The presence of Bronson standing just behind me is palpable, but he's allowing this to play out.
Inching in a little closer to Xander, I hiss, "And yet, there's not a scratch on you. So tell me, my tough little brother, how hard did you really try?" His eyes drop, finally cowering beneath my livid mien. "If you weren’t my brother, I’d kill you," I whisper before letting him go with an angry shove. For a second he looks at me as though I've just ripped his heart right out of his chest and that fucking wrecks me. I growl at the ground. Taking off towards the exit, I glance at Bronson, who appears stoic. As I shove my way outside, the murmur of their voices follow me through the open door.
"No, let him go," Bron states calmly.
"I'm sorry, Bron."
"I know you are, buddy."
Max
As I make my way to the Rover, I clench my fists at my sides. All I feel is rage again. Rage, yes, and fucking regret. And I hate regret; it's a useless emotion and I know better than to suffer it. Know better but feel it, nonetheless.
I try to ignore the dark voice in my head that stokes my volatility. A voice that tells me to trust no one with her. To suspect everyone. I jump into the Rover and start the engine, turning the music up in an attempt to drown that voice out.
Now that business is done, every muscle in my body twitches with the need to get back to her, an irrational response to her absence these days that I'm still not accustomed to. Fuck, how I used to like my independence. My solo existence. Now, though, I breathe deeper when she's around.
During the drive home, I relive that night. The night I truly realised what was at stake. Finding her half broken on the floor. Finding him metres from her with a blade of glass shoved through his carotid artery. She'd fought him, alone, in the dark. Without me.
I let her down.
By the time I get home, I'm ready to go several rounds on the bag. But when I walk into my room and see her asleep above the covers on my bed, my anger stills. I freeze dead in my tracks. Sighing roughly, I map her little figure with my eyes. She's the tiniest thing. She's on her side, facing the window that occupies the full length and height of my bedroom wall. The glow from the city below us shines onto her naked arms and legs. Her hair is in a low ponytail, and I have an urge to pull the elastic away, to let her long, thick, almost pink-blonde hair spread across the pillow.
When I'm beside her, she sleeps naked, but right now, she's in white panties and a singlet. Wandering around the bed and towards the window, I sit on the two-seater lounge in a corner of the room and look at her. Part of her face is in the shadows, but the part lit up by the moon and city is relaxed, soft, and lightly frosted in freckles. They might be my favourite part of her. Those freckles. And I've licked every one of them.
My gaze traces the curve of her shoulder, down to her tiny waist, and over the small swell of her hips.
Leaning back into the cushions, I crack my knuckles. My attention is suddenly snagged on the tattoo on my finger. The one that reads 'ardent one' - fiery one.
My fiery one.
Realising now that I'm not angry anymore, I fold my arms across my chest and continue to watch her sleep.
"Max."
Although I don’t move, my eyes open instantly to the sound of her voice. She sits up slowly in bed - lazily. Moaning sleepily, she rubs her eyes. "What are you doing?"
Taking a few moments to adjust to being awake, I realise I'm still on the lounge.
"Go back to sleep, little one," I instruct, but she's already climbing from the bed and crossing the room towards me, her little face questioning and concerned.
She stops just short of me, and all I can concentrate on is the slip of white skin between her panties and her single. I lick my lower lip and then look up at her face. She smiles softly at me and fuck - just, fuck.
Batting her long soft brown lashes, her bow-shaped lips curl into a sweet smile - as if she has me all figured out.
As she sits on my lap with her legs to the side, I lean back to get a better view of her face and body.
"Why are you on the couch?" she asks, her voice huskier than normal in a half-wake daze. I like it. My cock pulses.
"Didn't want to wake you," I lie. Didn't want to crawl into bed with you while I smell like formaldehyde. Didn't want to lose my mind over your scent and take my frustrations out on your sweet body. Some fucking bullshit truth like that.
I fix my eyes on her lethargic hazel ones, the flecks of gold and amber in them shining despite her sleepy state. My gaze drops to those velvety full lips and they part immediately. She follows my line of sight as I look down at her perfect thighs pressed together. I don’t like the way she's sitting. I grab her waist and lift, manoeuvring her until she's stretched open over my lap. Better.
Gripping her delicious soft backside, I draw her towards me. She gasps when her soft axis meets my hard one. When her forearms rest onto my shoulders, her nails move up along my neck and she strokes my skin. A shiver runs the length of my spine. Fuck me. What do I do with her? I'd never been touched like this before meeting her. Not sure any previous girl would have dared to.
Her eyes -adoringly- study my face and it's welcome and needed and uncomfortable at
