Page 12 of Wild Runaway
I close my eyes and inhale, loving the way he smells of fresh pine and woodsmoke, loving his touch and letting the sensations unfurling in my belly warm me up.
This is what it feels like to be touched by a man. Gentle, loving, and with care. Not rough and mean and hurtful.
I feel Joseph’s touch all the way through my body to my very soul. Warmth spreads though my veins, warming up my belly and snaking right to my core. Heat wells up between my legs, and my core throbs with need.
It’s been so long since I was touched with tenderness, and a whimper escapes my lips as Joseph scoops my hair off my neck and slides the clip into place.
He’s so close that his breath tickles my skin, sending tendrils of heat through my veins. His fingers pause behind my ear, and his breathing is ragged. Neither of us move and I hold my breath, not wanting this moment to end.
His fingertips brush behind my ear and trail down the soft skin of my neck. I tilt my head back, an invitation to keep going, hardly daring to breathe. He leans forward and gently presses his mouth to the delicate skin at the nape of my neck. At his touch, my body is on fire. I whimper as his mouth moves over my skin, his fingers sliding under the collar of my t-shirt.
Suddenly, he stiffens. And I freeze, remembering what’s caused him to stop. I pull away, but it’s too late.
“Who did this to you?”
His voice has a dangerous edge that I’ve not heard from him before, and it sets warning bells ringing. I scoot to the other side of the room, putting myself between him and Rose.
He must see the fear in my eyes, because his voice softens.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Trish. I would never hurt you. But somebody has.”
You get so used to living with the marks on your body that you forget they’re there. The fingerprints on my neck, the bruising on my collar. I run my hand over them now, embarrassed that Joseph has seen them.
“Is that why you ran?”
Joseph has his hands up in a placating gesture and he’s trying to keep his voice calm, but there’s rage simmering underneath.
“Yes,” I whisper.
The confession feels good. I’ve never admitted it to anyone before. I couldn’t tell Hailey, because I was too ashamed. She wouldn’t have understood how you could stay with a man who does that to you.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
I hesitate. I’ve never talked about the way Ian treated me. It’s embarrassing to admit that the person who’s supposed to love you hurts you.
But as I look at Joseph, this burly man who could snap me in two if he wanted but has shown me nothing but kindness, I feel exhausted.
I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay. I want to tell him; I want him to see all my hidden parts. I feel I can trust him with my hurt.
Joseph takes a seat on the couch, and I join him. And once I start talking, I can’t stop.
I tell him about Ian being my high school boyfriend and how it started out well, but when we moved into the trailer together things changed.
How I was going to leave him, but then I got pregnant. I thought the baby would change things, but it made them worse. He couldn’t cope with the crying. He blamed me and took it out on me. That I could handle.
But the morning I left, he squeezed my neck so hard that I passed out. When I came to, he was standing over the crib with Rose in his hands. She was screaming as he held her in front of him. I grabbed her off him before he could do anything. I don’t know if he would have hurt her, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
Ian left the trailer and I grabbed our bag, took the jar of money he had stashed away, and fled.
That’s why I have hardly anything with us. I couldn’t risk staying another moment in that place. I had to get her away from him.
Joseph listens in silence. A vein pulsing on his neck is the only indication that he’s taking it all in and how angry it’s making him to hear.
After I finish telling him my pathetic story, he takes my hand in his, his blue eyes sparking dangerously.
“I’ll kill that fucking asshole.”
There’s a grim conviction in his voice that makes me shiver. I’m reminded of the man in uniform, the military man, the trained killer. I hate Ian, but I’d never want anyone dead.
