He thought about it before slowly pushing up out of the chair. I watched as he pushed it back; the wheels creaked and groaned, but they rolled away. I folded my legs under me so I was sitting old-school Indian style. My bracelet was still in my lap. I heard it fall between my thighs and hit the floor.
I didn’t get up. I figured me being down here and him being up there might make him feel more secure.
I hadn’t always taken these precautions with him, but that was before I knew. Now I did. Now I would take into consideration the things he’d been through. I’d have to teach him, through action, he was safe with me.
I held my hand out, and his slid into it. My stomach flipped when he stepped on each side of my hips and lowered until he was sitting in my lap.
His legs wrapped around my waist, his high-tops resting on the floor behind me. We were face to face, chest to chest. Because he sat in my lap, he was a little higher.
“Hey,” I murmured and caressed his jaw.
“Hey.”
I went slow so he could track my movement. I brought my hand up, curved it around the back of his neck, and tugged.
He let me lead his forehead down so it rested on top of my shoulder. Once it was there, my hand dragged down his back, rubbing, and tucked around him in a hug.
He sighed.
A sound I never knew could be so sweet.
Arrow’s body relaxed, and I carefully wrapped my other arm around so I was holding him. It was the first time he’d been in my arms this way.
I prayed to God it wouldn’t be the last.
I felt full right then, despite all the obstacles, all the devastating truths between us. They didn’t seem so terrible when he was in my arms.
I held him for a while. I didn’t track the time, but I noticed the more time passed, the more languid his body became. Even when my legs started to go to sleep, I ignored it because he felt so right.
Then he moved. His face slid from my shoulder and pressed into the crook of my neck. I whispered his name, stroking up his back. His arms encircled my back, hugging me.
My chest swelled to near bursting. Emotion so epic washed over me like a fucking tidal wave. I just tucked him closer and rode the storm, trying to shield him from the water.
“I’m sorry about Matt,” he whispered against my neck. Desire stole some of my emotion. With every word he whispered, his lips brushed over my skin. “I wish I could take some of your pain away.”
My voice cracked. “You are.”
He sat back. Our faces were so close if I leaned forward just an inch, our noses would collide. Every breath he took, his chest rubbed against mine.
I reached up, pushing the ultra-blond hair out of his eye.
He leaned forward and caught my lips. I wanted to grab him and yank him close. I wanted to thrust my tongue deep in his mouth like I had before. I held back, letting him take the lead. My hands fell at my sides while his cupped my jaws and held.
He kissed me slowly but thoroughly. In some ways, it was like a first kiss because, honestly, no one had ever kissed me like this before. With need but with so much give. With innocence but knowledge. With love and fear.
I drank him in. I drank him in so deep I could feel him slosh around inside me.
When his tongue skirted out over my lips, I opened and let it twist around mine. His fingers tightened on my face and his body leaned farther into mine. I supported his weight and matched the pressure with my mouth.
He was killing me.
Killing. Me.
This was foreplay at its finest.
Foreplay at its most innocent yet most scorching.
Eventually, his hands slid down the sides of my neck, and his lips began to pull away. I groaned with protest but let him go. His eyes were heavy lidded, sort of shy, when they came up.
What a rare gem he was. A diamond still surrounded by coal, already put through so much pressure. A diamond already formed, just waiting for the soot to be rinsed away.
I smiled, swiped his lower lip with my thumb, and then licked what was left of our kiss off it. He kissed better than most men performed sex.
He slid back a little, and automatically my hands reached for him, tried to clutch him back. I looked up, thinking perhaps I shouldn’t have.
But he smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand delved down between my legs, brushing against the front of my pants and my thighs. I bit down on my lip because, fuck, I wanted more. When he retreated, the bracelet was in his grip. He motioned for my wrist, and I held it out. Without a word, he buckled the bracelet back where it belonged and then covered it with his hand.
“Matt’s part of you. This bracelet is part of you. That’s okay.”
“Please don’t stay here tonight,” I whispered, taking his face in my hands. “I don’t want you here. It’s cold, and it’s not where I am.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
“You’re safe with me, Arrow. I swear. I would never ever make you do anything you weren’t ready for.” I held out my hands, surrendering. “I won’t even touch you unless you say it’s okay. I’ll take the couch in my suite tonight. You can take the bed.”
His hands reached for mine. Our fingers threaded together.
“You really want me to come with you?” he asked.
“More than anything,” I swore.
“All right, Hopp,” he said with a small smile. I love when he calls me that. “I’ll come with you.”
Yes.
Sometimes people surprise you.
Sometimes you surprise yourself.
It usually doesn’t happen on the same day, but today it did.
It almost felt like I’d lived a couple years in a single day. I woke up in a hangar, alone and resigned to it as always. But then coffee and donuts showed up, brought by a man I was so drawn to it was unnatural, yet it felt so right.
He kissed me.
He touched me.
Oh God, the way his fingers felt when he brushed the hair out of my eyes. It seemed obvious how he managed to get my heart so fast, so furiously.
