It’s obvious he doesn’t want me to touch him, and wants to keep his distance. And here for a moment, when he was touching me, I thought maybe he wanted more, wanted to keep going and make me feel good. But it was all a fantasy. One I’ve conjured up. I know it. I know I did this to myself. He was merely trying to make up for being a jerk. I should have realized that from the get-go.
Shame ignites in my gut, and I frown.
Lachlan taps my chin with his finger, lifting it to meet his gaze. “Ye never did anythin’ wrong. I’m fucked up in the head.” He knocks the side of his skull with his fist, and I flinch at the harsh sound. “Ye’re a good, wholesome, pure woman. A lassie who’s been through too fuckin’ much. I hate that ye’re always havin’ tae deal with me bein’ a bastard tae ye. Ye dinnae deserve that shit.”
I love that he’s opening up, I really do, but I can’t help but feel that he’s deflecting on purpose. He hasn’t answered my question, and I want to know.
“What were you thinking about earlier?”
Screw it.
I set one palm back on his chest, which I have to say might be my favorite part of his entire body, aside from his handsome face. Taking a step forward, my front meets his and he goes ramrod straight. The fingers at my waist plunge deeper, and the sharp bite sends shockwaves to my lady parts. Like a match strike, my clit ignites into a dull throb and I suppress a moan.
A hard thickness presses to my belly, and I feel it twitch, pumping fuller, turning to velvet steel. Roughly, he clears his throat. “Mags, ye need tae leave me be. I dinnae wanna talk aboot it.” His sharp edge is gone, replaced by a vulnerability.
Glancing into his eyes, all I can see is his raw pain, raw need, and something else that I can’t put my finger on. He tries to retreat and create distance, only I follow him all the way to the wall, where I mold myself to him. My breasts press to his abs, my legs brush his, and my hands now lie flat on his pecs that are pumping with the speed of his reckless breathing. The heart pounding under my palm mimics mine.
“Talk to me,” I beg softly, unable to take his distance any more.
I hate that he’s been gone. And what I hate even more is that he treats me like I don’t matter to him, which is a damn lie. As much as I try to deny it, I must, or he wouldn’t have taken me to work this morning. He wouldn’t care enough to get angry around me. He wouldn’t have done a lot of things he’s done. Maybe it’s a fantasy I’ve created about him, and I’m the lunatic. I told you I was going to need to be admitted to the loony bin after I lived upstairs with him. But this feels real. The static between us can’t be imaginary; it flows around us every time we’re near one another. It’s an uncontrollable magnetism.
I’ve tried to negate my attraction, I’ve tried to deny anything that I’ve felt, I’ve tried to keep my own detachment, and it’s impossible. He drives me mad. Flippin’ mad! One minute, he can’t stop touching me, which fills this void deep-down, while giving my self-confidence a jolt, like a car battery that needs juice to run. The next minute, he bolts, leaving me wrecked and confused.
At first, I couldn’t want him because he was married, and because of my love for Brian. Now he’s getting a divorce. For all I know, it’s already been finalized. The only thing that’s come of Meredith since that night was the letter I got in the mail, containing the restraining order. I haven’t been told anything else. Not that I’ve cared. If she’s gone and I don’t have to see her face again, or hear her call me fat one more time, then that’s just fine and dandy with me.
As for Brian, I know he would kick my butt if I continued to live my life pining for him. I knew that ten years ago, and I know that even more so now.
“We’re gonna be together until death do us part, babes. I love you.” Brian expressed that to me a million times. It was the way he said I love you. I always replied, “Death ain’t got nothin’ on us, and I love you way more.” We had loved each other, deeply, and it was death that parted us. Until the night that I revealed everything to Lachlan, I hadn’t known the amount of pain I’d been harboring all of those years. A weight had lifted and the sky had parted, allowing the brilliant blue to shine down on me. Ever since then, I’ve been walking around lighter, and with a bit more optimism in my life. Something I can honestly say I never thought could happen. Ever.
