Chapter 28: Our Thing: Chapter 28

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Wednesday night. Max’s fingers are threaded through mine, pinning my palms to the mattress. He’s thrusting deep inside me from behind when an erratic knocking shakes the bedroom door.

‘Fuck,’ he groans as he flexes his penis inside me. ‘Not now!’

I moan laboriously into the pillow. ‘Max,’ I beg. I do that now, when he teases me, when I’m desperate for him. I beg. He’s made me this needy. I wasn’t before. Now, I struggle to go a day without an orgasm.

‘Max! I got a page.’ Xander’s voice shakes.

He growls, thrusts two more times, and then crawls off me. His erection squeezes out from between my thighs and slides across my leg. I whimper at the feeling of being so empty and unsated. Rolling over, I sit up straight in his bed and watch him move around the room. Grabbing his clothes, he tugs them on. I’m breathing so hard and wild. I’m so wet and needy, but I wait frozen for him to acknowledge me.

I think I whisper his name. ‘Max?‘

Finished dressing, he closes the miserable gap between us and kisses me quickly on the lips. ‘I’ll be back soon.’

Then he’s gone.

I blink at the closed door he has just rushed through. My belly fills with unease. I want to run after him and beg him not to go, not because I’m clingy, but because nothing good can come from whatever they need to do in the middle of the night on a Wednesday. Closing my eyes, I will the anxieties away. It’ll just be family drama. He’ll be fine.

The ‘Family’ drama. . .

Shuddering, I pull the covers up over my body even though I’m not cold. After several minutes alone in his room, I decide to see if Toni is still awake. Retrieving my phone from the bedside table, I find his name and hit dial.

The ringing drops and his lovely voice sings through. ‘So apparently, we don’t do Toni and Cassidy Series Night anymore because you’re too busy getting humped by Max Butcher. I haven’t gotten a boner for Uhtred son of Uhtred of Bamburgh for weeks now and that’s all on you.’

I laugh, but it’s a little weak. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sure he’ll get bored of me soon.’

‘Right. You remember when I said you won’t marry and have annoying little brats with the first guy you sleep with? Well, you proved me wrong, Golden Girl.’

I place my phone on speaker and shimmy off the bed to retrieve my knickers. I usually sleep naked, but I don’t feel comfortable completely bare unless Max is beside me.

‘Oh my gawd, Toni. Stop it. We are just. . .’ I hesitate.

‘In love. You can say it.’

The truth is undeniable. Concrete. I know how I feel. My heart is in a constant frenzy because I am so fricking crazy in love with Max Butcher. There is no other word that comes close to describing this feeling, so that one will have to do. . . Love. I step into my underwear and pull them up. ‘He’s not.’

‘Oh, okay,’ Toni says dubiously.

‘He’s not. Stop it. It’s not fair on me for you to say that when you don’t know if it’s true.’

He scoffs. ‘I do know it’s true. He’s obsessed with you. You spend every free moment together.’

I smile to myself as I slide back beneath the sheets and look through the large, full-length window. ‘I’m obsessed with him.’

‘Yeah. I bet you guys look great fucking. You should film it.’

My palm meets my face. ‘Stop it. How’s Braidy?’

‘He’s good. We’re good. We’re good at it. I like it.’ I can hear his smile.

‘Aww, I like hearing you happy. How are you guys handling his journey from the closet into the bright lights of Gay Land?’

‘It’s been bright and gay.’ He laughs. ‘On the surface, it appears like everyone has accepted us. The only problem is that his parents adore me, so ya know, something must be wrong with them.’

‘Toni D’annunzio! Liking you is not a defect.’

‘You have to meet them. They would love you! And every time I go there, they tell me I’m too skinny and try to feed me.’ He sighs. ‘It’s really good for my soul. Oh, we should double date!’

‘Oh yeah,’ I mock. ‘Let’s get your cop lover and my less than reputable boyfriend together and see what happens. Let’s just see how crazy stuff can get.’

‘Oh my giddy aunt. I haven’t thought of that. How are we going to work this sitcho?’

