly, I tilt his head to one side and deepen the kiss. As my lust spikes, my hips flex and grind. A tiny whimper escapes me as I drag my needy pussy over him and stroke his tongue with mine.
Gasping, he pulls his face away, looking utterly shocked by my sudden intensity. “Lettie, what are you doing?”
He drops his hands from my neck, settling them at my waist to halt my movements.
Stubbornly, I continue pulsing over him. “What does it look like?”
His eyes fix on mine, darting from the left to the right as if he can see my intentions. He won’t find them because even I have no clue what’s come over me.
This arousal is more powerful than I’ve ever had before.
I’m frantic for him.
“Don’t do this again, Lettie.” There’s a mix of sternness and confusion braided through his husky tone. “You’re still hurt.”
“If I set the pace, I’ll be fine.”
I think.
“Sweetness, I don’t know.”
“I want to feel good. I need you to make me feel good.”
Slowly, he tilts his head back, letting it hit the headboard with a soft thud. “Oh I see.”
He sees? What does he see?
The way he’s looking at me makes me substantially less horny. There’s pity in his eyes, mixed with a hint of disgust.
Or maybe I’m simply seeing what I feel about myself, reflecting back at me.
“I’m not broken,” I blurt out unprompted. My chin quivers like a pathetic sap. “Please don’t treat me like I am.”
“Baby, I know you’re not broken.” He shakes his head, his throat bobbing with a forced swallow. “I don’t want you to rush it. It’s okay to take a few days to heal. Not only your body, but also your mind.”
“A few days?” I scoff. “Is that all I need? Wow . Golly, that’s terrific news.” I cut off his objection. “I’m so glad you have all the answers and know exactly what I need after what happened. To. Me. It happened to me. So I get to decide how to fix it.”
His forehead wrinkles deepen. “You’re upset, and you deserve to be. I don’t wanna fight with you, sugar bear.”
“Then don’t fight me. Fuck me. Make me feel good. Please, babe. I just want to feel normal. I need new memories to cancel out the bad.”
He tugs in a huge swell of air, closes his eyes, and clamps his teeth over his bottom lip.
Desperate for the relief he could give me—the respite from the pain and sadness souring my aura for days—I skim my hands over his shoulders to pull him close.
He opens his eyes, his gaze burning into mine. I wish I could feel bad for causing all the hurt clouding his irises. But all I can focus on is the anguish searing my insides. And he’s the salve that can ease the sting.
Hovering my mouth over his, I whisper, “Please. I’m begging you. I need this. Please do this for me.”
With my vision glassy from unshed tears, I wait for his reply. Hoping for a yes, but then praying this isn’t a mistake that triggers me, leaving me curled up in the fetal position.
No. Fuck that.
Violet Holt does not break.