Am I still insecure? Scared out of my mind? Hurt about losing Brian and then Grams? Hell yes, I am. Do I want to let that rule my life? No, not any more. I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor. A survivor who now has a job where she’s respected, who has a roof over her head, and a haunted man she cares about, that might just feel the same way. I’ve also got Bridget, who adds insurmountable joy to my otherwise boring life. I don’t know how I’ve gotten this lucky, and I’m not sure how or when life went from pain and sucking, to this. To me cooking dinners, making sandwiches, and feeling like I’m a part of something real. Something that I need. Something that I love. Something that I’d die fighting for.
Ignoring my plea, I touch Lachlan like I’ve never touched him before. Raising one hand from his chest, I cup his scruffy jaw in my palm. It scratches me in the most delicious way. Pained, teal eyes, hooded and dull, stare back me as he remains still.
“Six weeks ago, I cried in your arms after your wife decided to break into this house.” My thumb gently brushes over his goatee. “You listened to me pour my heart out to you, about someone I’d never talked about with anyone but my grams before.”
I pause to let my calm words penetrate. His reaction is. . .naught. “Since that day you’ve pulled away more than before. . .Not that we were ever close.” I shrug. “But you were around more, we texted, we tried to be friends. . .I thought we were friends.” With sincerity, I pour all of my emotions into his eyes.
“I cannae be yer friend, my leannan,” Lachlan mutters quietly through gritted teeth.
“What does that even mean? My. . .however you pronounce it.”
“Leannan,” he repeats slowly. “It means I cannae be yer friend, and I cannae have ye touchin’ me like this.” His face lurches away from my palm, and it falls to his chest. “I cannae give whatever it is ye think ye want.” He shakes his head. “Not ever.”
Just like that, I think I died a little. The small flicker of hope fades into the black recesses of my heart.
“Your friendship? You can’t be my friend? You can’t talk to me and tell me what’s going on with you? Why you’re so distant? Why you’re always so hot and cold? I’d prefer warm, Lachlan. Warm is good. Warm is steady and safe. But, nooo, you have to give me burning hot. Hot to the point I think I might actually combust when you touch me. Then two milliseconds later, you’re stalking away as if you could care less, as if I don’t even matter.” I’m panting for breath by the end of my rant, and my blood pressure rises to volcanic.
I can’t believe he doesn’t even want to be my friend! That’s all I’m asking. I’m not asking him to kiss me, or hold me, or god-for-freakin’-bid, love me. Not sure if I want that either. But I do want him to touch me, and I do want his hands to do more than grip my hips. I want them to embrace me. Is that too much to ask?
“Ye matter.” He confirms as the fingers on my hips dig deeper, cementing his statement.
My clit nearly bursts in reaction. Holding back a moan, I bite my lip and shove my face between his pecs. The scent of him surrounds me, drugging me, and I rub my nose in my favorite spot; the spot that has soft, red hair underneath.
Lachlan grunts disapprovingly, and before I’m able to inhale his magnificent scent once more, he’s shoving me away.
My back collides with my chair, and a sharp pain follows.
“I’m so sorry. I cannae do this.” With the shake of his head and a grimace, Lachlan sprints from the kitchen. I hear the door slam shut, signaling his departure, and wait to hear his Harley roar to life; only it doesn’t. The music in the barn begins to thump louder than ever before, rattling the windows and the scarce pictures mounted on the walls.
Something’s wrong
with him. I don’t know how I know it; I just do. And if he doesn’t want to tell me, then I’m going to find out myself, even if I have to tie him up and torture it out of him. Not that that’s what I wanna do. I wouldn’t know the first thing about tying up a giant with thighs-for-arms. But I have to try. I may not be cured, and yes, I have my moments, but Lachlan’s helped me. Now it’s my turn to help him. It’s for his own good.
Approaching the barn, the waves of music blast me in the face, making it difficult to catch a full breath. I skirt the edge, my booted feet crunching in the grass as I try to conceal myself in the shadows. The moon and stars are hidden behind dense cloud cover, turning the darkness nearly black.
Arriving at the corner of the open barn door, I peek around the edge and quickly pull back, gluing my body to the wall.
Oh. My. Jiminy Christmas!
