Truck Stop Tempest Page 8

  “Stop. Fuckin’ hell, Bunny. Stop.”

  Tuuli collapsed on top of me, chest heaving, face buried in my neck, wet lips pressed against my sweaty skin.

  “Fuck,” I grunted, rolling us over, pushing to my hands and knees above her wild little body. I struggled to replenish my own oxygen. Those flushed cheeks and rosy lips were temptation enough, but that damn hair splayed beneath her like a tattered halo? Fuck me. My head was a mess.

  I’d never lost my mind with a woman. I’d sure as hell never ceded control.

  Her eyes filled with liquid, and she slapped her palms over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just. That was. Oh, God.” She shook her head. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

  I knew where the conversation was headed, and no fucking way would I let her diminish the hottest bump-and-grind I’d ever experienced.

  “Don’t do that.” I dropped my forehead to hers. “That was the best fuckin’ kiss of my life. Don’t make it bad. Don’t you dare make it dirty.”

  She nodded in agreement, then peeked between her fingers. “Why did you stop?”

  “Why?” I huffed, frustrated beyond measure, and barely holding my shit together. “Because I was two heartbeats away from tearing off your clothes and turning that kiss into something dirty, that’s why.”

  If I hadn’t stopped, she’d be lying beneath me, wearing bruises, swollen lips, and a blanket of regret.

  I watched a tear slip down the side of her still hidden face. My guts twisted. I pried her fingers away and captured her hand in my own. “You okay?”

  Lips curled between her teeth, she mumbled, “Mmm…hmm.”

  “Why the tears, then?”

  Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then my chest, then snapped back up to meet my eyes. “I’m not a virgin.”

  I fought not to laugh at her confession or the worried expression on her face. “Neither am I.”

  “I’ve been kissed. I’ve had sex. But…” She turned her head away from me and stared at the weight rack.

  “But, what?”

  She swallowed. Sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t want to give myself to those boys. At the time, I didn’t know how to say no. Didn’t think I could say no. I did what was expected of me. I didn’t kiss them back. I just laid there, and they did their thing. And they left. And I hated everything about the act. Hated myself for letting it happen. But I thought that was what girls were supposed to do. I was raised to obey men, no matter what. I know that’s messed up. That’s part of the reason I left home. I couldn’t live like that anymore.”

  I released her hand and dropped to my ass at her side. “Why are you telling me this, Tuuli?” I didn’t mean to sound harsh, but I hated hearing she’d been used that way, and part of me feared that I’d made her feel used.

  “I guess I’m telling you because I like you. I think you like me, too. And I definitely like what just happened. But you see, that’s the problem. The next time I give myself to someone, I want it to be forever. And I’m afraid if I keep getting the chance to kiss you, I won’t be able to say no because unlike those boys, when you kiss me, I feel you deep down, and I want more, and part of me is afraid that I won’t be able to say no to you, but mostly, I’m afraid to say no because I don’t want you to go away. I want you to want me. I don’t want you to go away and find another girl to have sex with when I do say no.”

  I finally turned to look at her. She was sitting up, legs crossed in front of her, tears rolling down her face. When our eyes met, she released a half-laugh, half-sob.

  “I know. I sound crazy. I’m sorry.” She tucked her feet under her and pushed to stand. “Maybe you should take me home.”

  The room lit up with a strike of lightning that seemed to hit right outside.

  Tuuli crouched back down and counted, “One, two…”

  Boom. The thunder cracked. The windows vibrated, and Tuuli covered her ears.

  Clearly, she was terrified of lightning storms, and she was doing a shit job of hiding that fact, evident by the cheesy smile she faked before whispering, “Ooh. It’s almost right over us now. Think it’ll pass soon? It should pass soon, right?”

  God damn, the girl was cute. Crazy as fuck. But cute. And I couldn’t help but pull her into my arms and hug her until the trembling stopped.

