by Lilly Atlas
Actually, she’d only had one or two of its kind in the past. There was just one problem with that kind of orgasm, for her anyway. It made her all gooey inside.
Emotionally speaking.
The other times her world had been rocked in such a way were with the first man she’d slept with. Her college boyfriend whom she fancied herself marrying for a time. Of course, as with many young relationships, it ended and she moved on, but at the time she was head over heels. After that she’d only slept with one additional man who hadn’t exactly been a Casanova in the sack.
Now, in the light of day, she was a mess of jumbled emotions. Confusion and anxiety were the primary reactions keeping her unproductive. With a heavy sigh, she folded the corner of a top sheet and tucked it between the mattress and box spring of her guest bed. It’d been taking her about six times as long as it should to make up a bed for Scott, and she wasn’t even to the comforter yet.
How on earth did Logan worm his way past her very well constructed defenses? How and why did she allow him to? Really, he didn’t worm his way anywhere, he’d demolished her walls with a freaking wrecking ball. None of the other men she’d been with since the kidnapping had come close to knocking her out of her head and getting her to go off script. She cuffed them to her bed, lubed them up, and rode them until they came. And in that time, the power she experienced having a man at her mercy alleviated the fear and anxiety she had been struggling with for months. When it was over, she uncuffed and left.
That was that.
But she’d not only let Logan break the rules, she’d allowed it to continue until she shattered with pleasure. What she needed to do was forget the entire incident, finish making the bed, and get ready for her brother’s visit.
But that was much easier said than done. Mainly because of how damn good Logan made her feel. So good, she wanted a repeat. Wanted to come again. So much so, she’d whipped out her trusty vibrator only to chuck it across the room in frustration twenty minutes later when she wasn’t even close to climax.
So, there she was, confused, anxious, slightly horny, and feeling some unnamed affection for the random man who’d rocked her world. That last part, the affection, she refused to give credence to. Way too complicated.
With a huff, Chloe grabbed the sky-blue comforter from the floor and dragged it up the bed, smoothing and tugging it straight.
Then there was the guilt. Probably the most powerful of the morning-after emotions. For fuck’s sake, she’d left the poor guy naked and defenseless guy handcuffed to the freakin’ bed.
She’d officially become a monster.
The guilt was so strong, earlier that morning she’d staked out the parking lot of the motel, hoping to see the maid venture into the rom. She had to make sure Logan had been freed but was far too chicken shit to check on the room herself. When the maid knocked on the door, entered and exited a moment later with the dirty linens, her heartrate had skyrocketed. But nothing happened. No pissed off man exited the room. No cops were called. No angry demands to speak to management.
Somehow, he’d gotten out of the room. What the hell had he done? Broken the bed apart? Would she receive a bill from the motel in a few days? With her brother due to arrive, she hadn’t had time to linger, so she hightailed it back home to obsess in the comfort of her own house.
A knock at her door had her tossing the last pillow on the bed before jogging down the stairs.
“Coming,” she yelled then rolled her eyes.
Yeah, she freakin’ wished.
A quick peek through the peephole revealed her handsome big brother standing with his hands propped on his hips. He may have been the closest of her siblings, but they looked the most different. His hair was blonde to her auburn, and his freckle-free skin tanned like he wasn’t of the same Irish descent as she was. They did, however, share the same green eyes.
It took a minute, as it always did these days, to unlock the four deadbolts, but once she had the door opened, she flung herself into her brother’s arms. “Scotty,” she said as his thick arms closed around her.
“Hey, sis.” He engulfed her like he always did, in a bear hug that stole her breath.
All she experienced was a quick flash of alarm before she remembered it was in fact Scott. Her favorite sibling, who’d die before hurting her. He’d also kill before allowing her to be hurt, hence the elaborate lie she’d cooked up regarding her attack.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, the words muffled by his broad chest. A good thing because the sudden rush of emotion at having family close had her throat closing and her eyes filling.