My heart thunders in my chest.
I do it again, peeking.
Oh. My. Pancakes and gravy!
And one more time to make sure I’m seeing things straight.
My mouth hangs open and my eyes widen, as I linger in the doorway a little longer than I should. I can’t believe what I’m seeing!
A knot lodges in my throat, and I turn away with the vivid memory of him burned into the back of my eyelids. I sag against the barn side, resting my hands on my knees as my head drops to my chest, and I expel an emotionally ragged breath.
Lachlan’s pants were pooled around his booted ankles, his body leaning forward as his left hand gripped a thick, square post to hold himself up. Head hanging low, with his shoulders hunched, Lachlan pumped himself in his fist; fast and hard and without remorse. Through his hasty jerks, I was unable to get a look at his shaft, but watched as the clear pre-come continuously leaked from his tip, dropping to the floor.
I’m not sure if I should feel sorry for him, or turned on. It didn’t look like he was enjoying himself at all.
My heart cracks a fraction, acid boiling in my gut.
“Come on, ye fucker; just get it over with,” he growls dolefully between song breaks.
Two minutes later, and the sound of something horrid resonates from inside. He’s. . .he can’t be, can he?
Glancing around the corner, I watch him with his hand still gripping his cock, as he kneels weakly over a metal bucket, puking violently into it. Pulling back, he wipes his mouth with a towel on the floor, and then the next round of vicious purging begins.
I don’t know when, or how, or what comes over me. . .One second, I’m outside staring at the heart-shattering show; and the next, I’m kneeling next to him on the dirt floor with my hand caressing his back.
“It’s okay,” I soothe.
“Go. Away!” he roars before diving for the bucket again, his body curling smaller as if he’s trying to shrink and disappear.
Running my hand along his spine, paying attention not to touch his bare butt, he stops puking and lurches away from me, falling onto his side, body tucked into the fetal position, pants around his ankles. “Get out of here, now!” he shouts, his eyes rimmed in red, body shaking, hands tightly cupping his package.
“Now! Out! Now! Get out! Now!” His head starts twisting back and forth in agony. “Now! Out! Get out!”
Tears mat my eyes and my heart breaks a little more.
To keep from outright bawling, I get up and shut off the music before I return to him, sitting on the floor a couple few feet away.
His bottom lip quivers as silent tears start to tumble down his cheeks. I want to go to him. I want to curl my body around his and tell him everything’s going to be okay. That whatever demons he’s trying to ward off, I’ll help him with—that we can battle them together.
“Get the. . . fuck. . .out!” he shouts, choking on a sob. “Ye cannae. . .see! Ye cannae. . .see!”
Slowly, on my hands and knees, I crawl toward him.
Horrified, he scurries further away, dragging his half-naked body across the dirt floor. “Out. . .Please. . .Go!”
Ignoring his devastating, painful pleas that are ripping my heart to shreds, and the tears that run down my face, turning my vision of him blurry. . . I forget the dirt on my hands and the cry that I swallow to focus on one thing—Him. The broken man on the floor. The strong man who took care of me when I almost died. The man who brought me back to life. The man whose body is shaking so violently that his teeth are chattering in an eighty-degree barn. Death, sadness, remorse, pain, anguish, hatred. . .I can feel it all through his wounded gaze.
Again, he cries out another gut-wrenching plea, and again, I stay put, keeping my distance, but holding my ground.
“Talk to me.” I reach out my hand to him, hoping he’ll take it. Praying he will.
Glancing at my hand and back to my face, he shakes his grim head and rolls to his side just as another round of heaves rack his massive frame. Over and over, he tries to expel, yet, only a little, if nothing, comes hurling out. More full body quaking ensues as he struggles to catch his breath.
Minutes pass and he begins to level out. Staying put, I give him my silent support as I sit on the dirty floor, a yard or two from him, knees to my chest and my arms hugging them. He may not want me here, but I’ve seen the worst and I’m not leaving. Not until he tells me something—anything.
“I. . .I. . .think I’m done. Can. . .ye please turn around so I can get dressed?” He sighs, exhausted.