‘I honestly have no idea.’

‘So where is Prince Not Charming?’

‘Well, he kinda rushed off about five minutes ago and left me alone in his house.’

‘Was it a call? Another virgin?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ I pause and squirm on the mattress. ‘I don’t think. . .’

‘Oooh, go snoop around his house.’ He claps. ‘Take pictures. Send them to me.’

I roll my eyes. ‘No.’

He squeals with excitement. ‘Go into Xander’s room. Steal me a pair of his underwear. I’ll wear them when I feel pretty.’

‘Oh my God, Toni.’

‘What?’ he says. ‘Would you prefer to analyse why he left until your fanny dries up?’

I tuck the sheets between my thighs. ‘Not really.’

‘Do you think it has something to do with his work.‘

I sigh. ‘I know it has something to do with his work.’

‘You need to talk to him about it.’ I want to tell Toni what had happened the last time I’d tried that, but it doesn’t feel right betraying Max’s trust. Talking about it isn’t going to change anything. It’s not just a job. I don’t think he can just quit because his girlfriend doesn’t like that kind of behaviour.

These deeds are part of his responsibility, his duty as the son of Luca Butcher. He’s the son of a gangster. For him, corruption and intimidation are the norm, a privilege and burden of his last name. I wonder if he’s ever asked to break free of it. Hating the thought and wishing I’d never had it, I also wonder if he likes being a gangster.

I imagine the power can be intoxicating.

‘I can’t.’ I snatch my phone and mute the speaker before pressing it to my ear. ‘We can’t really talk about this here.’

‘Well, why did you call then?’

I yawn, snuggling deeper into the bed. ‘I just wanted to hear your voice.’

‘That’s gross. I love you too.’

I eventually fall asleep with the phone wedged between my cheek and pillow. My body rolls further towards the edge of the mattress as I hear movement around the bed. Caught in slumber, it takes me a while to draw my consciousness back into the waking world.

My breathing must have changed though because I hear Max’s deep, raspy voice. ‘Go back to sleep, little one.’

I settle back into the mattress, spooning my Max pillow tightly to my chest. Sleep numbs the feelings and questions I have, and I begin drifting back into my dreams.

With a slight thump, his shoes come off. His keys jingle. His jeans drop to the floorboards and then something metal clinks onto the bedside table.

My eyes snap open and I stare dead ahead.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Oh my God.

I know what that sound is. It’s not like I’ve ever heard a gun being placed on a bedside table before, but I still somehow know.

I know he keeps his gun in a safe. At least, he did in Bali. The last time I saw it placed out in the open was after he’d passed out with another woman pressed to his body. A little unease stirs me further to suspicion. Is he drunk? It must be late.

The bed dips as he moves in behind me and envelopes me with his big, warm body. His chest presses against my back. His hot breath feels like warm silk on my neck. The smell of whiskey, smoke, and shoe polish surrounds me. Despite the heat radiating off him, I’m suddenly freezing. I pull the blanket up, trying to get warm again.

I’m left in two states of mind. One wants to slide out from beside him and investigate. The other wants to fall back to sleep in his arms. I’m supposed to be at peace with the gun. I like the gun. It keeps him safe, him in control.

My eyes close. Wiggling my toes, I slide my feet along the soft sheets. I try to concentrate on how his beautiful body is pressed to mine, try to remind myself how lucky I am to even be in his bed. Reminding myself I’d promised not to ask questions, I try to follow him into slumber.

It doesn’t work.

I wrap my fingers around his hand and lift the whole heavy weight of his arm off me as I shuffle out from under it. I hold my breath when the mattress moves around, but he’s only rolling to face the other direction. My bare feet hit the floorboards, but there is no sound. I tiptoe my way over to stare at his gun.

It looks heavy.

Like, I’d struggle to hold it up and point it at someone. I’ve never given much thought to the weight of a gun. In the movies everyone can hold one up – even the children. But staring at Max’s gun, I think I could probably point it and shoot immediately, but if I was hesitant or holding up a bank or threatening someone. . . Oh my gawd, why am I even on this train of thought?