“Me too, sissy. Me too. You gonna invite me in or are we gonna stand here hugging all day like a bunch of chumps?”
It was the exact perfect thing to say. Knocked her out of her emotional moment. “Yes, of course.” She drew back, and thankfully he ignored her sniff and nose-swipe. “Just drop your bag by the door and we’ll take you to your room later.”
He let the long green military-issued sea bag drop to the wood floor as he took a look around. “Nice place, sis. You’ve done well. Proud of you.”
Her heart swelled under the praise just before it deflated again. Proud of her. Ha. He wouldn’t be so proud if he knew she was getting over being attacked by fucking hordes of random men.
Jesus, just the thought of him, or anyone she knew finding out had her gut churning.
“Hey.” He cuffed her shoulder. “It was a compliment, weirdo. You’re supposed to say thank you.”
God, she loved their sibling banter. With a mock punch to his gut, she said, “Come on, you giant. I made a fresh pot of coffee.”
Scott followed her past the den with its oversized plush couch and leather recliner. The chair was a little more masculine than the rest of her furniture, but she’d always loved the feel of soft leather against her skin. They entered her kitchen, which was hands down her favorite room in the place.
“Wow, Clo, this is sweet.”
“Thanks. I love it too. It was owned by an elderly gentleman who remodeled the kitchen after his wife died. He’d planned to sell after updating the place but passed from a heart attack before he ever had the chance to enjoy it. His kids just wanted out from under the responsibility of it all, so they sold it for a song.”
“Shit, unlucky for the old guy but lucky for you.”
Chloe laughed. “You’re as sensitive as ever, I see.”
He just grunted. Typical Scott.
“Seriously though, sis, stainless appliances, granite counter tops, is that a Viking range? Shit, you must love cooking in here.”
Chloe motioned to a chair at her round oak table. A thrift store miracle find. “Have a seat. I’ll grab you some coffee. And I do love to cook, but since it’s just me, I don’t actually do it much. So it’ll be great to have you around to spoil with some home cooking for a few weeks.” She grabbed two large mugs from the cabinet directly above her coffee pot.
“Oh man.” Scott stretched back in his chair, rubbing his flat stomach as though he’d already devoured a huge meal. “I can already feel the pounds I’m going to pack on being here. Bring it, girl.”
Chloe smiled. She’d hadn’t been as excited for Scott’s visit as she should have been, more concerned with her own anxieties and issues, but now that he was here and the enjoyment of being with him sank in, she was beyond thrilled. Having someone around, Scott especially, would be good for her. She’d been alone far too much lately. Having another person to cook for was just what the doctor ordered. She loved to cook and really hadn’t done her near-professional grade kitchen justice. Well, she’d be sure to give it a workout over the next two weeks.
“Black?”
“Yep.”
She drank it the same way. One of the many things she had in common with her oldest sibling. After placing his steaming mug on the table, she took the empty chair directly across from him. With a deep inhale, she savored the comforting and invigorating smell of the premium java. As she lifted th
e cup for a sip, her gaze collided with Scott’s very serious, and pretty grim expression. “What? Is it gross?”
He huffed. “No, the coffee’s great. It’s you I’d like to talk about.”
Well damn. She flicked a glance at the analog clock on the wall. He’d given her a total of seven minutes before diving right in. Guess she should have been glad, he could have started in on her before he stepped in the house. Or before she got her coffee—even worse.
“I’m good, Scott. Better every day.” The words sounded so rehearsed she wouldn’t even be cast in a Soap Opera. She smiled but even that felt contrived. Hopefully he’d buy it anyway.
Scott burst out laughing. “Nice try, Clo, but I’ve known you for twenty-seven years. You think I can’t tell when you’re full of shit?”
No, he could tell. So could the rest of her family. Which was why, after their initial flocking to see her, she’d distanced herself over the past few months.
“Tell me, what the cops have done? Where are they with your case? Are they staying on top of it because I can speak with them if you’d like.” As he spoke, he straightened his spine as though preparing to posture for the police.
