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I fall onto my back, and her head crashes against my chest.
Her hand comes to my arm and her small fingers wrap around my biceps. She squeezes hard, her nails digging into my skin. But suddenly, she’s calm. The gesture seems to get her to rest again, and as quickly as it came, it disappears.
In a split second, she’s fast asleep on my chest, her breathing even, her body relaxed. She’s holding my arm loosely, and there’s not a word coming out of her anymore.
I blink down, looking at the top of her head. This is fucking uncomfortable. I hate it.
She’s heavy on my chest, my neck is at an awkward angle with the headboard, and her shoulder is digging into my ribs. But she whimpers when I try to move her, her body tightening against mine, leg wrapping around my hips.
“For heaven’s sake, Kayla.” I huff, sending a puff of air on her black hair.
But I don’t move.
In fact, I barely breathe, not wanting to disrupt her sleep.
Fuck, I even put my hand in her hair to caress it.
“You’re fine now,” I whisper to her. Why? She can’t even hear me. “No matter what he did, you’re safe now.” Would you listen to that hypocrite.
I don’t sleep. I watch the summer sun rise early. I listen to the birds singing in the tree outside my window. But mainly? I listen to every single breath Kayla takes.
What is it?
Name it, Nate.
That warmth that spreads through your chest when she holds on to you.
Name it.
19
KAYLA
Something To Hide - grandson
A groan escapes me the second I feel my body wake up. My eyes aren’t even open yet and my stiff neck lets me know I slept in a horrible position. It’s one of those mornings where a pounding headache is my alarm clock. Fucking hate these mornings.
I’m on my side, practically on my front, really, my leg hooked around something hard, my cheek resting on a smooth and warm surface, and my hand holding…
Fuck.
In a split second, I’m attempting to pull away from Nate, but his hand resting at the back of my neck tightens, keeping me close to his chest.
“Let me go,” I hiss.
“You weren’t complaining last night when you hooked yourself onto me like a barnacle to a boat.”
Last night is a fucking mess in my head. I don’t even remember getting out of that torture room he calls a basement. All I know is the mix of pleasure and pain I felt. I remember the soft sheets, the thrusts of his hard cock inside me that brought unmatched amounts of pleasure.
The clearest moment is when he asked me to tell him to stop. And that I did only because it turns us both on. I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted it to last forever. Even when my body was sore, even when I couldn’t breathe, even when I was in and out of consciousness. I wanted it all and more.
I said stop when I wanted to say harder. I moaned no when I wanted to beg him to hurt me more, to force me to take something so painful it would break me completely.
You’re my dirty little masochist. Mine.
Yes. I really fucking am.
“I didn’t hook onto you. Let me go, Nate.”
