Blyssfully Undone: The Blyss Trilogy - book 3 (21 page)

Once I have my dick back under control, I use my upper body strength to guide her hips up and down at my pace. I pull out just until her pussy holds the tip of my cock in her, and then I control the movement of her hips, gyrating her pussy over me in small tight circles. “Feel good, baby?” I whisper, but before she can answer, without warning, I slam her hips down over my length while thrusting myself upward in one hard, deep thrust.

She cries out into the night. I grind her clit over my pelvis, and then lift her hips up again to repeat the sweet torture. “Fuck, you feel so good,” I groan. The sensation of our hips moving in tandem with each other, stretching and circling into her with my thickness, has me close to the edge. I take her nipple into my mouth, and suck hard at her breast through the thin fabric.

“Oh, God, Travis,” she cries, holding onto the wooden slats behind me for stability.

I repeat the process of lifting her off me and swirling her hips as I tease her with the tip of my dick. Each time I slam her pussy down over my length, she groans, and it feels as if I’m entering her tight pussy for the first time, every time. I loosen my grip, letting her work me the way she wants while I gently rock her back and forth.

“Please, don’t stop…I’m coming,” she breathes out on a frantic whisper. Her head falls back as her eyes squeeze shut, and I pick up the pace, digging into her hips as I thrust in and out of her. Her entire body quivers with euphoria, milking my shaft, and I can’t hold out any longer. I let the sensations take over, and lose myself in the depths of this beautiful woman, growling out my release.

After we both come down from our high, I wrap her tightly in my arms. She snuggles her nose into my neck, and sighs. I run my hands underneath her dress, and up the length of her back, needing to feel her soft, supple skin. I softly caress her with the pads of my fingertips. I don’t want to lose this connection we have. Lately, it seems after our blind passion fades away and we separate, there’s always something that causes friction. I’m sick of us both driving wedges. I’d sleep on this porch swing all night if it meant she’d fall asleep with me still inside her. I’ve never been superstitious, but damn if it hasn’t crossed my mind.

I continue to swing us back and forth at an easy pace, allowing the crisp country air to cool us off.

“Travis?” she mumbles into my neck.

“Hmm?” I respond, lost in thought.

“I have a question.”

I can’t stifle my laugh; it comes unhindered. “Of course you do, Jules.”

She sits up, and looks at me with false irritation.

“Okay, fine. I’ll give you that one, but I do have a concern,” she says as she twists her body and places her fingers along the incision mark Stryker had to make to get her tracker out. “I feel a small knot here where that tracker was taken out.” She looks from her hip back to me with troubled eyes. My brows furrow at her comment as I brush her fingers away and feel for myself.

“I feel what you’re talking about, but I think that’s normal healing.” My lips thin as I concentrate, carefully palpitating the tender area. “It doesn’t feel or look swollen, and it’s not warm to the touch, so I don’t think it’s infected. In all seriousness, I think you’re fine. It’s probably just a little scar tissue. I think it’ll smooth out in a week or two.”

With my diagnosis given, she relaxes back into me, laying her head back on my chest. I kiss the top of her head and breathe her in. I don’t want to think what life would be like without my Jules. I hug her a little tighter, thankful I have her in my arms tonight.

Jules

I jolt awake, my heart pounding in my throat. I’ve broken out in a cold sweat, and my body is trembling. I was living in a nightmare; it felt so real. I was shooting at people and watching them fall to the ground, saw them writhing in pain as they bled to death. I press my hand to my heart and feel it beating out of control. My gosh, that was absolutely horrid. Is this what it's going to be like every night when I close my eyes and go to sleep? Will I have to relive nightmares about killing people, seeing blood, and have massive adrenaline surges that wake me up out of a dead sleep only to find myself soaked in sweat, and distraught?

