“Why didn’t you just tell me you knew everything at this point?” she asked. For someone who was supposed to be pissed off that I had information on her, she sure was pushing her ass into my dick. I groaned at her movements.
“Because I needed you to tell me, to show me that you trusted me, that you could come to me with anything and know that I wasn’t running away.” I leaned down, kissing the side of herneck. Her head rolled to the other side, giving me more to taste, more to want.
“You don’t care that I’m broken?” she whispered.
I pulled away from her neck, leaned closed to her ear. “You’re not broken. Even if you were, we can put you back together.”
It was pure torture, my little angel feeling like she wasn’t good enough.
I breathed her in, feeling her heart beat close to me. She wasn’t going back. She wasn’t going to have a choice.
“Stay with me, Amelia. Heal… with me.” Okay, I made her feel like she had a choice.
In the end, we both knew she wasn’t going to say no. She was finally mine.
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.
