Chapter 9 Joseph
JOSEPH
The scent of cleaning fluid and fresh flowers hits me when I open the cabin door later that afternoon.
There’s a vase of wildflowers on the center of the table, and the walls of the kitchen seem brighter. The windows are thrown open, the dust gone from around the window frames.
“You cleaned up?”
Trish is on the mat with Rose, the baby giggling as she dangles the colorful caterpillar over her head. My heart warms at the giggles coming from the both of them.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
I don’t mind at all; I could get used to this. There’s a feminine touch to the cabin now. The flowers and the open windows that are streak free bring the scent of the forest into my home.
Rose makes a crying noise, and Trish picks her up.
“I’m going to get her down for her afternoon nap.”
She brushes past me, and I resist the urge to reach out and pull her toward me. I want to kiss her senseless. I thought about her all day, and I love coming home to her and the baby.
While Trish puts Rose down, I fix us a snack. Every cupboard has been cleaned, the walls wiped down and the taps polished so I can see my own bristly reflection in them. Damn, it’s good having Trish around.
I fix us a bowl of guacamole and grab a packet of corn chips. Trish comes out of the room a few moments later.
“She asleep already?”
It usually takes a lot longer to get Rose down. She must be settling into the place.
Trish comes into the kitchen and picks up a dish cloth.
There are a few items in the drying rack, and she gets busy putting them away.
I love how we move around each other easily, like she belongs in the space.
She’s changed into a pair of short shorts, and I can’t stop glancing at her luscious thick thighs.
“Danni stopped by today.”
A pang of gratitude goes through me at my MC brothers and how quickly they’ve mobilized to help. Trish tells me about her day and the play date the babies had. I hope it can be a regular thing for her. I hope she’ll stick around.
Trish reaches up to put a pasta bowl on the top shelf and my gaze goes to her legs, getting a peek of her upper thigh as she reaches up. My breath catches in my throat. There’s an angry purple bruise at the top of her thigh.
“He hit you on the legs too?”
I stride across the kitchen and crouch down to examine the bruise.
Trish spins around in shock.
“I didn’t know it was still there, sorry,” she whispers.
The timidity of her voice makes my blood boil.
“Honey, you’ve got nothing to be sorry about. The man who did this to you is a monster.”
She looks down, and I hate the red blush of shame that appears on her cheeks. I want to purge her of this asshole for good. Get all the pain out of her and make her brand new, as clean and fresh as my kitchen.
I stand up slowly.
“Is there anything else I need to know about, anything else he did to you?”
Her gaze meets mine, and she holds it for a long time. Pain flickers across her face, and I hate that someone made her feel that. That she has these memories.
“I’ll show you.”
She hooks her thumbs under her t-shirt, and I catch her hands.
“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”
We hold each other’s gazes, and in that look, I recognize trust. “I want to show you. I want you to see all of who I am.”
Her words floor me. And I’m speechless as she lifts her t-shirt over her head. I feel honored that this woman trusts me enough to bare her soul to me. I don’t take that lightly.
Trish’s body is amazing. Full heavy breasts and a curvy stomach. My breath hitches and my throat goes dry, but I’m not here for my own needs.
There are dark finger marks on her neck, and when she turns around, a bruise on her hip.
My blood heats. How could someone do this to a woman?
“Was this the first time?”
She shakes her head. “No, but it was the worst.”
The marks are under her clothing, calculated. He probably learned this from his father, who learned it from his father before that. Generational domestic abuse that’s somehow been normalized because that’s all they’ve known.
My fists clench, thinking not just about Trish but the thousands of other women suffering in silence.
“Can I touch you?”
She nods, and I trace the marks from her neck to her hips and thighs. With every bruise my finger crosses, I make a silent vow to protect this woman with my life.
“No one will ever hurt you again, Trish. Ever.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the vulnerability makes my heart break. This woman’s been torn apart, and I’m going to put her back together.
I pull her into my arms. Her body is soft and tender against my large hard frame. I’ve never understood how a man can hurt a woman. They’re smaller and softer, and we’re supposed to protect them, keep them safe.
Her body molds to me, and there’s a moment when the warm hug turns into something more. Her body presses against mine, and her hips move against me. My cock hardens and I step away, not wanting to add to her discomfort.
“Stay.” She keeps her arms tight around me and pulls my hips toward her.
Her head tilts up, and I look down at her wide eyes. Her lips part, and we’re both breathing hard. She’s vulnerable. She’s under my protection. I should walk away, give her space.
“Kiss me.”
Her plea holds me in place. My heart thunders against my rib cage as I look down at the woman in my arms. The first person to penetrate my heart, my very soul.
She parts her lips, and there’s need in her eyes.
“Are you sure?” My thumb grazes her cheek. “Because if I kiss you, there’s no going back. This is for keeps, Trish. I want you as my woman, in my cabin. You and Rose.”
Her eyes widen. It’s a lot, I know that, but I’ve never been a man to do things by halves. I need her to understand that.
“I want that too.” Her words stir something deep inside me, something warm and needy, a sense of belonging that I never knew I was missing.
My thumb brushes her lips, and she whimpers. I wonder how long it’s been since she was touched the way a woman should be touched.
My lips press to hers, and warmth spreads through my veins.
It’s a slow kiss, tender and gentle. There’s a lot of healing that needs doing, and I won’t give in to my animal instincts until she’s ready.
My hands slide down her back, tangling in her hair as I touch every part of her, needing to feel her skin against mine.
She tastes like coffee and baby milk, and it’s my new favorite flavor.
Her hands hook under my t-shirt, and she pulls it over my head. Her hips grind against mine and my dick responds, pushing against my jeans until I think the seams will burst.
But this isn’t about me. Trish needs to be shown love. She needs to be worshipped the way she deserves.
Her fingers pull at my belt buckle, but I stop them with my hands. She looks up at me, confused.
“I’m gonna give you what you deserve, Trish. I’m gonna show you how a man’s supposed to treat a woman.”