It would be really nice to have Travis comfort me right now and softly stroke my hair while whispering in my ear, telling me everything is going to be fine. I roll my head to the side and see he is out like a light and softly snoring. I close my eyes and sigh. I really don’t want to wake him. He has gotten next to zero sleep to speak for the past forty-eight hours. I think he’s been running on solid adrenaline. He’s always been a light sleeper, waking up anytime I would stir, but right now, he’s sleeping deeper than I’ve ever seen.

I roll over, look at the clock on the nightstand, and sigh. It's four o'clock in the morning. I get up on my shaky limbs and shed my soaked clothes. Cold chills race down my arms and over my bare body, making me shiver. The air conditioning wreaks havoc on my clammy skin.

Not wanting to disturb Travis by rummaging around, I slip on the first thing I can see in the dimly lit room. My jeans and a clean t-shirt it is. Of course, call me a weirdo, but I can’t put on a tight fitting t-shirt without my bra. I can’t stand my nipples poking out against the thin fabric.

I curl myself up on the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and pull a blanket around me, trying to get warm again. The last thing I want to do is climb back into a cold, damp bed, so I sit here wide-awake and begin to think about things I probably shouldn’t be thinking about.

Gazing upon his sleeping form, he looks so tranquil as his chest rises and falls in an easy, peaceful rhythm. He’s so damn handsome. Well…let me rephrase; he’s so damn
hot
. Things between us couldn’t be any more messed up right now, and one question in particular that sticks out like a sore thumb is,
Why hasn’t he ever told me he loves me?

This relationship I’ve found myself in, if you can call it that, has been built on nothing but lies. I mean, the sex is absolutely phenomenal, but once we calm down from our passion, what’s left? All of the things Quinn told me about them working with the mafia, and the way they all run around with guns and killing…I’m not comfortable being a part of that lifestyle.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead in my hands. I’m so confused. I miss my dad, and I miss Jake. I know between Jake and my dad, they can help me sort through all the rubble in my head. They can help me see things from a different perspective. My fear is that I have Stockholm Syndrome.

I need time to clear my head and think straight, something I haven’t been able to do since I regained my memory. Yes, if I were able to take a step back and get away, I believe I could objectively reevaluate my circumstances, and decompress from all of the shock and mayhem. If Travis and I are truly meant to be, it’ll still be there once I figure myself out.

My heart thrums with anxiety from the mere thought of making an attempt to escape. I sit here and consider my options if I were to try. Thinking of simply walking out the front door, even at this hour, I wouldn’t make it two feet off the porch. Quinn is sleeping on the pullout sofa in the living room, which is basically at the bottom of the steps. My only other option would be the windows. I cringe; there’s no way I’d jump down two stories. I’d break my neck.

I leave the blanket behind as I get up to check what lies on the other side of the window in our room. Moonlight creeps in through the slats of the mini-blinds as I slowly inch them open just enough to peer out. I’m surprised to see I have a three-foot ledge only two feet down. My forehead wrinkles as I think about this puzzle. The ledge below is still too high for me to jump to the ground, but I wonder what would happen if I could manage to get to the A-frame of the roof, and walk around to the back side of the house. I remember seeing the screened-in porch from the kitchen window when I was doing dishes. I noticed it had a flat ceiling and thought it odd, because I’ve never seen one like that. I can only presume the roof is flat too. It must have been an addition the guys built onto the back of the house.

I look back over my shoulder to see Travis lying flat on his stomach facing the other way. I bite my lower lip out of nervousness.
I can’t believe I’m about to attempt this. What’s the worst that could happen?
I guess the worst that could happen is I’d get caught, then maybe tied up, and then afterwards, I’d get a good yelling at. All those things are punishments I can handle.

Shoes…shit. Where are they?
I look around in the dark, finally spotting them. My tennis shoes are underneath the edge of the bed. I tiptoe slowly to retrieve them and slip them on with no socks. I can’t be choosy, now can I? I pause for a moment and decide it best to leave his engagement ring behind. I place it carefully on top of the nightstand and silently back away.

