Chapter 10 #2
In a moment of reflexive stupidity, he covers her hand with his own as if some deep-seated need for comfort clawed its way up from the depths of his subconscious.
It’s too late to pretend he didn’t do that, so he doesn’t move.
He squeezes his eyes shut rather than look up at her face, where she must be so disgusted by this sudden, ridiculous fear.
“You’re okay. We can stop any time you need to.
I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’ll take it slow.
” There is only sympathy in her voice when she speaks.
Not the kind that might rake against his nerves and remind him that he doesn’t want or need sympathy from anyone.
No, this time, he’s shown what it can feel like when the intention is rooted in the right place. Soft and soothing, as if she sees him.
It’s all so much kinder than anything she’s said to him since she remembered that damn tabloid article.
“I dunno why I’m having such a hard time. It’s…unexpected.”
“This area is a source of tension for you?”
“Tension. Trauma. All of that and then some.”
“Do you want to keep going?” Her hand still holds gently over his heart.
Theo is certain she can feel every beat scramble itself up into a frenzy. Despite that, he agrees, mourning the loss when she pulls away to focus on the massage again.
“I want you to breathe in for three counts, hold for two, and exhale for three more. Okay? Keep doing that until you stop shivering.”
“I’m fucking shivering? I didn’t notice, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just breathe like I said.” And then both her hands are in his hair again, lightly raking across his scalp in mirrored movements that are slow and gradual.
It’s difficult to relax or breathe without panicking.
That in itself is reason to panic because he’s never had such a visceral reaction to being touched before, and it’s throwing him for a damn loop.
He must be such a mess. Even worse than he ever realized.
Flinching away from anyone touching his head is a reflex so ingrained by now that he hardly registered it before until he thinks back to all the times his ex-fiancé tried and he ducked away from her, quick and nimble, ignoring it like nothing happened.
“You’ve never had a massage? What kind of billionaire are you?” Nora teases lightly, her thumbs taking over more of the pressure to rotate back and forth across his hairline.
“Former billionaire, and I’ve had plenty. They’re usually the deep tissue back and shoulder variety, though.”
“Ah, I see. Do you enjoy having people walk all over your spine, too?”
“That’s a little too deep for me. If someone has to stand on me to get the knots out, then I probably need a doctor and not a massage.”
“Likely true.”
“What um….” he inhales slowly in a way that almost feels like a moan when her hands travel to his forehead, two fingers on each hand criss-crossing each other to blend out his worry lines. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“Years of what-ifs are etched right here,” she says. “This is where they all live.”
“Are you saying I need Botox? Facelift?”
“No. Not even a little bit. Any doctor who would touch this face should get their license revoked.”
He cracks one eye open, comically arching a brow. “Is that a compliment?”
“Is what a compliment? I didn’t say anything. Eyes shut.” Her fingers trace his eyebrows before dramatically fanning her palms over his eyes to shut them again. “You were going to ask me something before I made you moan.”
“Oh, right. What made you start doing this?”
“It was easy to get trained, and I needed the money. Just a bonus to find out that I actually enjoy it.”
“Fair reasons. You’re good at it.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Shhh. Never happened.”
He can hear the little smile in her voice at that last question and tries his best to loosen up while her fingers continue a massage light as hummingbird wings.
“I don’t get these feelings anymore,” she admits, never halting her wandering strokes. “They’ve always been few and far between to begin with, but they have to be with someone I trust. Someone I want touching me. Then, all these little tingles fan out like a headgasm.”
“Headgasm,” he repeats, amused.
“It’s a legit word. You’ll see.”
Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t. But either way, this is pretty damn nice.
There’s something tender in the way she touches him.
His body craves it even if his mind is at war with his emotions, telling him to sink into this and enjoy it because there’s no telling when he’ll ever be this lucky again, and then her fingers sneak under his head to scrape light across the nape of his neck, and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt.
