I wanted a bit of fun with someone I was confident could do the job right, but what I got was so much more than that. It was everything I needed, and it made me want things I have no right in wanting.
I want more.
I want him.
“Shit,” I mutter, shoving my face into the pillow. I instantly regret it because it smells of him. It’s bad enough that he’s all I can think about, that his touch is all I can feel, his dirty words are all I can hear. Now his scent surrounds me too.
I lie there, staring at the ceiling, when a knock sounds out through the flat.
My eyes go to the door, but I make no effort to move. This is his flat after all, I’ve no place opening his door and inviting people inside.
When his footsteps eventually plod down the hallway, I sit on the edge of the bed, my feet landing beside his discarded shirt.
Reaching out, I pull it up to my nose and breathe him in. I know it’s a mistake the second I do it, but much like the man himself, I’m powerless to resist.
Every part of my body aches as I stand and pull it over my head. I’ve no idea where the pain from my beating starts and the side effects of a delicious workout end.
Deep male voices ring out, and I run my fingers through my messed-up hair and pull the door open.
I don’t even think about who it could be, and the second I step out of the door, I feel instantly stupid for not even considering this as a possibility.
My eyes lock on to Zach’s the moment I appear. His chin drops, cutting off whatever he was saying mid-sentence before his eyes harden and his entire body tenses.
“You motherfucker,” he roars, and before I can react, he’s pulled his arm back and his fist is flying at Spike.
“Zach, no,” I cry, racing forward, but it’s too late.
Zach’s knuckles connect with Spike’s jaw, and he goes stumbling back until he collides with the wall.
Not content on just hitting his friend once, Zach growls and races toward him.
He takes another shot. The crunch of Spike’s nose fills the flat before blood spurts out of it.
“Zach, that’s enough,” I cry. “It’s not what it looks like.” Okay, so that’s a total lie and this is exactly what it looks like, but it’s all I can think to say.
Zach ignores me, instead focusing his efforts on Spike’s ribs until he’s doubled over in pain.
At no point does he fight back. I know the reason why, but damn it, I wish he’d help put an end to this.
“Zach,” I scream when he pulls his arm back once more. I fly at him, wrapping my hands around his arm in the hope of stopping him.
The second I touch him, he relaxes.
“Stop, please,” I beg, quieter than before.
Assuming it’s over, Spike slides down the wall, hunched over in pain as blood continues to pour from his nose.
Zach’s angry stare turns on me. I swallow nervously. I’ve only connected with him recently. I have no idea what his temper is like or how he handles situations like this, and I’ve been in one too many where the guy is a fucking cunt who takes it out on anyone in the vicinity.
“Tell me he didn’t do this to you.” He points at my lip, and it’s the first time I realise just how bad this looks.
“What? No. He would never. Fuck, Zach.”
“Then why are you here?” I blow out a breath and look up to the ceiling. “If you fucking tell me you’re a couple then I’m gonna—”
“No, no. We’re not. He’s just been helping me out.”
Zach’s eyes run down my barely-clad body before turning on his friend, who’s still on the floor in just his boxers. Feeling his stare, Spike lifts his head up and I get my first taste of how he felt when he saw me last night.
Zach might be my brother, but right now I want to hurt him.
“Sit on the sofa, Zach. And don’t fucking move. I’m going to sort him out.”
Zach’s lips purse, clearly not impressed with what I’m suggesting, but he can go suck it.
“It’s either that or you leave,” I spit, taking a step closer to him. I don’t for a second think it’s threatening in any way—I just hope it shows I’m serious.
His eyes narrow at me before he nods. “Then you’d better start talking. Both of you.”
I watch as he backs away from me and falls down onto the sofa. I can’t help but smirk when he lifts his hand, inspects his knuckles, and flexes his fingers.
“I really hope that hurts.”
He cuts me a look that I’m sure would have others quaking in their boots. I guess it’s a good thing that I’m not most people and my big brother doesn’t scare me one bit.
Without missing a beat, I run for the bathroom to find the stash of first aid stuff Spike keeps in the cupboard.
I return to a very tense living room a few seconds later, and after collecting a bowl of warm water, I set about doing the same thing for Spike as he did for me last night. Sadly, though, we both already know it’s not going to end in the same way with Zach’s stare burning into us.
“Spike,” I whisper once I’ve crouched down beside him, “look at me.”
He keeps his face away like a petulant child.
“Don’t be a prick, let me clean you up.”
“I deserved it,” he says so quietly that only I will hear it.
“Bullshit. Now, do as you’re told.”
After blowing out a long breath, he lifts his head, rests it back against the wall, and his eyes find mine.
My breath catches at the pain and regret in them.
There’s so much I want to say to him, to reassure him, but while we’ve got an audience, I think bringing anything up from last night would be an
