Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(33)

Like a gentleman, when she wasn’t in the throes of a trauma, he’d slept on the couch.

I looked at him, his long body stretched out amongst the daisies, asleep, but having stayed close so he could make sure I was safe, safe from anything, even nightmares, and I made a noise in the back of my throat I couldn’t control.

When I did, I watched his body twitch then he came up on his forearms and his sleepy blue eyes turned my way.

He looked ready to move further but he caught himself when he saw me.

I stared into his eyes, knowing I probably made noise getting up, doing my thing in the bathroom, getting dressed.

But it was my quiet sob that had woken him.

Marcus Sloan.

God, he killed me.

I leaned my shoulder against the doorjamb, drawing in breath through my nose, controlling the tears with some effort, taking more time to swallow them back.

After another breath, watching him watching me unmoving, I spoke.

“You know what got me through?”

“Baby,” he whispered but still didn’t move. He just lay there on his stomach, up on his forearms, his head turned to me, his eyes glued to me, just like he knew that’s what I needed him to do.

Just that. Stay on my couch and let me say what I needed to say.

“Thought I was nothing,” I shared softly.

He pushed up, the muscles in his biceps bulging, threw off the blanket, and turned to sit on his ass.

He hadn’t taken off his trousers.

That couldn’t be a comfortable way to sleep.

But a gentleman in a lady’s home got as comfortable as he could get, but unless he was invited to do it, he didn’t take off his trousers.

Lord.

Marcus Sloan.

“Proved it to me, that guy,” I told him. “Raping me. The world had been givin’ me signs since I was born. But he proved it to me.”

“I need you to come here,” Marcus requested gently.

I ignored him and kept going.

“Told myself that. Was certain of it, at first. The thing was, if I was nothing, why was someone sending me daisies?”

That cut it for him.

He started to push up.

Quickly, I asked, “Please. Don’t. Please let me finish.”

He settled, gaze locked to me, and he showed me with his expression that he didn’t like it but he kept his place.

For me.

“So pretty,” I whispered. “So bright and happy. They were everywhere. I wanted to think dark thoughts. I wanted to cut myself down. I just couldn’t keep it up. And it wasn’t Miss Annamae this time who helped me see what it was important to see.”

“Darling—”

I’d beat them away but they came right back and I knew it when the bead of cold wet slid down my cheek.

“It was you,” I finished.

“Daisy, I need to come to you.”

No he didn’t.

I needed to go to him.

And that was what I did, scared—no, terrified.

But slowly, one foot in front of the other, I did it, and he watched me every step of the way.

And when I got just a little bit close, he bent way forward. His long arms coming right out, his fingers grasped me at my hips and pulled me into his lap.

Then he kissed me.

It was soft and it was sweet.

But it was more.

The tip of his tongue touched my lips and I instantly let him inside. He swept in, his arms around me closing tighter. He twisted at his waist, leaned into me, and I felt my back hit the couch, the warmth of his broad chest pressing to mine, his hand diving in my curls and closing around my scalp.

I had my arms around his shoulders, one hand curved tight around the back of his neck, and I kissed him back trying to come even a little bit close to giving him back all he’d given me.

Daisies.

Lobster.

Laughter.

Patience.

Understanding.

Everything.

I pressed my breasts into his chest.

He groaned, then growled into my mouth, but I felt it in my coochie, and he took the kiss deeper. One of his arms curving down, his hand gliding down my side, his trajectory I knew to my ass.

But before he got there, that arm locked tight around my waist, his lips slid from mine to my neck and he kissed me there.

Then he held me that way, his warm breath coming fast against my neck, all the other warmth of his hard body pressed to me.

I didn’t get it.

So I called, “Marcus?”

“Taking this slow,” he answered a question I didn’t exactly ask and he sounded like it was the last thing he wanted to do, not just saying it, doing what he said.

That was sweet. I was sure I needed it.

Still.

“You coulda maybe taken second base,” I shared.

His head came up, his twinkling eyes caught mine, and he was smiling.

“Maybe next time.”

“Look forward to that,” I mumbled.

“Now I’m going to make you breakfast.”

I frowned and asked, “Whose apartment is this?”

“Yours,” he answered, still smiling.

“So rules are, I have a drama, the morning after, you can make me breakfast. I don’t have a drama, which, honey bunches of oats, I’m hopin’ to be drama-free for a good long while, I make breakfast. Comprende?”