Pinpoints of pleasure fan out from the contact point, sparking across his scalp like static and down his spine in a rolling wave. He gasps, rolling his head a fraction to chase her touch like a cat begging for another scratch.
She was right. It’s a headgasm. That’s most definitely a word now.
“Fuuuck.” He exhales when she goes still, her hands framing his head on either side. “I see why that’s your favorite feeling. It’s mine now, too.”
Her soft hum of approval has him melting, and if someone told him a couple of weeks ago he’d be here enjoying this, he’d have laughed. Not him. Not ever, yet here he is finding himself capable of something he never assumed he could be.
He’s trying hard to forget that she felt that one particular scar on his chest, though. No way it didn’t rise up to meet her fingers. The urge to explain somehow is unrelenting, as if he has any idea what to say.
He traces its location over his shirt. “I know you felt this.”
“It’s not my business. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“My father wasn’t violent. It wasn’t his style.
He was too controlled for that sort of behavior.
Used to say that if we resorted to overt violence, then we’d better kill our opponents because leaving them wounded would be worse.
” Theo pauses, remembering that night as if he were a teenager again.
“Me and Oliver were fighting, and I knocked one of his teeth loose. We always fought verbally, but physical fights were rare, though he did give me a concussion one summer…anyway, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. When our father found us, he hit me so hard my bones shook, and then dragged me into the library and beat me with his belt right across the chest. Not the back, he said, because he wanted me to see it when I looked in the mirror to be reminded of my error. It healed, but there’s always gonna be a mark left behind…
or seven. That’s when I really understood that he had a favorite and it wasn’t me. ”
She goes quiet before dragging his hand backward across her thigh, pushing his fingertips into a round puckered scar he can feel over her pants. “This is from the pellet of a BB gun. Not real bullets, but they still hurt. Still cut deep on bare skin.”
“Who the hell shot you?”
“Husband number one. On purpose. He said it was an accident, but we both knew better. He was high. He only ever did things like that when he was high as a fucking kite.”
“Jesus.”
This has to be hard for her, like it would be for him, but she’s showing him anyway. Likely hoping it’ll ease the sting of knowing what she’s discovered.
He may have moved on for the most part when it comes to what he suffered most of his life, despite the occasional flinch, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to talk about it or that showing anyone isn’t a struggle.
He’s hiding just as much as she has been, the two of them opening up little by little with each new exchange that leaves them stronger instead of even more broken.
“We’re more than what’s been done to us,” she says softly. “But I still wish I could knock your father’s teeth out.”
He huffs. “I wish I could drag your ex up from the grave and do the same.”
“We’ll both have to settle for imagining such things.”
Slowly, he sits up and turns to face her, taken aback by how close her face is to his own. He’s going to gather his courage and kiss her this time. Fuck it. They are stranded in the middle of nowhere. If ever there was a time to throw caution to the wind, it’s now.
When she pulls away to gaze over him and out the window, whatever bravery he’d stored up drops to the floor along with his heart.
“No, that’s not it,” she offers in reassurance. “There’s someone out there.”
She’s looking right past him, and sure enough, when he follows her gaze, there’s a man in the distance, lumbering along at a slow pace.
This is the answer to their hopes, a chance at rescue, but something in his gut tells him to be careful even as they dress quickly in coats and boots to greet their visitor.
“Stay behind me, okay?” he asks, before they leave. “Just until we know it’s safe.”
He doesn’t like pulling that kinda shit. She can take care of herself, but he doesn’t trust this situation yet, and if anyone wants to hurt them, they’ll have to go through him before getting to her.
For a moment, there’s a sassy reply on the tip of her tongue, but maybe she sees how worried he really is, and that’s enough to soften her. “Okay.”
He grabs the bow just in case, and she takes the knife and the rifle, then they’re through the door, heading for salvation.
Or, so he hopes.
It’s not until they call out to the man ahead and he races toward them at full speed, face half torn off and remaining teeth snapping, that it becomes clear they’ve got a whole new problem.