I shake my head and swallow hard. Stepping backwards, my feet suddenly get caught in his clothes on the floor and I nearly trip. I lean down and scoop them all up. After carrying them into the ensuite, I drop them into his clothes basket.

All the warmth and colour drains from my face.

There are blood splatters all over his shirt.

He’s hurt.

My chest tightens so hard, I want to gasp for air. Rushing to his side, I switch the bedside lamp on and pull back the covers, terrified that he’s. . . perfect.

Clean.

My hands tremble on the blanket. I stare at his bare torso as it rises and falls, then glance up to catch his eyes open and fixed on mine. When I jump backwards, he lunges for my wrist and pulls me onto the mattress. He rolls me beneath him, pinning me. Inadvertently pressing my palm to my throat, I feel my pulse thrashing beneath my fingers.

A hard, sad, and determined gaze nails me to the mattress. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought you were hurt,’ I barely whisper. Despite my unsteady voice, I’m not scared. I know he’d never hurt me. He’s drunk and naked on top of me. His penis is pressed to my thigh and I’m startled, aroused, and concerned, but not afraid.

‘What made you-‘ He stops talking and looks back over his shoulder at the gun. He squints at it as if he’s confused by its presence. ‘Fuck,’ he hisses.

‘It’s okay.’ I touch his cheek, drawing his eyes back to me. ‘I saw it.’

His stare penetrates me. ‘Yeah. And?’

I gaze into the defensive grey eyes of the man I love. ‘The blood on your shirt. I thought you were hurt. I panicked.’

His lips twitch. ‘You were worried about me?’ He lets out a cynical chuckle. ‘That’s the first thing that came to your mind? Even after you saw the gun?’

‘Yes,’ I admit.

He presses his forehead to mine on a sigh. ‘You know I’m a bad guy, right? I thought you knew that.’

I kiss his lips chastely and we close our eyes. I cup either side of his neck and rub my forehead against his. The feelings between us are thick and overwhelming. ‘You’re many things, Max Butcher, but bad isn’t one of them.’

He laughs and it’s sad and dubious, and his tone forces a sob from my throat.

‘I watched a man die tonight,’ he says smoothly.

Tears fall down my temples. More pool in my ears. I’m not sure I truly register his words or maybe I’m so full of him, I no longer have regard for others. Or maybe I’m selfish. Or maybe I’ve just been waiting for something like this to happen and now that it has, I’m somewhat prepared. I remember our conversation in Bali.

‘Do you hurt people?’

‘Not people like you. Only people like me.’

‘But people like you have people like me who love them.’

‘Oh God.’ I whimper. ‘Are you okay?’

‘There you go again. . . Yes, Cassidy. I’m okay.’

Even though I know he’s physically okay, I’m not so sure his soul is settled. I can feel a darkness in him tonight. In the way he breathes. In his taut body.

‘What did he do, Max?’ My voice falters and my palms tremble against his neck. ‘What does a person have to do?’

He kisses my lips softly. ‘It was him or us.’

I sob into his mouth. ‘Max, no. It’s not that black and white. It can’t be.’

‘He was a bad person, little one.’

‘But he was a person.’

He shakes his forehead against mine, groaning. ‘I thought you knew this!’

‘I don’t know what I know!’

When he lifts his forehead, my chest tightens, preparing itself for the hole of his absence. I know he’s about to leave. I cover my face, not wanting him to see my anguish.

Fingers link through mine, pulling my palms away and exposing my pain. Our eyes meet. He runs his thumb possessively over my quivering lower lip and studies me closely. I weep quietly from confusion and the truth and my self-imposed naivety.

He winces ever so slightly. ‘Do you still want this with me?’

My heart aches. ‘I love you, Max Butcher. I’ll always want to be with you.’

He blinks at me slowly and oh my gawd, I can’t believe I’ve just told him I love him. I can’t believe I’ve done it right after he’s admitted to watching a man die.

I’m so messed up.

