Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
The most pitiful whimpers roused him from sleep.
Thunder blinked to clear his eyes, unaware he’d even dozed off while still sitting on the floor outside Maya’s art studio.
Usually, he wouldn't have gone to sleep while watching over his girl, but when Maya’s eyes finally drifted closed, still sitting in her chair, and her paintbrush slipped from her grasp, he knew she was out, and his exhausted body must have followed her into dreamland.
Now, as she continued to whimper, he realized that her dreamland was full of nothing but nightmares, while his had been filled with sweet moments with this beautiful, brave woman.
Shoving to his feet, Thunder entered her studio.
Once he’d realized how upset she was and that she intended to ignore him, block him out, and pretend he wasn't there, he’d respected her space by remaining in the hall.
But if she was having nightmares, then respecting her space had to take a backseat.
No way was he going to allow her to remain trapped in her dreams.
“Maya,” he called softly as he approached her.
The last thing he wanted was to scare her further.
While it had been a long time since he’d had nightmares, he used to have them frequently as a child, and then again after he and his team had been experimented on.
He knew exactly what it was like to wake up unsure of where you were, unsure what reality was.
Another whimper tumbled from Maya’s lips, and her fingers clawed at her body as though she was trying to get something off her.
Unfortunately, since he knew what she’d lived through, he could imagine what.
Unable to stand her suffering for a single second longer, Thunder reached out and grasped her shoulder.
He knew it was a potentially bad move, that she could wake up swinging, but he wasn't afraid of her much smaller frame inflicting any real damage.
The only thing he was worried about was possibly having to restrain her so she didn't hurt herself if she woke up still in her nightmare’s clutches.
“Wake up, Maya,” he commanded, making his tone a little harsher than he wanted to because he needed her to snap out of it.
She went stiff at the contact of his hand on her shoulder, and he used that touch to try to ground her, bring her back to him.
Shaking her firmly, not enough to hurt her, but hopefully enough to rouse her, he shifted so he was in front of her, so he would be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes.
“Come on, babydoll, wake up for me,” he urged.
The nickname seemed to do the trick, and Maya’s eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks, her body still ramrod straight, before opening.
“You back with me, babydoll?”
At his question, she began to fight, obviously not really back with him even if she was waking up.
She fought like her life depended on it, and his heart broke.
Knowing that she’d been taken so young, that she’d suffered so much was one thing, but every time he was confronted by her terror, he remembered how lucky he was that his own journey through hell had been with a team at his back.
“I'm here now, babydoll, you're not alone,” he soothed as he maintained his grip on her shoulder as she thrashed in his grasp.
She didn't seem to agree that his being there was something reassuring.
Not for the first time, Thunder wished he knew more about what had happened during the last thirteen years.
If he knew details, he might be able to remove triggers from her environment or at least know the best ways to navigate them.
But there was no way to find out that information unless Maya herself chose to share it, and given that she seemed to hate him now, he didn't see that happening any time soon.
“It’s Thunder, babydoll, and you're in your art studio. Whoever was hurting you in your dreams can't get you here.” Keeping his tone calm and soothing was difficult because he wanted to rip the monsters right out of her dreams and tear them apart with his bare hands. If he ever learned the names of the people who had bought her, he’d do whatever it took to track them down and do just that.
Tearing evil men apart with his bare hands had never sounded more appealing than it did as he watched his girl struggle to fully pull herself free from her dream’s clutches.
Her chest rose and fell with each harsh breath she took, tears trailed down her cheeks, and her skin was icy cold to the touch.
Tremors rippled in a steady stream through her small body, and he wanted to draw her into his arms, stroke her, kiss her, keep touching her until she melted against him, all of her demons chased away.
“Can you hear me, Maya?”
At the use of her real name, her entire body went still, tension crackled in the air between them, and after giving a slow blink, her gaze seemed to clear, and he knew that she was finally fully awake.
