I'm alone in the makeshift office. I blank out as I stare at the papers on the desk. The window is cracked so I can listen to the pine needles rustling in the light breeze. For some reason, that sound soothes me. We've been at this cabin for almost three weeks, and once a week Joe sends me a video clip that I delete. I have Rich and Paul and David trying to track Joe down. Nothing. David thinks he's out of the country. I don't give a shit where he is. I will find him, if it takes me the rest of my fucking life, I will get him.
Tor is slowly beginning to resemble her old self. She no longer flinches if I touch her, and she doesn't break down when I kiss her, but she still has those fucking nightmares every night. She wakes up screaming or crying, whimpering. I hate that. Joe has worked his way so deep into her; he's so far under her skin that he's like a fucking disease just eating away at her from the inside out. She told me the other day that when she was with Joe, she prayed for death. She said she'd never prayed before because she didn't believe in a god, but, at the time, she thought if one did exist he would pity her enough to end it. What do you say to that? I can't take that fear away from her no matter how badly I fucking want to. He branded her physically and mentally, and I don't know that those wounds will ever completely heal.
I stare at the names David sent me. All these men are tied to Joe, and as I glance down I find two that, at one time, were clients of mine. Leaning back in the chair, I see Tor step into the doorway, and rest against the frame. She dyed her hair blonde again, and despite all she's been through, she somehow just radiates this glow. Her steel-blue eyes drift over to me, and a small smile plays on her full lips. God, that woman is fucking beautiful. Even with the hatred and coldness that tries to overtake her at times, nothing can make her seem less than perfect. She's mine. My gaze slowly skims down her body, halting when it reaches the low cut dip in her dress. I feel my dick swell. I can't fucking help it. My eyes trail further down to the hem of the short, pale blue dress she's wearing. It hits midway up her thigh. She shifts her legs, and the hem rises a little. I adjust myself in my seat to make my tightening jeans less constricting. I want to fuck her so badly, but I'm not even attempting that.
"Do you know where he is yet?" she asks, drumming her fingers over the wooden doorframe.
I grab my cigarettes and tap one loose from the pack, placing it between my lips. I hold the flame to the tip and drag in a lungful of smoke. "No," I say, exhaling.
"We need to find him, Jude," she sighs, staring at the wall. "Every day that he's breathing... I just need him dead."
I take another hit from the cigarette, blowing a steady stream of smoke from my lips as I think about how I want to kill fucking Joe. About how I want to drag it out over the course of a goddamn month, but I'm not going to say that to Tor right now, so instead I just say, "I know."
"No." Her bottomless eyes turn to meet mine. "You don't."
I take another puff and stare at her as I blow more smoke through my parted lips, my jaw instinctively clenching as the usual guilt gnaws at me. I hate being reminded how messed up she is. "I fucking know, Tor," I say through gritted teeth.
Her eyes spark violently, her nostrils flaring. I can tell she's thinking about him. Over the past few days, she's reached a volatile level of anger at the situation, and I'm honestly relieved with that. Guilt, denial... that does nothing, but anger, well, that's a whole different story. That is one emotion that at times can be more cleansing than a fucking baptism. When you finally let all that pent up tension go, it's freeing because when you've lost everything, sometimes anger is all you have. As shitty as it is, at times in life, revenge is all that's left. And that's where we are now.
She pushes away from the doorway. Her steps light as she makes her way toward me and leans over the desk. She takes the cigarette from my hand and places it between her full lips, pulling in a long drag and blowing a stream of smoke in my direction. "You really, really can't understand this," she says as she steps around the desk and sits on the edge in front of me.
She crosses her legs. That innocent movement causes her sundress to ride up her thighs far enough that I can see the white lace of her underwear peeking out. Swallowing hard, I force my eyes away from her long, lean legs. The phone rings, which is a welcomed distraction, and I quickly reach to answer it.
"Hello?" I barely get the word out of my mouth before I hear the line click. I frown, looking up to see the disconnected cord. Tor twists it around her fingers while she smirks. She places her bare foot on the chair next to my thigh and spreads her legs open, giving me a much clearer view of her.
I lean my head back against the chair and squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want to fucking deal with this right now. Honestly, I don't have the control to.
"Tor..."
"Jude," she answers flatly, that sexy smirk deepening on her face.
I push her foot from the seat. "What are you doing?"
Her gaze is locked to mine as she slowly pushes herself off the desk. She slides onto my lap and straddles me. Arching her brow, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and laces her fingers behind my neck. Her warm pussy presses against my cock through my jeans. It's been too damn long since I fucked her. I grab her hips, situating her further down my lap so she can't feel my hard-on. "Tor, what are you doing?"
Her eyes flash. "Do you need me to spell it out for you?" Her fingers drift over my shoulders to the top button of my shirt and unfasten it. She teasingly scrapes her nails over my exposed skin, causing me to draw in a slow breath. She moves her fingers to the next button, popping it loose, then to the next.
I grab her wrist. "You don't want this," I say, raising both brows.
Frowning, she tilts her head to the side. I can see the hurt mounting in her eyes, the crying vulnerability.
"I don't want this, or you don't want this?" she asks softly.
I’m not sure how to handle this because I don't think she can't handle it. She may think she can. Sighing, I cup her cheek and brush my thumb over her soft skin. "Believe me, I want you."
Her chest rises in uneven breaths, her eyes glued to mine.
"I just don't think you're ready," I say.
Her entire face crumples. Just when I'm afraid she's going to break down into tears, she whispers, "Please.” That one word is spoken so softly I can barely make it out. "I can't, I don't want him..."