“Whoa there, speedy.” Chloe held up the hand not wrapped around her coffee. “Take a breath. I do not need you to speak with the cops.”
Mostly because there was nothing to speak with them about. She’d given them a cock and bull story that led their investigation to a brick wall within minutes. As for her family, they’d gotten a completely different tale.
“You sure, sis? You don’t have to do this all alone.” His half glare half scowl was full of disappointment. “You don’t have to push your family away.” As he spoke, a yellow lock of hair fell in front of his eyes.
There was the heart of the issue. “I’m not, Scott. But I’m an adult. And I can handle it on my own.” Even if handle it meant becoming some kind of man-dominating junkie. “Besides, he’s been arrested. Trial is in a few months.” By then Scott would be off in some other country saving the world and unable to butt in. She sipped from her mug; the coffee not nearly as bitter as her lies.
“And it was someone you’d dated?” He shoved his hair back in place in a move that appeared frustrated. With the errant hair or with her?
“Mm-hmm.” Sounds were easier to lie with than words, but Scott was a trained interrogator. Wouldn’t take much for him to grow suspicious. Chloe forced herself to look him in the eye. “We went out a few times. I didn’t know him too well though.”
“Fuck.” He scratched his bearded chin. Normally, the military didn’t allow facial hair, but with special ops, they were often required to blend in with the culture, so those guys frequently sported facial hair. Or so Scott informed her. “Half the world is fucking psycho, Clo. Please tell me you’re being extra cautious with the guys you meet now.”
His expression was pained. For her. He’d suffered because she did. And because he was too far away to come comfort her and kick someone’s ass. That’s just who Scott was. He took care of everyone he knew and had a protective streak ten miles long. “Um, yeah, sure. I’m very careful.”
Lying to him made her stomach hurt, but no one could know her secret. She couldn’t imagine a single scenario where someone would understand what she was doing and why. Even others who’d been in a similar horrifying position didn’t react as she did. She’d rather lie than see shock and disgust reflected back at her.
He stared at her, clearly not believing her. “Don’t lie to me, Clo.”
Shit. Why the hell did he have to be so observant? “I, uh—”
His brow furrowed. “You’re not going out at all, are you? Not dating? Not even hanging out with your friends?”
Well…he wasn’t wrong, per se. She wasn’t actually dating and had pushed most of her friends away by constantly declining invitations. But how the hell was she supposed to explain to Scott the only time she could handle being around men was on her special nights, so to speak? Leaving the house wasn’t the issue; she could drive around in her car all day. It was being close to people. Other men mostly. In a space where they might brush against her or try to touch her. Men who might appear normal on the outside, but how was she supposed to know what lurked beneath the surface? One of the men who’d kidnapped her had looked totally normal. Sure, one looked like a stereotypical thug, but the other could have been her bank teller for all she knew.
She almost laughed out loud. She couldn’t bump into a man in the grocery store without losing her shit, but she had no problem taking strangers back to a hotel room for sex.
Jesus, she needed therapy.
Big time.
But that wasn’t an option. The man who’d rescued her asked her to refrain from telling her story to anyone. He’d promised his motorcycle gang or whatever it was would take care of the situation for her. So, she’d lied to the cops, lied to her family, and avoided therapy so there wasn’t anyone who could report the truth to the cops. Lying to a therapist was an option but seemed like nothing more than a waste of time and money. Though, if she were honest, she didn’t think she’d have gone anyway. She was too embarrassed to divulge her deep dark secret. Even to a paid professional who’d probably heard it all.
Bet they haven’t heard this one.
“Clo, you with me?”
She blinked. Shit, what had he asked? “Sorry, what did you say?”
“You all right? You kinda checked out on me for a minute there.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his.
Shaking her head, Chloe said, “Yeah, big brother, I’m good. Just got lost in my mind for a second. Uh, you asked if I was going out. No, I’m not. I’m just not ready for that yet, Scott. And I’d appreciate it if you’d just let it lie. I need to work through it at my own pace.”