It was ripe for the picking. Like a stray cat lost in the cold. Hungry, desperate, but also independent. The first sign of food, though, of comfort and warmth, independence becomes something that isn’t as important.
Does the fact my heart was vulnerable mean anyone could have claimed it?
No.
Hell no.
Just like an animal, perhaps even a caged or lost one, my heart had instincts. Instincts learned over the course of many years, honed by pain, and mostly muted by sorrow.
But they were there all the same, and those instincts aroused when Hopper showed up on the other side of that fence. Something about him coaxed awake a sleeping part of me.
It wasn’t his incredible good looks either. I barely noticed just how attractive his partly curly hair was, the scruff on his jaw, and the strength in his body. Okay, I noticed. I wasn’t blind. But the way he looked was an afterthought.
The way he made me feel was everything.
Lorhaven was coming around. His support of my choices was as much a relief as it was a blessing.
And then we fought, Hopper and me. Not really fought so much as backed away and ran from each other, from the overwhelming way we were together.
I mourned when he left, but then he came back.
Hopper trusted me enough to tell me his truth, to explain the millions of tiny pieces his life shattered into. It hurt to hear, to know the way he suffered and punished himself.
It hurt because I empathized. I understood. Our pain was different, but it was both deep and crushing, a thief of the lives we once knew.
I did it.
I told him something I’d never spoken out loud before. Something no one else knew (except Jace). People knew I was beaten. It became pretty much common knowledge when Lorhaven almost killed those men. No one knew the worst of that night, and they likely never would.
Some pain was so deep, so painful, and
so dark it was best it remained hidden. Forever.
Now I stood here staring down at a bed that wasn’t mine.
He’d asked me to come, and I was a little embarrassed to admit I was almost beyond the point of denying him. Of denying myself.
Hopper’s suite was standard for nice hotels. It was a two-room suite, the front room the one with a large couch, partial kitchen, television, and table with a few chairs. The bedroom was off from that, and in the center was a large king-size bed.
The walls were white just like the bedding, the furniture was dark, and the flat-screen hanging on the wall adjacent from the bed was huge.
Hopper’s duffle was on a nearby counter, a large mirror hanging above it. A few T-shirts and a sock hung out of the unzipped top. My stomach turned over looking at it all because this was far more intimacy than I had ever known.
I was in his space, where he slept. Where he dressed. Where he retreated to at the end of an exhausting day. If I felt like this in a hotel room, what would it feel like to stand in the center of his apartment?
I glanced back at the down-covered bed. Nerves bundled in the base of my skull, and my fingers trembled slightly. He said I was safe with him, and I believed him.
But I wanted.
I wanted more of his hands, his lips. I wanted far more intimacy than I’d ever gotten from a dark stairwell at a crowded party.
I heard some sound in the other room, and I glanced around through the wide archway. Hopper tossed down his jacket and was standing in front of the thermostat, pressing a button repeatedly. Seconds later, the heat kicked on.
“You warm enough?” he asked, turning his head toward me.
“I’m fine.” I assured him.
“It’ll be warmer in a few.”
I half smiled because he always seemed so concerned about how cold I was and where I lived. “You know…” I began, letting a little amusement poke through my words. “I do have a room at Lorhaven’s place. I just never stay there. And I’ve never frozen at the hangar.”
“You hungry?” he asked, choosing not to acknowledge my words.
“Starved,” I replied. I hadn’t eaten since the coffee and donuts.
He snatched his phone off the counter nearby and tapped the screen a few times. “You like pepperoni?”
“Who doesn’t?”
He grunted. Then a few moments later, he tossed down the phone. “It’ll be here soon.”
I moved into the archway and watched Hopper from between both rooms. His back muscles worked when he opened the small fridge, leaned down, and came back with two longneck bottles of beer.
After removing both caps, he crossed the room and extended one to me. I took it and downed a sip.
“You mind if I take a shower before the pizza gets here?” he asked. “It’s been a long fucking day.” He sounded a little tired, and it made me nervous.
“Sure,” I murmured and moved away. I went backward because he was in front of me and I didn’t want to move past him.
I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was too normal. Us sitting around ordering pizza and drinking beer like we hadn’t just poured out all our secrets wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Was it?
I was just waiting for something bad to happen, for Hopper to look around, see that I didn’t fit in this room—in his world—and send me packing. I wasn’t sure if what I told him fully penetrated yet, if he actually realized I was damaged goods.
How could he not be turned off by the fact I was raped?
“Hey,” Hopper murmured, his voice much closer than I anticipated. I spun. He was right there, and my eyes widened. He didn’t move back, though. Instead, he tapped the side of my head. “What’s going on in here?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
He made a sound. “I don’t have to take a shower. Does it make you uncomfortable?”
“No.” I promised. “Go ahead.”
Hopper studied me for long moments, took a sip of the beer, then set it aside. He held out his hand for mine, then set it right beside his.
This was it.
“I want you here,” he told me. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
I blinked. He couldn’t possibly have known what I’d been thinking.
His lips curled up. “What happened doesn’t change the way I look at you. I still want you.”