  I rested my chin on her head and rubbed her back. Yes, she’d just rambled on about forever, and sex, and liking me. No, I was not ready for a conversation about relationships, or celibacy, or liking her. I was, however, content to have her in my arms, despite my blue balls. I definitely liked how her hair smelled. I would never forget the way she kissed me.

  And the voices hadn’t bothered me all day.

  The bothersome voice in my head told me to run. Count my losses before he could crush me because that’s what he was. A crush. He’d never be anything more. Men like Tito didn’t fall in love with girls like me. Men like Tito fell in love with women who graced covers of magazines. Women who knew how to kiss back, how to satisfy a man’s needs. I hated that little voice. But I couldn’t deny that, for once, she was right. I wasn’t a child, but I wasn’t woman enough for Tito.

  And besides, having sex meant he would see me naked. Meaning he would see the ugly reminders of my family ties. Then he would know who I was. What I was.

  Lightning struck again, and before I could count to one, thunder followed. I summoned my inner beast, but she seemed to be more terrified of the storm than I was, and I shivered again, even in the safe space against his chest.

  Maybe there was no beast. Maybe Tito had only made her up to make me feel better. He always seemed to say the right things.

  Until he said, “We can make a run for the car. I can take you home if you’re ready.”

  Definitely not the right thing to say. Me, outside with the elements? I’d rather be dipped in blood and locked in a lion’s den.

  “No.” Reluctantly, I pulled free of his arms. “Not in the storm. It can’t be safe to drive. Let’s do something else. Let’s talk.”

  “We’ve been talking all day,” he said, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He dipped his chin and raised his eyes to mine. “I haven’t talked this much in months.”

  “Why?” I asked, pushing, breaching the unspoken agreement we had not to pry. He had, in a sense, given me an opening.

  I waited out the long pause, studying his broad shoulders, his thick neck, the tick in his jaw.

  His mouth dropped open. Then slammed shut. “Never mind.”

  “All right then,” I searched the room for something, anything, to keep him from taking me outside, even though the car was only a few feet from the front door.

  I walked over to one of the heavy bags hanging from the ceiling and gave it a shove. It barely moved. “You know how to use these?”

  Tito chuckled behind me. His voice drew closer as he said, “Yeah. I know how.”

  “Show me.”

  He stood at my side, lifted my hand, and molded my fingers into a fist. “You ever throw a punch?”

  “No.”

  He studied my fingers, brushing a thumb over my knuckles. “Never? Not once?”

  “No.”

  He dropped my hand. Looked at his own, flexing and stretching his fingers. “Seriously? You’ve never been so mad that you needed to hit something? Or someone?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, I get mad, but no, not enough to want to hit someone.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d fantasized punching my brother in the face more than once. I’d also, at least a thousand times over the years, imagined different ways to hurt Erik, every time I’d watched him bully some kid, or the times he had wrestled me to the ground and made me kiss him, or had forced me into his lap and made me sit still while we watched movies, or until he had finished his homework, or until my father came home.

  I hadn’t fooled Tito. He gave me a scolding look and said, “Liar.”

  “Sure. I’ve thought about it. But I don’t like violence.” I’d
seen too much brutality.

  “Violence is necessary sometimes.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Liar,” he said again.

  “You don’t know me well enough to call me a liar, Tito.”

  “Tuuli. The night I met you, you had defended Aida by attacking a man five times your size.”

  “That’s different. He was going to hurt her.”

  “There’s no difference. Violence is violence, regardless of our motives. You could’ve run for help, or quoted him scripture, but you chose to go for the kill.”

  He was right. Had I been stronger, or had a weapon even, I would’ve done anything in my power to keep that horrid man from hurting Aida. “Are you going to hit the bag for me, or what?”

  “Make a deal?”

  “Sure.” I refrained from rolling my eyes.

  “You hit the bag once, with everything you’ve got. If you can tell me it doesn’t feel good, I’ll drop the subject.”

  “You’ll drop it. Then I get to watch you?”

  He nodded, chewing his bottom lip.

  “With your shirt off,” I added.

