My mouth drops open.
"You're feral," I say, with a soft giggle, briefly forgetting where he has been for the past few days and letting myself relax against him. "That could have been from yesterday."
He laughs again and holds me close. Then he sets me down onto the ground. The thick lush grass feels like a sponge under my ballet flats. I grip his forearms and rake his body thoroughly - inspect him - searching for hints of trauma or turbulence within his presence.
"Did they hurt you?" I mutter as I catch his eyes, but I'm met with only cool, calm, menacing Max. No shadows hidden within his irises. There is sadness though and it hurts my stomach.
I touch the stubble at his jawline, and he closes his eyes, moving into my palm, chasing comfort in a subtle way.
"I'm sorry, little one," he says, his voice stern, hoarse, rough, as if he's been shouting or yelling all night long. And I wouldn't know. . ."Did what happen scare you?"
Clenching my jaw, I draw breath in through my nose. Quick, short, breaths. I remember the feeling of having him ripped away. Of my world tilting. Spinning. "Yes. Yes, of course it did, Max. I was scared for you."
He exhales slowly, shaking his head. "Don't be scared for me."
"That's a stupid thing to say," I state, glancing away from him, over his shoulder at the vast block of land we're standing on. "What happened to you?" I mutter without offering him my gaze, my voice hesitant and breathy. "Were they nice to you?"
He straightens, causing my palm to slip from his cheek. A big warm hand grips the curve of my neck. His thumb pushes my chin up, demanding my gaze meet his. "Little one, don't do that."
I fight the well of tears. I fight it, but it happens anyway. "It kills me to think about you in that dark place. . . Behind bars. You're so much more fragile than-"
His hand tightness on the arch of my throat. "Little one, stop it."
"You could lose yourself in there, Max," I say in barely a whisper. An echo. "God, I can't lose you." I grip at his forearm, fingers kneading him with a kind of desperation.
Cradling my head with his hands, he leans in closer and says, "You won't."
I stare up at him, craning my neck to fix him with my passion and meaning. "In here, Max." Pressing my palm to his hard chest, I feel the muscles ripple below his shirt. "I know you think that's weak and silly. I know you want to cringe; you probably have the urge to just throw me down on your mattress and silence me with your mouth, but I am here for-"
"I always have the urge to throw you down on my mattress and silence y-"
"Those places can be rough. And, well, it's over anyway," I say weakly. "Right? So you don't need to be strong anymore. I want you to be able to tell me what that was like for you. I don't want you to have this life-changing event and not share it with me. I don't-"
"Cassidy, I need you to stop talking." He presses his lips to mine, their warmth and gentleness coercing me to be quiet. I close my eyes and let his mouth consume me, silence the questions and thoughts. I lock them away for now to enjoy the peace and contentment of our world. We hum into our kiss, a strange kind of sadness behind the motion of his lips and tongue. A gentleness that isn't hopeful but painful, and I try to ignore it.
Our kiss is broken when Carter clears his throat beside us.
Max frowns at the interruption.
"Sorry, boss. The sun will be down soon." He hands Max a black headset of some kind. "Here you go."
Max looks at my wide-eyed expression. "Turn around and face the block, little one."
A nervous giggle leaves me. "What are you doing?"
"I want to show you something."
He positions me in front of him with my shoulders and head pressed to his hard broad chest. He slides the headset over my eyes, and I'm immediately staring at a black abyss.
"I'm nervous," I say, shuffling on the grass.
A little fizzle sounds by my ear as Max flicks the headset on. Then an image of a beautiful house appears on the empty lot. I cover my gasp. It looks so real, as though I could walk straight up through the portico and open the double doors. It is two storeys high with carved trimmings around the roofline, a gable, and exposed eaves. There is a veranda on the base level, adorned with low fencing. It is a modern representation of a 19th-century-style home. It's fricking beautiful. I beam with pride. Max has designed this house; I just know it.
I twist my head and the house stays stationary as if it is really cemented to the earth. "Is this VR?"
"Yes." His voice makes me jump a little as he sounds far away, my eyes and ears not experiencing the same environment. It's quite jarring.
"What do you think?"
I grin. "It's cool."
He chuckles. "Of the house, little one. Not the VR."
"Oh." I smile hard and wonder if he's looking at my face. "Well I think it's just lovely."
I take it all in, noticing a building set back behind the house, offset slightly to the left. "What is that?" I point as if he can see what I can.
"That's a dance studio."
My heart skips a beat, possibly an entire chorus. I pull the headset down, and the block is empty again, shadowed by the low light of the newly setting sun. I spin to face him, blinking fast. "What?"
He sighs roughly, searching my flushed features. "It's for us."
I squeal with excitement. My heart jetes and fouettés and piques and does a silly dance. "Really?"
He nods, a pleased smile hitting the corner of his mouth. "If you
