Set Me Free

Me

Sofia

I stomp to Brax's quaint room, and as soon as my feet shush over the threshold into that warm, now-familiar space, I feel a flood of relief. My hands tremble in the wake of anxiety, but the scent that hangs thick in the still air of his room somehow soothes me. I never knew scents could have temperatures, but they do, here and now. It is warm, that bite of spice and that musk of someone who is pure masculinity. It wraps around my shaking shoulders like a loving caress, and I don't realize I am crying until the tears wet my lips.

My face and eye burns from the slap—more akin to an open handed punch to a creature as strong as them—and my pride and womanly ego has suffered a pretty devastating blow. I press the back of my hand to my lips to keep the cries in my mouth. I hate it, how the feel of those hands on my thighs and the promise of an abuse so low can affect me in such a way. When Brax did it in the shower my first day here, it was different; I don't know how I know, but I feel it, in my bones, that he is not that monster. He may kill in a ring for a living or whatever reason, but he is not so abhorrent to take advantage in that way.

The mark of a true man—one that wouldn't need to force a woman to her knees or onto her back to glean pleasure from her lips or between her thighs while she struggled and cried.

I wipe at my cheeks, stowing my emotions as best I can. In such a short span of time, this man has proven himself to me—unnecessarily so, but he still did it. He is good, through and through, and why that shocks me isn't a surprise; my entire life, I've been around men who only take and never give anything back. I had assumed this situation would be the same, but the fact that it is not has left me reeling.

The thud of his boots in the kitchen alerts me, and I tense as fire shoots through my veins and chases all my girlish fears away. I can trust him, to an extent, and I will allow myself to until he proves otherwise. Part of me yearns for him in a way I don't understand; I want his protection, to feel his big body surround mine, to feel the bite of his belt across my sensitive skin to bring me down from my erratic, impulsive moods. My stomach churns at the revelation, but it is not all unpleasant.

I hear the creak of the door hinges as he gently pushes it open, but he doesn't make another move to come any closer. I can picture him, filling the door frame with his broad shoulders, leaned against the jamb with his bulging biceps crossed and his ankles as well. Just the thought of his gold-green eyes, his wild, untamed hair framing his face, and the twist of his thick lips has forbidden butterflies fluttering all around my chest and stomach.

So, true to my idiotic nature, I whirl on him and prepare to lash out. I justify it easily; I am a human, taken against my will and forced to submit to an alien being, even one so steady and kind as him. Fear, no matter how small, can bloom like virile weeds and choke out even the blossoming of something pure. My reactions to him frighten me, and I cannot allow him any closer to my heart.

But as my eyes fall to his—as I see that he is standing the exact way I pictured in my mind—my lips tremble and my facade crumbles. He pushes off the door, the glint in his eyes dark, but not directed at me; I can see the difference. When he is mad at me, there is a level of mischief and humor in that gaze. But here and now, he is furious with the men who touched me, and somehow, he seems proud of how I handled it.

Before I can stop myself, I swallow the thick lump in my throat and change course toward him. He opens his arms at the same moment, unfolding himself just to fold me into his secure embrace. I press my burning face into his sturdy abs, feeling the rise and fall of his deep, calm breaths. He slides his big palm up my back and under my hair to the nape of my neck in a possessive hold, his thumb always over that vein. I allow a few frightened and hopeless sobs to sneak past my parted lips, and he allows it as well.

"You're good, Girly. I got ya."

The deep rumble of his voice calms me further, wraps me up in the security only a beast like him could give me. I miss Josh terribly, an ache so deep in my bones that even my teeth hurt, but this—the way Brax is holding me—it makes it bearable. I can get through these three months with him and figure out the rest later. All I need right now is to be held in a way I've never been held before, by arms that won't just take. I know he will give; he is not selfish, greedy. He is simplistic and humble.

He knots his fingers into the hair at the base of my scalp, tugging my head back until our eyes meet. A soft smile caresses his lips, making him look younger for a moment. He reaches his other hand up, smoothing it over my pulsing cheek and brushing over my closed, watery eye.

"Tough as nails, huh?" he says, his grin growing. I can't help but return a small smile, can't help that joy that leaps through my veins at his observation. No one has ever called me tough before, even if I know I am about as pliable as a diamond. How he sees it and breathes it to life with his words has my heart aching.

I nod against him, my chin brushing against the top portion of his muscled stomach.

"Always fight for yourself, Sof, got it? And when ya can't, I will."

I feel my cheeks warm, lifting in a larger smile in answer as I nod again. He pats the back of my neck and drops both hands to my hips, giving a rough squeeze that has my heart fluttering. He is just as primal as his looks dictate, but it calls to me, his wildness, the way he doesn't even have to wear his truth on his sleeve. He just is; there are no hidden motives, no playing the game of life with secret greed. He is so unlike anyone I've ever met that it leaves me winded, my mind struggling to keep up.

"C'mon. Got shit to get done. Get dressed in your battle gear, Girly."

"Battle gear?"

He snorts, nodding to the pile of clothes his son bought for me. I feel awash with guilt, reminded of the pity party I threw myself because the clothes weren't ones I'd have picked out. But as I turn and glance at them anew, I feel my pride growing once more. These clothes—with their dark and sinister designs—are the exact opposite of what I would have chosen for myself. I realize, then, that the outfits I would have chosen would have been ones my mother would have picked for herself. Pink, pastels, conservative. Things that held no reflection for how I felt on the inside.

This time, though, the darkness that I have long hidden in my heart grows with it, and I allow a sinister smile to curl onto my lips.

The woman I believe I was always meant to be is here now, between the arms of a monstrous beast that I know will cultivate that edginess and allow it to bloom under his care.

A/N: Oof! Been a minute, but I thank all of you for allowing me time to just exist; to sit in the sun and read and reflect and prepare to take the next steps into self publishing! I am straddling that line, now; between posting for free and gearing up to transition into a whole new type of 'work'. It's going to be tough, but already I can tell it's going to be the best decision for me as a writer! I cannot WAIT to publish and have my fantastic readers hold physical copies of my little babies! None of this would be possible without y'all. Thank you from the bottom of my heart <3