  He released his lip and almost smiled. “Now you’re pushing.”

  “Fine,” I said, conceding. “Shirt on.” I held up my fists and stepped closer to the bag.

  Tito grabbed my arm and turned me back toward him. “First things first. I don’t want you to break a bone.” He repositioned my fingers, showing me the safe way to ball my fist and the correct angle to hold my wrist. Then he stepped back, arms crossed, and nodded for me to proceed. “Make it count. Think of something, or someone, that makes you angry.”

  I already pictured Erik’s face on the leather. Not his smug, fake smile, but the face he reserved for me when we were alone. The expression of domination. I pulled my arm back and thought of the time he made me stick my hands down his pants and touch him while he reminded me that I was his, and when we were married, I would have to do whatever he asked. I remembered how, when I tried to pull away, he held my arm and made me stroke him. I remembered how when my dad walked into the room, Erik shoved me off the kitchen chair, and instead of helping me off the floor, he stood toe-to-toe with my father and told him that I was a slut, and if I kept throwing myself at him, he wouldn’t be able to marry me because he was pure, and he would only marry a pure woman. I remembered how my dad patted him on the back, told him he was proud, and then took me to my room, slid his belt from his pants, and made me hold onto my dresser while he struck me, over, and over, and over.

  My entire body vibrated with rage. I hit the bag as hard as I could, releasing a strange guttural noise from deep in my throat. I gave it my all, and still, the bag barely moved. My insides, however, had shifted something fierce, like there was another me inside my skin and bone frame, another me that was waking from a deep sleep, stretching and yawning, and coming back to life. God, it felt so good.

  Too good.

  I stepped back and inhaled, savoring the rush.

  I heard a chuckle, then Tito’s deep voice brought me back to Earth. “Amazing, right?”

  Life-altering. “No.”

  I walked away from the bag, despite wanting, or needing, rather, to hit it again and again.

  I didn’t dare look him in the eye, certain my exhilaration was evident. I sat, cross-legged, in the middle of the mat, and waited for him to make the next move.

  Much to my surprise, and enjoyment, Tito gripped the back of his shirt, pulled it over his head, then tossed it my way. The moment his back was turned, I brought the soft cotton to my nose, savoring the scents of rain and laundry soap. I even caught a whiff of my vanilla body spray, and that made me happy. So damn happy.

  Tito hit the bag with one hand, then the other. Slow at first, finding a rhythm. He glanced my way twice before a mask fell over his face and his breathing changed. His eyes darkened, sweat coated his bare back and chest, and his strikes came harder, quicker, more aggressive with each blow. His feet moved with mesmerizing grace. His muscles coiled and bunched, a heady and terrifying sight. I watched, silent, frozen, captivated by his raw, animalistic beauty.

  Tito was gone. Not sure where. In the zone. In hell, perhaps. He wasn’t in the room with me though. His physical form, yes, but his heart, his head, his soul—a million miles away.

  I couldn’t help but wonder what damage he could do were those strikes aimed at another human.

  I watched, hypnotized by his focus, his power. Those muscles. Lean. Raw. No doubt carved from years of hard training. I suspected he’d been a fighter at some point in his life. I’d watched my brother and his friends fight in their makeshift rings back home. They were clumsy, and stupid and fueled by nothing but ego. Nothing like Tito. His strikes were calculated, and precise, backed by passion and fury. My heart broke for him because he seemed to unleash a lifetime of bad memories on that bag.

  Minutes rolled into an hour. The storm passed. At some point, I laid down on my side. At some point, I fell asleep.

  She’d fallen asleep clutching my shirt to her chest. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. I’d started hitting the bag, got lost in the zone, and next thing I knew, I was laying on the ground, a sweaty, spent mess. When I could focus my eyes, all I saw was Tuuli, despite the fact that she was the smallest thing in the massive room.

  I didn’t wake her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. God, she was beautiful. Peaceful. I took advantage of her unconscious state. Studied her breaths, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair draped her face and neck like silk.

