Chapter 20
Amelia
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
I kept repeating that every time I woke up, feeling like I was back home or worse, on the brink of death.
The words of my friends flowed through my head, “let him be what you need”. What I needed was not to feel like this anymore, like I couldn’t be desired, to be wanted for life instead of a “good time”.
Every time I woke up, I could feel Shooter pulling me closer to him. I would have never guessed that as much as he was a brute that he was a cuddler. And yet it melted my heart, becoming nothing more than a puddle.
I stayed, as if I dared to say that I would go back home.
I hated that my own home was no longer a safe place.
Hell, who was I kidding, it wasn’t a safe place.
I knew it wasn’t for a long time. I didn’t know what I would do, where I would go, all my stuff was there.
And I had routine deposits with Tony and Gage, and Shooter didn’t need to know that I would keep paying them.
I didn’t need to bring that into the club or even near them.
The storm had broken through, and the early morning sun started to beam through the curtains. Shooter’s body produced enough heat that we barely needed blankets. Every move I made, I had a twinge of pain, but it slowly faded. Muscles were just sore as fuck.
I untangled myself from the human pillow and padded to the bathroom. I barely looked at myself the night before we went to sleep. When I switched on the light, the light blinded me. I had to blink a few times before my eyes settled on a visual I could only describe as the shell of a woman.
I remember seeing that face after I got married to Chris.
The once smiling face that turned into frown lines.
The once happy eyes, sparked with youth and energy, then turn sad and tired, with dark circles.
She’s bruised and battered, wondering if she would ever heal properly.
My neck has been darkened by the marks Chris left on me.
My eyes couldn’t cry anymore, there was nothing left to cry about.
I looked in that mirror, touching every crevice of my neck.
Memories flashing back to the rage in his eyes, wanting to send me off into death’s cold embrace.
I should have been used to it, but he had pushed further than he ever did before.
I hung my head as I braced myself against the bathroom sink.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wake up the courage in me.
Because the man that laid in that bed didn’t waver from me.
Granted he went behind my back and lied about a few things.
And yet I didn’t waver either. I should have ran in the opposite direction, but I felt safe with him.
I mean I felt safe with the club and the friends I had met along the way.
But Shooter.
Shooter was a different man. The man could flirt, the man was somewhat patient, and the man could smile, at least around me. That smile that made you weak in the knees, a simple flash of it and you’d do anything that he said.
Most importantly, he was making me believe that I was enough, that I wasn’t broken.
I still had a lot of trust issues. I leaned on the door frame, watching him in the early morning sun.
He didn’t move, he looked at peace with his bare chest with some dark chest hair peeking through.
I always wondered why men would just gawk at their women in awe like the moment was theirs.
Now I understood.
I sat at the edge of the bed, watching him, his peaceful breathing, his hair gathered in his face.
“You are such a brute. Why is that when I know I need to stay away from you, I can’t?” I whispered, brushing a few strands away from his face.
He was somewhat angelic. Maybe a dark angel, but a ruggedly beautiful man, nonetheless.
Even the most sensual touch sparked many ideas.
He was what I needed him to be, a protector, a caregiver, a lover.
Even the word lover felt like I was the one obsessed. Maybe I was, my hands couldn’t help but trail along his rock hard abs, feeling the dips in muscles, the way they caved in like a beacon toward the edge of the sweatpants.
Oh, the gray sweatpants. He could act like he didn’t know what he was doing but he knew. The man looked like he was still going commando and fuck me if I didn’t want to find out. I had no excuses anymore.
I got greedy, I got curious.
Shooter took a deep breath, still fast asleep.
I pondered on an intrusive thought. I bent over, brushing a kiss across his forehead.
I breathed in his warm scent. He barely moved, giving me a sign that he was still sleeping.
I took another chance, brushing another kiss to his cheek, his beard scratching my face.
Shooter remained still, content even. I kept pushing the intrusive thought.
My lips ghosted over him, almost like the sleeping princess fairytale.
I leaned into his lips, kissing him softly, thinking that he wouldn’t wake up.
He’d kissed me before; I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold back from wanting more.