Staring at her as though she was a code he was trying to decrypt, he sipped his coffee, swallowed, then sipped again. She squirmed under the weight of his assessment. He wouldn’t even have to interrogate the bad guys, just bore into their heads with his x-ray eyes and they’d spill their guts.
“Jesus, Scott, stop trying to Ranger me and just be a normal big brother.” She lifted the mug to her lips; anything to distract from the way he tried to tunnel inside her brain. Damnit, when had she finished the coffee?
Scott rose and grabbed her cup as he made his way to the half-full coffee pot. He stared out the window as he poured. “You know,” he said. “I was hoping to get out a bit. Explore the area a little while I’m here. Maybe do some hiking, take in a movie, eat at a few restaurants. Normal things I haven’t been able to do in more than eight months.”
“For sure. You should definitely do all those things. And more. Enjoy your time off. You’re welcome here as long as you want.”
He turned, holding the mug out to her, and for the first time since he walked in her house, she got a glimpse of the boy she’d idolized growing up. Scott had nine years on her and to say she’d followed him around like a loyal puppy would be an understatement. “I don’t want to do all this shit alone, Clo. I want to do it with you. I want you to show me around and hang with me.”
With his intense military career, he didn’t get much down time. Much time to just be a regular guy enjoying life. If all he wanted was to spend time with her, she could force herself out of her comfort zone and rejoin the real world.
Maybe. At the very least she could try.
With an internal sigh, she accepted the fresh coffee. “Of course, Scott. Just because I haven’t been ready to dive back into the single scene doesn’t mean I’m locking myself away in my house.” Hopefully that came off believable. “I’d be happy to take you to all the local sights. Hell,” she gave him a saucy grin. “We can even go to Dollywood. I have to work some, but should be able to spare plenty of time.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Looking forward to it, sis.”
Chloe swallowed the anxiety already creeping up her throat. Maybe having big, strong, and sometimes scary Scott with her woul
d keep the demons at bay.
Or maybe by next weekend she’d be so stressed, she’d need the one thing keeping her sane.
The one thing she could never pull off while Scott was around.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ROCKET KNOCKED ON the heavy wooden door his president was working behind. To say he wasn’t looking forward to this meeting was quite an understatement. Disappointing Copper sucked worse than letting a parent down, mostly because he respected the hell out of Copper, whereas his parents were useless.
“Come in.” Copper’s accented voice came through the door.
Prepared for his fate, Rocket entered the sizable office. The prez wasn’t much of one for decorating, but his ol’ lady, Shell, had added a few touches to the place years ago. A plush leather chair, some badass skull and motorcycle knickknacks on the desk, black and white photos of bikes mounted to the walls. In the space behind Copper’s oak desk was a large twenty-four-by-thirty-six-inch framed picture of himself, Copper, Mav, Zach, and Jig. The good old days. They were all a good five years younger and twice as many years softer.
Well, maybe not Rocket. He’d hardened up ages ago. Both his heart and his mind.
“Hey, prez,” he said as he took the empty chair across from Copper.
The stare he received had him thinking he wasn’t leaving with just a verbal slap. Fuck, Copper might just swing one of those giant fists his way.
Dropping his pen to the desk, Copper leaned back in his leather chair. Both thick arms folded across his chest, all the while he seared Rocket with that pissed off glare. Even injured, with his left leg in a cast and his body beat to shit, Copper was a formidable foe. “Ain’t gonna bother with bullshit, Rocket. Just come straight out and tell me what the fuck is going on. You in trouble?”
And that, right there, was the reason Copper had the respect of every man in the club. Rocket had fucked up. He’d missed church a few weeks ago which was a sin worse than murder, and he’d been unreachable when his president was abducted. While Copper was being tortured by a psychopath, Rocket had his phone shut down and was off the grid. Yet as pissed off as he was, Copper’s first thought was to go to battle for his men.