And angry if the rage that sparked from her stormy gray eyes was anything to go by.
According to the girls, she hadn't liked them calling her by her name earlier as well. Thunder had no idea why she disliked it, if it was a fear response of some sort, or if it reminded her of his betrayal in learning her identity without telling her.
When the adorable little thing growled at him, he couldn’t help but smile.
She hated him using her name, and she felt safe enough with him to express that.
He didn't want her to think he was mocking her, but she was so cute when she made that little growling sound, and he absolutely loved hearing her make a sound, any sound.
“Sorry, babydoll,” he murmured. “You're safe now, though, no one can hurt you here. Whoever was hurting you in your dreams can't touch you now you're awake.”
The tremors returned, her body shaking so badly he was almost afraid she was going to break into a million pieces.
Unsure what his best move was, Thunder decided letting Maya take the lead was the safest option.
Anything he did could only make things worse, but whatever she needed from him, he would gladly give her.
“If you want to talk about it, I'm here, babydoll.” Thunder doubted that she believed that, but it couldn’t be more true.
Shooting him the cutest little glare, her hands suddenly shoved at the waistband of his sweatpants, and he knew what she was going to take from him.
Not that she had to take it, he would freely offer her his body to use however she needed.
All he cared about was soothing the mess of emotions he knew were swirling inside her.
By the time her hands curled around his length, it was already mostly hard. A few strokes of her slender fingers and he was ready to slide inside her. Her free hand pushed at her own waistband, and he helped her slide her leggings and panties down her legs.
As badly as he wanted to take over, lift her body, sink inside her in a single thrust, guide each movement until she was writhing beneath him as pleasure consumed her from the inside out, he didn't do any of that.
Instead, he held back and let her take the lead. He was the only one who winced as she guided him into the chair she’d fallen asleep in, then straddled his legs and took him inside her. She wasn't prepared to take anything, and he knew that she had to be in pain even if she didn't act like it.
Once he was seated deep inside her, she calmed, her breathing evened out, her body stopped shaking, and she seemed to regain control over herself. She wouldn't meet his gaze, though, steadfastly staring at the floor where her paintbrush lay, splatters of black paint around it.
“You're okay, babydoll,” he soothed, lifting his hands and framing her face.
With an annoyed huff, she batted them away, and he tried not to let it hurt.
There was no reason she had to accept comfort from him, even if he was desperate to offer it.
He knew he’d lost his right to be her rock when he didn't tell her immediately that he had learned her name.
There was no going back, no undoing what was done, especially if Maya wasn't ready to listen to anything he had to say.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I know I should have told you that we were looking for your name.” Maybe she didn't want to hear an apology, but he had to offer it, nonetheless.
“I didn't want you to find out that way, and if you don’t want us to call you by your name, then we won't. I hate having to force you to stay here when you don’t want to, but I can't let you get hurt, babydoll, can't risk your safety.
You're too important to me. Too special.
Even if you hate me for it, I won't ever let anyone hurt you again.”
March 4 th
3:32 A.M.
Finally, the storm of emotions inside her was calming.
The fear receded, the anger dimmed, her heart rate slowed so it no longer felt like her heart was trying to hammer its way out of her chest, and that bar that seemed to press into her lungs, constricting her ability to breathe, loosened.
Important.
Special.
Those words raced through her mind. Not just because they were words no one should be saying about her, and not just because she’d never expected to hear them falling from Thunder's lips, but because it sounded like he meant them.
Actually meant them.
No.
He’s lying to you. He has to be.
No one could ever think you're important or special.
All he’s trying to do is keep you close because he feels that you're slipping away from him, and he’s not finished with you yet.
Once he’s finished with you, he’ll throw you away, and then he won't be saying those things about you anymore.
You're dirty and damaged, not important and special.
The insidious voice inside her mind whispered to her, sounding too much like Master for her liking.
How many times had that man reminded her how ruined her body and her mind were?
Too many to count.