I pulled back slightly disappointed that he didn’t wake up.
I pulled away, chewing on my bottom lip.
Why didn’t he wake up? I mean he barely let me go throughout the night, like I was personal emotional support stuffy.
I turned away from him, sitting on the edge, contemplating if I were to fall back asleep, could I or if I were to leave, would he follow.
Before I could decide, a pair of arms, reached from behind, pulling me flat on my back, underneath a massive body. Heat rushed down to my pussy, a tiny whimper came out. His hair fell in his face, but he quickly pulled it back with a tie and brought his attention back to me.
I watched with anticipated breath. His eyes glazed over me, like he was studying my movement, my reaction.
“You stopped,” he growled with his rough morning voice. I opened my legs allowing him to settle between me. He happily obliged, knowing that my body was betraying every thought of common sense.
“What do you mean?” I played dumb.
He kissed my forehead. Those were my favorites, they used to be, but Shooter revived that love. My body sagged at the tender kiss. He pulled back to meet my eyes. “You stopped exploring.”
“Exploring what?” I teased.
Shooter leaned down pressing another kiss, but to my cheek, the same side that I kissed his on.
My heart fluttered, like it was coming back alive.
Shooter scooped an arm under me, hoisted both of us up, carefully making me straddle his lap.
With one arm around me and one hand tangled in my hair, he didn’t take his eyes off me.
Without hesitation, Shooter presses a kiss, with a hunger in his movement and an ache to fulfill.
There was passion, there was pleasure. Like a fire burning deep in my core, and his kiss wanted to keep it ignited.
He coaxes my mouth open with his tongue, and I can’t help but press him further as if my life depended on it.
If there was how he woke up in the morning, starving for affection, I would be able to live with that and compile with open arms. I nipped at his bottom lip, proving to him that he wasn’t the only one hungry for what we both wanted.
Shooter released a low growl that only made me feel even wetter than before.
“To answer your question, you can’t run away from someone you never want to let go,” he said, nipping away at my chin as my head went back from the sensation.
It didn’t dawn on me at first, but he was listening, he didn’t stop me from wanting more of him, he was testing the waters, allowing me the space to explore all I wanted.
I could feel my nipples harden as his lips traveled down the nape of my neck, licking and sucking. I rocked against him, feeling him as hard as a rock. I ground against his cock, with his hands gripping me tight. I wanted it, I wanted him. I was just too cowardly to realize, to chase it.
“One thing you should know about me,” his hot breath on my skin, “if you give me all of you, there’s no going back.”
I moaned at his words, in my own haze, my heart and body spoke for me. “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep.”
In a rush, Shooter laid me out, pushing my thighs apart, sitting up, towering over me like he belonged there all along. My body buzzed with excitement, wanting more than just a kiss or a caress.
“I fucking keep my promises,” he asserted.
“Erase him. Erase everything about his touch, his scent, everything. Make me forget. Stop me from thinking about anything.”
His eyes widened and a sexy grin spread across his face. He leaned over, close to my ear to whisper, “Is that you want? Do everything I can to make you forget?” I nodded. He inhaled, drawing to towering over me.
“Please,” I begged, knowing that he loved to hear it.
“Don’t worry, peaches, I'll take care of you. But first,” he said before reaching for the hem of my shirt, “I’m going to take my damn time exploring this beautiful body of yours.”
Well, fuck me.
He pulled the shirt up and over my body and I couldn’t think already. I just lost in his charge, his own power. His face scrunched up with a deep exhale. “Oh, fuck me.”
I smirked, “That’s the point.”
“I’m about to show you what happens when you starve a man for too long,” he said, peppering kisses along the top of my chest, inching closer to the sports bra that was showing that I wanted him very much.
I couldn’t help but grip the pillow behind me as my body moved along with his kisses.
His beard gave me another sensation as it grazed over my nipples.
He grumbled, “This is in my fucking way.” His patience was slipping. Before another word came out of my mouth, he tore fabric in half, shoving off the material, freeing my breasts. I groaned, remembering how much that fancy sports bra cost me.
“Hey!” I snipped.