If I’m going to do this I can’t think about this beautiful man sleeping only a few feet away from me. One who has spent every waking breath trying to protect me. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to get back in bed and cuddle up to him. Go back to sleep and forget this ever crossed my mind. I shake my head free of the conflict, and suppress thoughts of everything Travis—his masculine smell, the way he makes love, the way he looks at me with such endearing love, but has yet to say the words. Not only am I a victim of Stockholm and captivity, but I’m a victim of love.

My heart begins to race as fear bubbles up from the pit of my stomach when I creep back toward the window. My palms are slick with sweat, and I rub my hands against my jeans to rid myself of the moisture before I attempt to raise the window. I pray it’s not screwed shut, or worse yet, one of those windows that squeak in their tracks upon opening. The fact that these windows are not wooden, but newer-looking, might be in my favor.

Through the moonlight shining in, I spot the lock and slowly flip it to the left, disengaging it. I wiggle my fingers to release the growing tension for the agile task at hand. I brace myself for the worst as my fingertips find the lip at the bottom portion of the pane, and slowly, inch-by-inch, I begin to raise it. Once I get it halfway up without a sound, the night’s warm air wafts in, and I look back over my shoulder to see Travis hasn’t budged an inch. If anything were to wake him right now, it would be the sound of my pounding heart.

Holy crap, this is anxiety city. I look long and hard at him one last time before I shimmy myself out the window. Since there’s no drop, I’m able to shut the window except for the last inch or so. I don’t want to push my luck, especially at this point. What could I say if I was caught?
Oh, gee, I thought I’d just open the window and get some fresh air, you know?
Yeah, right.

Wasting no time, I carefully walk on eggshells as I follow the roofline in the moonlight above. Once I reach the end of the house, I thank God it’s a three-tiered house. The roof continues on in such a way I’m able to take a large step over to the second half of the house. I’ve never considered a fear of heights before, and if I did, the thought would be greatly overshadowed by the exhilarating sense of freedom, which is beginning to wash over me. I feel a little more in control of my future suddenly, and it’s a giddy feeling.

I reach the peak of the roof, and then begin to descend toward the back of the house. The closer I get to the back porch, the faster my pulse races. I let out a breathy sigh of relief when I see that the screened-in porch roof is indeed flat. I’m down to a twelve-foot drop now, which is still too high for my liking. After a few seconds of thinking this through, I lay down on the scratchy shingles, perpendicular with the edge of the roof. My heart is literally pounding, and I swear it’s going to explode.

I take a deep breath, begging myself not to screw this up. Slowly, I edge myself backward until both my legs dangle from the roof’s ledge, my stomach pressing into the edge of the roof’s shingles. My fingers find their place along the border of the roof as I scoot my body back a little bit more, praying I don’t sway too far one way or the other and lose my grip. A soft grunt escapes me. I’ve successfully maneuvered myself to hang from the top of the porch. I figure what was once a twelve-foot drop should now only be between a four and five-foot drop with my arms extended.
I can do this.

I let go and land on my feet, then promptly fall back on my ass. I’ve hurt nothing from the short drop. I take stock of myself; I feel good. I look around first to make sure I’ve not been spotted, but the house is pitch black. I stand up and carefully begin to slink my way around the front of the house before I make a break for it. As I do so, a motion detector light clicks on, and every organ I own is lodged in my throat. I’m standing in the middle of the yard like a deer caught in the headlights of a moving vehicle. Panic-stricken, I know how they feel now.

My feet start moving before I realize what I’m even doing, my legs pumping as I sprint across the soft grass. The further I get away from the house, the faster I run. This is the first taste of freedom I’ve had since this entire fiasco unfolded and I was captured. It feels fucking liberating, the feeling causing a spike of adrenaline to surge through my bloodstream, allowing me to run faster and longer until my heart feels like it will explode. My sneakers hit the asphalt in a rhythm all their own. My lungs start burning, but I savor the pain and the pleasure all at once.