Chapter 8
Amelia
Ididn’t know if I wanted to cry or laugh. I don’t know what happened. What the fuck did I do? It was like another person took over my mind and body.
They always said that acting on your impulsive thoughts could be dangerous.
All I wanted to do was shut him up. Or even try to convince him to listen to me and let me do my job. There was another part of me that laughed and said “that’s not what that was, baby girl”.
I got lost in the moment.
I kissed Shooter.
I kissed him.
What the hell came over me? Had I been so touch-starved that I was willing to do anything or anyone?
No, that wasn’t it.
He was just so frustrating, the stubborn ass that was trying to get under my skin and it worked.
It worked; what originally was a distraction turned into a key trying to unlock something buried deep.
When our lips touched, there was a spark that lit up inside me.
Like it awakened a deep part of my soul that craved to be wanted, to be held, to be touched.
I expected him to want more or hold me closer to him.
He let me lead it, to be the one to stop it. Yet, if I didn’t have a million thoughts in my head, I wouldn’t have stopped. I didn’t know which part was scarier to admit, the part where I didn’t want to stop or that I broke away.
I could still feel him on my lips.
My fingers traced where he once was, silently begging me to go back and do it over again.
I couldn’t let it happen again. I could argue that I didn’t know what came over me, but let’s be honest, I did. There was another side of me that didn’t want to admit it because I did want Shooter and knew I shouldn’t.
Would you listen to me?
In an untwisted world, I wouldn’t have been married to Chris, and maybe it wouldn’t have bothered me as much to think that it wasn’t okay. Fuck, I was still technically married in the eyes of society and the law. Though where it mattered the most, I was already divorced in my heart and mind.
Shooter was nothing like Chris, even in the early stages of our relationship.
Shooter was observant, watched for every detail, noticed even the tiniest changes.
Chris brushed the “little things” off like he simply forgot and tried to convince me that he knew every detail.
Shooter knew how to get under my skin, but in a way that still could make me smile.
Whereas with Chris, it was like walking on eggshells, never knowing if he was joking or not and if I didn’t laugh at the correct one, I was in the wrong. Yet I catered to Chris, changed my every move to appease him. I lost myself in the years I spent with him.
I couldn’t get Shooter out of my head. Even the way he wrapped his arms around me, it wasn’t trapping but comforting like we were just melting into each other.
That feeling was what I wished for so long with Chris, my own “husband” and was denied.
Though how can you call someone your “partner” or your “spouse” if they never acted like one?
And maybe I shouldn’t have been around Shooter, maybe he’d make me wish that I walked away a lot sooner rather than have a gutted guilt in my chest.
I wanted to cry. I was so confused. I wanted to slam something against the wall and scream into the void. There were so many conflicting feelings that I was ready to break something. After all that I had been through, I just wanted to be “wanted”.
Standing in the shower, I hoped that the thoughts would just wash away, I wasn’t that lucky. And my shower head looked tempting.
I thought about what if Shooter had me all to himself, what would he do first?
I imagined him whispering his intention, to carve out my soul only to repair it and make it better.
I thought of his hands, brushing against every inch of my body, edging to the brink of tears, begging him to soothe it all.
Tender thoughts turned twisted, as I started to wonder if his hand would lightly squeeze or if his hands would pin mine to the bed as he fucked me to the ends of the world.
As the thoughts grew, my hands caressed my skin, the heat from my thoughts felt overwhelming like I was ready to erupt. My mind imagined Shooter standing behind me taking what he wanted, rough and possessively. He’d worship me like a deity, make me crave him every day.
The fucker has slipped into my mind, thinking every delicious thought of if I was his, if only I didn’t hold back.
Oh, to be wanted and desired, to be worshipped by a man that would do nothing more than to unlock the darkest desires that maybe you shouldn’t have.
Seriously, I may have needed to go on a grippy sock vacation thinking that Shooter was that man for me.
The steam from the shower didn’t even help clear my thoughts. My phone buzzed on the nightstand and for a brief second I thought Shooter had gotten my number and was now stalking me. But I knew this phone call would be coming.
“I take it your man told you I was at the clubhouse?” I answered.
A sweet giggle echoed through. “Perhaps. At least tell me if he was nice to you?”
He certainly was very nice. “I’ve handled worse. He’s just like any other man, a big, whiny baby who thinks he has everything under control.”
“Sounds about right. You okay?” Melody asked, sincerely.
With a sigh, and enough strength to muster up a good answer, I replied. “I’m surviving.”
“Don’t let Shooter get to you. He’s just a big guard dog.”
“I swear if he starts thinking that, I’m not scratching his head,” I said. Then thoughts of gripping his hair to guide him to right where I wanted him. I shook them away.
“Well… I mean he might be a good boy for you.”
I couldn’t contain the laugh; my stomach hunched over from laughing too fucking hard. “Sure, that’s one way of making him listen.”
I needed that laugh. I needed that smile.
At the end of the day, I was just another day closer to saying goodbye to the life I never wanted.