Chapter 23: Our Thing: Chapter 23

When our motorbike stops outside of a different villa, I’m both wary and excited. Max leans forward and twists the front tyre into position as I jump off. He effortlessly swings his leg over the sleek black motorbike and looks at me as if he’s ready to eat me.

His tongue lathers his lower lip while his gaze caresses my naked thighs. ‘What was it you said about that straitjacket?’

I take a step back, feeling my pulse quicken. ‘Where are we?’

‘I want you to be able to scream.’

My breathing becomes deep and laborious. ‘Okay.’

Before I can take another step backwards, he’s sweeping me into his arms and carrying me inside.

Our last night in Bali is spent having wild, profound, and mind-blowing sex in our very own villa.

We are both athletic and yet, by the end of it, we are flayed out on the mattress, chests heaving, legs entwined, bodies slick with moisture, mouths red and raw. I spread my thighs, humming at the feel of the breeze from the overhead fan licking my swollen parts. God, this feels good.

‘Are you sore?’ he asks, facing me.

I roll onto my shoulder and peer up at his beautiful face. ‘A little.’ Shuffling me about, he places my head on his thick bicep as a pillow, holding me close. He brushes a rogue strand of hair from my face and grins.

‘I’ll lick you all better tomorrow.’

My palm meets his chest and I can feel his heart beating on the other side. Slow and relaxed. ‘Last time you said that, you disappeared for two weeks.’

‘I won’t be doing that again.’

‘What’s going to happen when we get back to the District?’

He gazes down at me through his lashes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘With us?’

His brows tighten. ‘Nothing.’

The ambiguity in that response causes my breath to catch. ‘Oh.’

He reaches for my face, his thumb running along my jaw. ‘No, little one. What I mean is, we’ll stay the same. You’ll go back to dancing. I’ll go back to studying and working. We’ll see each other most nights.’

I exhale and press my lips together to stop from beaming at him. ‘Most nights? Really?’ My voice gives away my excitement, pitching higher.

I wish I was cooler.

He chuckles softly. ‘Sure. If you want.’

‘Of course I want!’ I run my nails down the ridges of his muscles, which are taut from exertion. ‘But. . . How? How will you fit me in with Jimmy? With uni and rugby?’

His pectorals had twitched when I’d mentioned Jimmy. He clears his throat. ‘I only have uni two days a week. I’m nearly finished. And I’ve told Coach I can’t commit at the moment. He’s got me on casual.’

‘What do you do the rest of the time?’

‘I go to the gym. Work.’

‘And when you graduate. . . ‘ I stare up at his expression, desperate to know if he’ll be moving away from the Family identity and creating his own. ‘Will you get a job as an architect?’

He glances at me and frowns, the answer in his dubious gaze. ‘How do you spend your days?’

My chest feels a ping of sorrow. ‘Why get a degree if you don’t intend on using it?’

He drags me up onto the pillow beside him. ‘Don’t look so sad, and tell me what you do all day.’

‘I have ballet like five days a week,’ I say with a thin smile. ‘And I teach classes twice a week. I go for runs in the morning. Toni and I have a set date night on Wednesday to watch whatever our series is at the moment. Game of Thrones took a big chunk out of our lives. But I also practise in my studio and, when I can, I try to spend time with my family.’

He watches my lips move as I speak. ‘How you gonna fit me in?’

My smile gets wider. ‘I prioritise.’

He grins. ‘Good to know.’ We smile at each other in silence for a few seconds before he says, ‘Jimmy’s got us tickets to your show at Christmas.’

I begin to trace his perfectly rough jawline with my fingers. His eyes soften when I touch him. ‘Will everything be alright between you and Jimmy?’

His jaw muscle tics beneath my finger. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Because of today,’ I murmur. ‘I’m not sure what that was or-‘

‘Just leave it. Jimmy and I are fine. We’re family. You don’t have to worry.’

I sigh. ‘And I didn’t know you speak Italian.’

‘It’s Sicilian actually. And I don’t speak it well, or so everyone kept telling me all fucking day.’

‘Say something in Sicilian for me?’

His stormy grey eyes analyse me. ‘Tu, sì a chiù bedda carusa ca ancuntrài nda me vita.’

‘What did you say?’

He smirks. ‘Something filthy.’

‘I’d love to speak another language.’

‘I’ll teach you Sicilian.’

‘Really?’ I wrinkle my nose and grin a little. ‘I hear you’re not very good at it.’

His eyes get dark with warning. ‘Be careful. . . I’ll fuck you again.’

My hand moves from his jaw down to the centre of his chest where I trace a small tattooed cross with my fingertip. ‘And you’re religious?’

‘I don’t need God to fuck you again.’

I giggle, but it feels strangled by the questions swimming in my head. ‘No, I mean it. The ceremony was very religious.’

‘We’re Catholic.’

‘But are you religious?’ I press.

He lifts a brow at me. ‘You wanna know if I believe in God?’

‘Yes.’ I tuck my hand under my cheek. ‘Do you?’

He thinks on the question for a moment. His hand meets my waist, stroking the curve up to my chest and back down to my hip. ‘The word ‘no’ is on my tongue, but. . . then I’ve had my tongue inside you, so maybe He does.’