She diverts her gaze to the wall behind me. She's so ashamed of that, and it kills me. It's not her fault, but I think somehow, she's made herself feel like it is. I gently grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. There's a long pause of silence as I fail to find the right words.
Her brow furrows and her eyes plead with me. "I need you take it away."
I tenderly squeeze her thigh, and her eyes fall to my chest. There are no words that can make this right. I'm better off not saying a damn thing. She is so fragile, and I never know what I'll say or do that may break her. She needs to know she's worth something, she needs to feel loved, but this is where I struggle. I am not that man that can put a feeling into words. I'm not fucking romantic. I lack sympathy on damn near every level.
I press my lips to hers in an attempt to help her feel what I cannot say. The heat of her soft lips floods my skin. My fingers dig into her leg, and I fight every urge I have to throw her down and take her.
Her tongue skims my bottom lip, and her fingers tighten on my shoulders as she presses her body harder over mine. I allow my hands to travel up her sides to her neck, scratching my fingers up into her hair as I kiss her deeper. Her hands drop to my belt buckle. I notice them tremble as she yanks at it. She's desperate, her movements jolty, and I realize I just can't do this with her. I release her hair and break away from her.
"Tor," I say quietly, stilling her hands. Her chin drops to her chest. "I just need you to be—"
"It's fine. You don't want me. I get it." She pushes off of me and staggers to her feet.
I rub my hand over my forehead. I'm annoyed because I don't know what the fuck to do with her. I go too far, and she loses her shit, I don't go far enough and she thinks I don't want her.
She goes to walk away, but I grab her by the wrist. I stand and push her against the desk. I'm not going to do this with her. She makes an attempt to shove me away, but I don't budge. She's breaking, and I can see it. I'm done letting her fucking go off and break by herself. I pull her back to me, and she pushes me away again. This time, I give a little but refuse to let go of her waist. She fights me, pounding her fists over my chests, her fragile body shaking underneath my grasp.
"Fuck you, Jude!"
The next thing I know, a loud slap rings out, and I feel the sting across my cheek.
I blow out a calming breath and take it, gritting my teeth. My fingers instinctively flinch into her waist. "Tor..." I growl. "I am not the person you're fucking mad at." Her fingers fist my shirt, and then she breaks. Her eyes slam shut, and her body trembles as a ragged sob tears from her throat. I will do anything for her, be anything to her, but I'll admit, I don't know how to help her with this. I grab her, cupping the back of her head as I bring her to my chest and hold her.
"Whatever you need, doll," I mumble into her hair. "I'll give you whatever you want, whatever you need, as long as it is what you need." She buries her face in my chest; her fingers balled in my shirt. "Look at me," I whisper.
She tilts her face up. Her cheeks are slick with tears, and I swipe my thumbs underneath her eyes to wipe away the remaining tears. How could she possibly think that I don't want her? I've never wanted any damn woman the way I want her. She fucking owns me, and she's completely unaware of it. I shake my head gently as I scoop her up into my arms. "I'm gonna take you to bed."
I carry her through the cabin, slowly climbing the stairs to the bedrooms. I pull in the scent of her hair just before I lay her on the bed. That smell is so familiar, so fucking undeniable. "What do you want me to do, Tor?" I ask as I sit on the bed next to her.
She bites her bottom lip, refusing to look at me. "I just don't want him to be the last person to..." her voice breaks. She draws her knees up to her chest, resting her elbows on them and burying her face in her hands.
Fuck. I drag my hands down my jaw trying to decide if this is really what the hell she needs. I rub my hand along her spine. "You are absolutely sure you want me to do this?"
She silently nods. "This is something only you can fix, Jude," she whispers.
I swallow hard, and gently pull her into my lap, wrapping her legs around me. Our eyes lock, and I'm fucking terrified I'm going to hurt her. I press my forehead against hers and close my eyes as I trail my fingers up and down her neck. "You tell me if you want me to stop."
She nods, and I rise from the bed, holding her as I gently lay her back on the bed and hover over her. I inhale as I skim my lips up the side of her throat, over the thick scar beneath her jaw. Her quickening pulse thumps against my lips. Her fingers comb through my hair as her breaths become uneven. I nervously trace my hand up the inside of her thigh, pushing the hem of her skirt up as I go. My finger brushes between her legs and she freezes, her breath catching. Her grip on my hair tightens nearly to the point of pain. I pull back to look at her. Her head is thrown back against the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in her body tense as hell.
"Tor..."
Her eyes slowly open, hardened and cold once again. I can't do this to her. She's too fucked up in the head from Joe, and I don't want to hurt her, but I fucking miss this, I miss her. Suddenly, her palms press against my chest like she's going to shove me away, but instead she forces me onto my back. She straddles my hips and glares down at me. Her chest rises in ragged swells. "I want you to take it away," she says as she takes the bottom of my shirt and rips it over my head. "Make me forget," she pleads.
Grabbing her by the hips, I yank her toward me, and she falls forward onto her elbows. I grip the back of her neck and bring her into a brutal kiss. She wants to forget? I'll make her fucking forget anything that isn't me. She nips at my bottom lip and a low moan transfers from her mouth to mine. That noise causes my cock to twitch. My innate urge is to pin her down by her throat, and I inhale, attempting to control myself. I slowly snake my palms up her thighs until I feel lace against my skin. I slip one finger beneath the material, and the second I touch her, her lips still.
I stop, pushing her up enough to see her face. "Tor, look at me."
Her eyes focus on mine, and I can see the fear in them, the uncertainty.
She takes an unsteady breath, resting her forehead against mine as she grabs the waist of my jeans and undoes my fly, then stops. She's breathing so damn hard and just staring off. It's like she's convincing herself she can do this, and that's not what I want.