I don’t speak as I stand and turn around, providing him the privacy he needs. Feet move, clothes shuffle and a zipper is secured, then there’s walking.
Water running steals my attention, and I turn without permission. Lachlan’s rinsing his bucket under a spigot and tossing the contents into a tall, overgrown bush outside. I take this time to examine him, and watch him as he slouches back to the spigot to refill the bucket and rinse it again. He’s worn and ragged, just like he has been for over a month.
Is this what he has to live with? Is this what he endures every single day? Is this what stomps out all the light in his eyes, leaving him part man, part death? I can’t be sure, but my gut says I’m spot on. Something has clawed its way into Lachlan and sunk its teeth in, refusing to let go. . .And here I thought I lived with pain and guilt.
The strong man we’ve all come to know is even stronger than we thought. He’s a survivor, too. He’s just like me. No. . .he’s stronger. He’s braver, and a hero. A true-to-life hero, who risks his life on a weekly basis to save other people. People like me. And for years he had to come home to a house with a wife like Meredith, where nobody cooked for him, or cleaned for him—Bridget told me as much. No wonder he’s so distant; he hasn’t had any other choice. He’s tried to stay alive and get by, not to actually live.
How could I have not seen this sooner?
Why was I so selfishly stuck on myself?
Ugh, I feel awful.
I should have tried to save him, too. Saving the savior. Saving the man who has probably been drowning longer than I have. The darkness that swallowed me whole has swallowed him, too. Only, I’m rising to the surface as he sinks deeper into the murky abyss.
I feel his eyes searing me before I glance up and catch them pinning me in place. Opening my mouth to talk, I’m silenced when he shakes his head sharply, running a shaky hand over his cropped hair. “Ye were never supposed tae see that,” he exhales. “Ye should have bloody well left. . .I told ye tae leave.”
“You were in pain. I’m not leaving if you’re in pain.”
“This is where I come tae take care of things.” His hand gestures to the weight bench and punching bag in the corner that’s next to a wooden workbench littered with tools.
I raise a challenging brow. “To jack-off and puke, is what you mean?”
Wincing at my harsh words, he then nods. “Aye. That, too.”
To ask my next question, I mimic his stance as we both tuck our arms across our chests, and I reach down deep to pull courage from a place that I didn’t know existed. “Are you going to explain to me what just happened over th
ere?” Confidently, I point to the spot where everything came undone. A spot I will never forget for the rest of my life. My nightmares will be haunted with those memories for years to come.
“Na, I’m not. It’s none of yer business.” He’s stanch.
“So you’re just going to keep shutting me out? You don’t want to be my friend. You don’t want to tell me what makes you feel pain instead of pleasure when your hand’s touching down there.” I nod at his crotch, and he groans. It’s not a happy, pleasurable groan; it’s one of fatigue and irritation. He’s tired of me digging. I can feel the waves of malice wafting off him as we speak, trying to throw his protective shield up.
Well, as my grams always used to say with a knowing wink and a grin, “Magdalene, you’re as stubborn as a mule. Always gotta have it your way”. Time to conjure that old part of me and stick to those guns. Make my grams proud, while I prove to Lachlan, once and for all, that he has someone who can bear the brunt of his pain. I’ve weathered my own storms, and I sure as hell can take on his, too. Let’s do this damn thing.
Subconsciously, I crack my knuckles to prepare myself for the battle of a lifetime. It took me six months to break down Brian enough for him to tell me that his old man was a deadbeat drunk. I might be comparing apples to oranges. Nevertheless, Brian still needed someone to lean on, and I was that person. Just as I was Jake’s person, a man I dated way back when. He was going through a divorce and the wife got custody of his kids. I was the sounding board, and in the end, a doormat that took a slap to the face. A week later, I was gone and I’ve never seen that man again. Now, I’m going to be Lachlan’s person.
Leaning against the far wall, Lachlan tilts his head to the side and grins. It’s not one that’s sweet or makes my stomach turn somersaults. It’s demonic and frigid. It’s all wrong.
Chills slide glacially down my spine, as my toes tingle, curling in my boots.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 25