  Waking her and driving her home would’ve been the right thing to do. Instead, I ran to my car, snagged a clean shirt and my jacket out of the trunk, then quietly laid beside my sleeping beauty and covered her with my coat. I didn’t touch. Not right away. I managed to withhold my desire for three excruciating minutes before I tucked my arm under her head and pulled her against me.

  Then I closed my eyes and pretended I was good enough for the churchgoing angel in my arms, and that I wasn’t pissed about her earlier rant, and that I hadn’t released all my pent-up frustration on the heavy bag.

  “Tito,” a soft voice whispered.

  I blinked the world back into focus. Blonde hair and a bright smile waited for me on the other side of my sleep haze.

  “We fell asleep.”

  “Why are you whispering?” I asked, rubbing my hand up and down her back to make sure she was real.

  “I don’t know,” she said, laughing.

  She rolled out of my arms and pushed to her feet. I stretched, then propped my head in my hand and watched her walk to the window and peek outside.

  “It stopped raining.”

  “Yeah? You ready to head home?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell. “Sure.”

  She wasn’t ready to go. I wasn’t ready to let her go.

  “Can I take you to dinner first?”

  Tuuli tapped on the window before turning around and asking, “Really? Are you sure?” like she thought I was eager to get rid of her or something.

  “I at least owe you dinner.” I pushed to the sitting position and rested my arms on my knees. “You know, after checking out the way I did,” I gestured over my shoulder to the punching bag.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she said, coming my way. “I liked watching you.” She crossed her ankles, then lowered herself to the ground in front of me. “Think you can teach me to do that?”

  Fuck, yeah. I’d take any chance I could get to have my hands on her. “I’d love to teach you.”

  Her eyes darted from me to the window, to the ceiling, to my chin.

  “What?” I asked, ducking my head to catch her gaze.

  A rush of air left her lungs. “You never said anything after I rambled on about sex.”

  What could I say without breaking her heart? Without losing her. Relationships were not my thing. Love? Definitely not my thing. Sex with no strings used to be my thing until the night I met Tuuli.

  I had no clue how
to verbalize my feelings. So, I showed her. I slid a hand around the back of her head, tangling my fingers in that gorgeous hair. I pulled her close, and I kissed her. I continued, giving all I had, and soon, I was crawling over that small body, urging her to lay down, pressing my hips between her thighs. She opened for me, her mouth, her legs. She offered herself, and without prompting, she kissed me back, and I fell into that dangerous fog of lust and want and selfish pleasure. My cock was hard and thick between us, and I made sure to move, grinding into her warm body, showing her how she affected me.

  I waited for the right moment when her body softened beneath me—giving in. I pushed her to the point where I knew she questioned her vow, until I knew she would give herself to me without hesitation, and then I broke the kiss. I found her eyes, and I ground my erection between her legs before pushing to hands and knees above her.

  “I told you before, I don’t do relationships. I’m not capable of falling in love. I don’t know what this is between us. I do know that I like spending time with you. But you have to know what you do to me. You have to know that if I kiss you again, or you kiss me again, it will lead to more. If I’d kept going just now, you would’ve given in. You can’t deny that. There will come a time where I get lost in the moment, lost in my own head, and I won’t be able to stop. Or maybe you won’t want to stop. And we’ll fuck. Then I’ll be the guy who made you give up your vow. I’ll be the guy who made you dirty.” I paused for a breath, and to make sure she heard my next words loud and clear. “I respect that you want to save yourself for the right guy. Whoever that man is, he’s one lucky bastard. But you have to know it won’t be me. I’m not built that way. And goddamn, Bunny, I don’t want to be the guy that ruins that for you.”

  She looked so vulnerable, with her innocent eyes, her flushed cheeks, and her wet lips. She understood what I was trying to say. The wonderment I was used to seeing was gone. Now, there was nothing but a sad ocean of blue blinking up at me. My words cut her deep. It hurt me to say them, knowing she might never want to see me again.