I giggle again and bat my lashes at him. My smile disappears quickly when I think about my response to the same question. ‘I don’t.’

His big hand is hot on my skin. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t want to believe that such a powerful presence exists and yet, such terrible things happen to innocent people.’

He exhales slowly through his nose. ‘Like Konnor.’

‘Yeah.’

There are several seconds of silence in which Max’s eyes narrow and fix on me in contemplation. ‘I have a picture of Butch,’ he finally says, ‘holding me and Bronson when we were babies. He’s got boxing gloves on. One of us held up by each big fucking bicep. Blood and sweat all over his face, grinning from ear to fucking ear.’

I’m surprised my mouth doesn’t drop open from him willingly sharing something personal with me. ‘He was proud of you?’

He scoffs a little. ‘He’d just won a championship. . . The guy he’d fought that day had died. Brain injury.’

My throat rolls. ‘Oh, Max.’

‘God doesn’t do terrible things to people, little one. People do terrible things to people.’

My face falls. I struggle with the words for a moment before admitting, ‘I worry about you.’

‘You don’t need to,’ he assures me.

‘Do you mean that?’ I study his face. ‘That I don’t need to. You’re not gonna get hurt?’

He grins. ‘It’s cute you’re worried about me.’

‘I’m always going to be.’ My chest tightens and I’m suddenly picturing him stomping on someone’s head. ‘You’re a gangster, Max.’

‘You weren’t gonna ask questions,’ he says, his tone low and smooth.

My pulse begins to race. ‘That was a statement, not a question.’

‘What is a gangster?’ he bites out. ‘It’s a fucking Hollywood word. We don’t use that term.’

‘Okay.’ I swallow for courage and mutter, ‘What term do you use?’

He removes his hand from my waist and the absence of it affects me deeply. Leaning up onto his elbow, he glares down at me. ‘That’s a fucking question.’

‘Do you hurt people?’

‘That’s another!’

I feel the backs of my eyes burning and I stifle a little whimper.

He exhales slowly, his jaw working as he reaches for the words. ‘Only people like me,’ he states. Stroking my cheek, he adds, ‘Not people like you.’

And my heart sinks and he can see it in my eyes. Unease and disappointment curdle together in my belly and he sees that too. His face gets tighter, his eyes dilate, and I get smaller, crushed beneath his glare.

I sniffle and touch his arm. ‘But people like you have people like me that love them.’

He jumps to his feet. ‘Cassidy, stop this shit now!’ He disappears from our room and slams the door. My heart is in my throat. My breathing is shallow and hard to control.

Hot tears run down my temples and onto the pillow. After a few moments, I hear the front door open and then shut. I curl my knees up and cry, tears falling quick like rain.

‘I’d never hurt you.’

I open my eyes to complete darkness, the sound of the fan clicking as it spins, and those words. The bed dips around me and I soon feel Max’s heat on top of me. His hand circles the side of my neck.

His breath hits my cheek. ‘Don’t be afraid of me.’

He presses his lips to mine, and he tastes sweet and poisonous. Like rum. Like Max Butcher. His naked body radiates heat against my skin. His erection pulsates hard against my thigh. Opening for him, I wrap my legs around his hips, feed my fingers up through his dark-brown hair, and deepen our kiss.

Neediness takes him over as he thrusts into me on a groan. His palms slam into the pillow on either side of my face. As he rolls his hips against me, my backside curves up.

I grip his shoulders and neck. There is desperation in his movements as he threads his hand under my backside and lifts me up to meet his powerful thrusts. Focusing on his own orgasm – I can feel it by the way he moves – he begins to pick up pace.

When he takes me hard like this, it’s as if I can feel his penis inside my abdomen. He’s so large and I’m so small. If I placed my palm on my lower belly, I’m sure I’d feel him knocking on the other side.

My pleasure is mixed with pain again, just like the first time, and I cry out his name. He groans deep and long, drops one elbow onto the mattress, and steals my breath as his weight crushes me. His face dips into the curve of my neck. ‘Cassidy.‘

There are moments when it becomes too much. Too intense. But he keeps going. Growing more desperate for his own release.

I come twice. My breath is his name; Max.

He keeps his rhythm up.

Fierce and determined.

His bicep contracts by my face as he gets rougher. Deeper. His fingers massage my backside, manoeuvring me. Suddenly, his teeth bite down on my shoulder as he comes. His hips keep thrusting through his long orgasm, each pump throwing me up towards the headboard.

He finally stills on top of me, breathing heavily.

He presses his forehead to mine, his body hovering just above me. ‘You’re all I want.’

My body trembles, and I am a silly little girl because I’d thought love would be warmth in my chest and heart, and peace and contentment in my soul. But it’s not contentment. It’s not peaceful. It’s terrifying. It’s so strong that I know it could undo me. It could unravel everything that I am, strip me back until I’m nothing but bare bones and a swollen heart.

As my tears fall, he kisses the corner of each eye. ‘Don’t cry. Did I hurt you?’

I shake my head.

He rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I kiss him desperately. He touches the tears pooling by my eyes and then brushes his fingers through my hair, down my back, and up again. ‘Do you still want this with me?’ he says against my lips.

I nod with my heart in my throat. ‘You’re not a bad person, Max,’ I breathe. ‘I know you aren’t.’

He kisses me hard.