But then he rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, and manhandles me until I spread my thighs to straddle him. He caresses my spine before gripping the nape of my neck and pulling me for a kiss.

His tongue skates inside my mouth, causing me to moan.

‘I want you,’ I say, desperation in my voice. I need to be close to him right now. I need to get lost in our Cassidy and Max world.

He kisses me as if he’s in physical pain. Then he helps me slide my knickers off before repositioning me above his erection. I’ve never been on top before. He likes to be in control.

My nipples skim his chest, the sensitive buds tightening. I start to whimper as he slides me down his length. It’s a new level of penetration. No angle obstructs the depth.

Breaking our kiss, he pushes me upright. And then his hands are back on my hips, controlling the level at which I take him. I stare at him. He stares at me and then his eyes flutter as he forces me down all the way. My body strains to consume the final inches of him. As I recoil slightly, he curses and holds my hips in place, stirring his penis inside me.

‘Max,’ I think I cry out.

My eyes squeeze shut.

‘It’s okay, little one. It’ll only hurt for a moment.’ He barely gets the words out through a deep long groan.

He doesn’t thrust up into me.

But he also doesn’t let me inch away. I can feel him pulsing inside me. We stay very still for several seconds, panting, as I become accustomed to the feeling of being wrapped around the root of his erection.

‘Look down,’ he breathes. ‘Look at your pretty little pussy swallowing my cock.’

Oh God, the way he talks.

I force my eyes open and stare down at where he’s opening me, spreading me wide. His penis flexes. My clit is pressed into his neat dark-brown pubic hair and the sight of us has me dripping with pleasure. Encouraging me, Max moves my hips again, rolling me along him in slow, deep, long waves. I’m full, so crammed with him. My orgasm beckons me, so close. . .

I curl my hips, brushing my clit against him.

He groans, his fingers flexing around my hip bones as he wrestles with his need to take me. Longing, feverish and intense, brews inside me.

‘Do that again,’ he begs.

Max Butcher is begging me.

I roll my hips again and his hands move to my breasts, palms stimulating my tight nipples. ‘Max,’ I moan.

‘Good girl. I like it when you moan my name.’

I move faster on top of him. The feeling of his erection inside me, pressing against my cervix, is consuming.

His eyes – heavy and carnal- lap up the sight of me working his erection from on top. He’s giving me the control and he’s lost all composure in the process. I feel a sense of power. I have given myself to him willingly and often, and he takes and I love it. . . But right now, I have the reigns. I control the speed. The movement. I curl my hips on him until more moisture slides from inside me, until a tingle twists my clit. Until hot pressure forces its way up my thigh and invades my abdomen before crashing together between my legs.

I come hard. ‘Max!’

He bares his teeth, but doesn’t move.

I think I’m torturing him.

Once I regain my senses, I slowly move my hips in circles. Panting and buzzing from my orgasm, I try to keep my stamina up. I watch his face, his beautiful, tight, pleasured, and curbed expression. He glares at me through his lashes and his hands glide around my body.

They stroke my trim stomach, cup my breasts, and then fist my hair.

He tugs ever so lightly, sexual rage flaring in his irises. ‘Fuck me like you love me.’

Oh God.

Anchoring myself in his eyes, I lean back and grip his toned thighs. I start to really work my pelvis, lifting and then sliding my backside down to take all of him in again. Over and over. So deep. So overwhelming. My breasts bounce. My hips roll down to draw him in and curl up to squeeze him out.

‘Fuck!’ He grips me harder, fingers biting at my skin. Then they are on my thighs with a slap, clasping so tight, stirring me along his hips. And now as his hands hold me to him, he’s thrusting up into me as he comes. His groaning is long and intense. His penis pulses, forcing cum up into me, but there is no room, so it explodes down the shaft of his penis and spills out from where we connect.

Feeling his orgasm as intensely as I do my own, I spiral into another, coming again. My hands cup his face as I lean forward to kiss him, riding the wave until my body drops to his.

I kiss him hard and desperately.

I kiss him with every piece of unconditional love I hold for him.

Unconditional.