Page 14 of Thunder

So, next best thing, snoop. Not the creepy get your restraining order signed kind of snoop. The fun kind. Like, ooo, bedside drawer.Score.

The carpet absorbed her heel strikes as she tried to tiptoe over to the bedside table. Her shin struck the low bench positioned at the foot of the bed. “Son of a biscuit making cunt.” So much for snooping, but nope. The giant, sexy man on the bed didn’t even flinch.

Abandoning her attempts to be quiet, because she was always louder when she tried not to be than when she just acted normal.

Dragging the drawer open, she almost choked when she saw the contents. The man had some interesting tastes, obviously, and a healthy appetite if the number of condoms were an indicator. Closing the drawer, she turned and surveyed the room. A shelf above the bed held a few items. A dark dresser took up the whole far wall but only had one picture on it.

Curiosity got the best of her, and the picture called. She picked it up and walked toward the door she assumed was a closet or bathroom.

Bathroom. The other must’ve been a closet. Flipping the light switch, she looked down at the framed picture in her hand. It was four men in flight suits standing beside an airplane. They were all smiling and the one in the middle was wet from head to toe. She squinted and brought the picture closer to her face.

None of them appeared to be the tatted, bearded behemoth snoring in the other room, but she recognized one face.

Killer from the underground fights at Ozzy’s. Man, she’d always wanted to sleep with him. She just knew he’d be a hell of a ride. Too bad she never got the chance. With regret, she stopped staring at the picture but wondered at the giant’s connection to Killer.

Before she could return it to the bedroom, the bathroom finally caught her eye. “Damn.” There was black subway tile on the walls, black marble on the floor. All the fixtures were brushed steel, including the fuckton of surrounding showerheads. The toilet, sink, garden tub, and shower were a glazed dove gray. The bathroom was something straight from a modern living style magazine.

Wow. Stepping back into the room and replacing the picture, she found herself more curious about the man still snoring on the bed. Who was he? He was kind of sloppy drunk, but she could tell by the tidiness of the room he wasn’t a man who enjoyed being out of control or disorder. She had to assume tonight was the exception for him, not the rule.

What would cause a man who valued control to get wasted? Andy’s curiosity was piqued. And what was his connection to the man who regularly still appeared in her naughty dreams?

When she was trying to break into the fights, she refused to sleep with the other fighters. You don’t shit where you eat. However, she would’ve made an exception for Killer. He was at the top of her Fuckit Bucket List. Right ahead of Jason Momoa, Sam Elliot, and Adam Driver. The last she’d added the last time she and Lexi compared notes. Her argument was he would definitely play a sub role and maybe even be into pegging. Besides, he was cute as fuck and probably knew how to please a woman, but she’d kept that to herself.

Yes, she knew it was all in fun, but it made her feel good to continue one of the things they had done pre-traumatic brain injury. So, she went with it. Of course, every time she looked at or thought about her list, she sent up a silent apology to the man in the fourth position. Sorry, Adam Driver, it’s all in fun.

Before she could snoop his closet, he started tossing and turning. “Heisman no. No!” The giant flinched and tossed. Murmuring a series of no’s and damn it’s. “Why didn’t you listen? You never fucking listen.”

The man had layers, and by the sound of it, some pretty painful ones. She could figure out his connection to Killer tomorrow. It disturbed her he made California condors take flight in her stomach and she’d never even seen his eyes. More layers, ones she wanted to peel back.

Without overthinking, she unzipped the stripper boots and shed her jeans. Flipping off the lights and locking the door, she peeled back the covers on the other side of the bed and slid in.

When he snuggled into little spoon position, she flopped the covers over his body and wrapped her arm around his waist. He pulled it in tighter and tucked their hands together under him and settled into a more restful slumber with a sound of contentment. So did she.

7

THUNDER

Wakefulness was slowly easing over his mind. When he flexed his fingers, he felt others intertwined with his. That’s when his mind registered the heat at his back. It felt nice, so he let his eyes drift back closed and just enjoyed the feeling of being held.

It felt comforting. . .loving. He knew love had nothing to do with it, especially where club girls were concerned, but he enjoyed the illusion. It kept the demons to a dull roar.

That’s when he heard it. Nothing. Peace. Not the echo of memories and what-ifs he was used to. Not the earsplitting screams, either. The kind that sometimes not a single club girl, or two, could quiet.

Allowing his hand to lazily caress the arm around him, he lost himself in thought. He’d had his most peaceful night of sleep since. . .he could remember. Flashes of last night came to him. Passing out and remembering Heisman was what popped into his mind first. Then, nothing. Just sleep. Blissful, peaceful sleep.

He even felt fucking refreshed, which never happened. Normally when Heisman was in his brain, his night went downhill fast. He’d wake up, if he managed a few fitful minutes that was, feeling like he’d been to hell and back, and actually, he had been. But last night had been different. After the initial memory, he’d slept. It didn’t play on a loop until he lost his shit and destroyed the room. Nope, nothing.

That meant one of two things. Either he’d drank way more than he thought, or it resulted from the new girl. He sure as hell hoped it was the former, because the latter was bad news. Thunder wouldn’t—couldn’t—need anyone that much. Made that mistake once, got the t-shirt and all that crap. Or rather the emotional scarring, mental images, broken heart, and trust issues.

He tensed at the memories and the thoughts plaguing him in the morning hours.

Thunder talked himself out of the remote possibility it had anything to do with the chick at his back. Some new piece of ass was just that. A piece of ass. Not to him though. He still had his boxers on, so they just snuggled. Thank god he hadn’t been so drunk he’d fucked her and then let her stay. That was a door that was fucking sealed shut.

Having convinced himself it was the alcohol and not the chick, he relaxed. As the tension drained from him, he started noticing little things. Like the toned, but short leg draped over his. He cracked his eyes open and eased the covers down. She had some nice ink on that leg.

Through his back, he could feel small breasts and six-pack abs. They were covered in a thin layer he assumed was a shirt. Pity. It was the arm around his waist and a familiar scent that gave him pause.

Cutting through any remnants of sleep that remained, consciousness smacked him in the back of the head.That ink. That ink.He knew that ink. Especially the almost microscopic lettering on the fingers locked with his. He brought their joined hands closer to his face. The light coming in through the window was enough to make outEVILin delicate scroll lettering. Lettering that looks more like fancy flourishes than letters. He knew if he could see the other hand, it would have the same feminine lettering with aGOODon the fingers.

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