“You want me?” I echoed.
He nodded. “Yeah, I do. I want your time. Your smiles. The sound of your voice.”
My chin dipped because I didn’t want him to see how much his words affected me.
He tipped it back up. “Even the awkward moments we sometimes settle in.”
“I don’t understand why,” I whispered, some of my naked doubt in my tone.
“I know,” he murmured and stroked the back of his hand over my cheek. “But to me, you’re so much more than just what happened that night.”
I went forward, full on, and wrapped my arms around him. God, just the fact that I could reach out and hug him, hug someone who held my heart, was amazing to me. And more so?
He hugged me back. My body melted into his like butter. His arms tightened, and I sighed.
After a few, he pulled back, grabbed his beer, and headed toward the bathroom right off the bedroom. “I’ll be out in a few.” He promised before latching the door behind him.
I went out to the other room, turned on the flat-screen, found some old action flick, and then settled back with my beer. A few minutes later, there was a knock on the hotel door. I was surprised when I saw the delivery guy standing there with two large pizzas, because that had been hella fast.
I paid and set the boxes down, restraining myself from inhaling half of it before Hopp even appeared. That would just be rude.
Not long after, I heard the shower shut off and him moving around in the bedroom.
Have you ever heard any of those songs on the radio about wanting to watch a person when they didn’t know you were watching?
No, not stalker songs.
You know, the songs that give someone a glimpse at the person they love at their most natural?
Fine, it’s a terrible analogy. I’m not poetic. Fuck, I barely knew how to function when someone else was in the room with me.
The point is the pull to see him was irresistible. It felt like a string tied taut around my ribcage was being reeled in Hopper’s direction. I stepped into the archway, the fresh scent of soap and balmy air wafting toward me. My eyes bounced off the bed, looked for him. Found him.
My feet halted. Actually, every part of me did. It was as if someone hit pause on just me and I stopped, frozen, unable to think or speak.
He was standing beside the foot of the bed, a pair of jeans low on his waist. They were looser than the usual cargo pants he wore, but they still showed off his ass. His feet were bare. A hint of the boxers he wore peeked out from his waistband and gave way to skin. Smooth, tight skin.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
It was on the bed beside him. His hand was on it like he’d been about to shrug it on.
My mouth ran dry. It was the most skin I’d seen, and yeah, I’d imagined what he looked like beneath those snug shirts he wore. Hopper’s body was a lot more filled out than mine. He looked strong and capable. The muscles in his back, arms, and waist were well defined.
Even his neck looked strong, and it was accentuated by the wet strands on his head that curled up and glistened with water.
He must have sensed me, because he spun and our eyes locked. I knew I likely looked like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. I felt stupid, and I told myself to knock it the fuck off. But I couldn’t help it.
He made me curious.
“Arrow?” Hopper questioned.
“Pizza’s here,” I croaked. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I couldn’t stop wondering.
He frowned, but I barely noticed. “I tried to hurry so I could pay.”
My feet started moving. I felt like a calf who just started walking on
wobbly legs. I could literally feel myself breathe, the air whooshing in and out of my lungs. My heart thudded, excitement and anxiety pumping through my limbs.
His entire body swiveled around so we were standing face to face. I stopped with not much space left between us and swallowed thickly. I didn’t want to say a word. Hell, I could barely think, let alone form a sentence. I longed for the… confidence, the familiarity to just reach out and take what I wanted.
I was unsure. I had to ask.
I knew what it was to not be asked.
“Can I touch you?” I didn’t even recognize my own whisper.
My God, my stomach was flipping like it wasn’t a stomach anymore, but a tilt-a-whirl with a broken switch.
“You don’t ever have to ask,” he said, low.
My fingers curled into my palms as I stood there and stared. I watched his Adam’s apple bob and a stray droplet of water slide down his neck.
Finally, I brushed the tips of my fingers across his collarbone. It was a feather-light touch, barely there. He stood stock still, and I was pretty sure he even held his breath.
It wasn’t enough, though, that whisper of a caress. My hand turned bolder. My palm flattened over his chest, pressing against his heart. I felt it beating rapidly, so rapidly my eyes flew up to his.
“It’s okay.” He promised, and then my hands started to move.
I dragged my palms out across his shoulders, down his upper arms, and curled around the rounded muscle of his bicep. I liked his chest better, though, that wide expanse of skin, the warmth he radiated, and how alive he felt.
Both my palms pressed back to his chest and then slid down until his rock-hard nipples poked their center. I circled around his pecs and then came right back to the center. Using my fingers, I tugged lightly at the erect pebbles, and his eyes slid closed, his throat working.
After that, my hands continued down, following the lean lines of his waist and moving in to explore the ripples of his abs.
I noticed the hairs on his arms raised; beneath were thousands of tiny bumps racing over his skin. Gooseflesh. My touch was exciting him.
I left his waist and went back up, letting one hand delve into the wet, clingy curls at his neck. They were slippery and cool but curled around my fingers instantly. My heart constricted.
#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Page 24