With a hand splayed on Sophie’s hip, my fingers dig into her flesh as I slam myself inside of her heat.
Fuck, she feels so tight. I struggle to hold back my murmur of pleasure from feeling her heat wrap around my cock.
Pushing myself deeper inside of her, I let out a rough groan from my chest. My lips graze the crook of her neck and then the shell of her ear.
“Fuck, I missed you,” I whisper and it’s her undoing.
She’s already cumming again. Spasming around my cock as her body shivers beneath me.
Even consumed by pleasure, a smirk forms on my lips. I leave an open-mouth kiss along her jaw and then her cheek, waiting for her orgasm to rock through her body. She’s breathing heavily, her lips parted and body still trembling when I pull out just slightly and then push in even deeper, fully seated inside of her.
“I was going to fuck you slowly, to tease you and torture you for making me wait this long to have you again,” I whisper my words and slowly her eyes open. Her baby blues find mine, and I hold them in my gaze.
“I’ve missed you too much not to have you like I selfishly want.”
Sophie lifts her head just slightly, not speaking and only giving me a single kiss before falling back to the bed, barely able to brace herself with her forearms.
And then I ravage her. Keeping my promise. The last time I touch her, she cums one last time with a single flick of my tongue to her clit and nothing more.
Chapter 6
Sophie
Seven years ago
There’s this ominous feeling I get every time I leave or he leaves. A feeling like this is how it’ll be forever, like this is what I’m supposed to have. A world without him.
I can’t explain the anxiousness and the insecurity. I can explain why I feel so unworthy though. Anyone could look between the two of us and write an essay on that matter.
I think that’s why he doesn’t call me his girlfriend – I’m not. I’m not his girlfriend.
“Hey.” Madox’s voice surprises me, as does his grip on my chin forcing me to look up at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I reply, but I can barely breathe as I answer him. Swallowing thickly, I try to come up with a reason to give him that can hide the truth, but I’m struggling. I’m struggling with everything.
With his arms wrapped around me, it all goes away. He has that power – to touch me and let everything else melt to nothing. Everything else is nothing compared to him.
It’s when he leaves that I realize what the feeling is. It’s the feeling you get when you know it’s only a matter of time before it all ends. When it does, I’ll be left with nothing.
Today
Sometimes when people meet, they’ll never be the same again. There’s a piece of the other person that stays with you forever.
I remember this bed, the way it feels, the way it smells like Madox. I remember his house and how it was freezing cold and empty in a way that always made me sad for him. I remember this room, his bedroom, how it was the only place that felt like him, with its dark, textured wallpaper and thick curtains that keep out all the light and sound.
Last night at the bar, Madox gave me more than he gave me all the years we were together. He was quiet and reserved back then, and he never would have told me how he felt. I never knew how he felt. Definitely not that he missed me.
I always knew I loved him, but even so, I also knew he’d let me leave and never come for me. That’s not what someone does when they miss you, let alone when they love you.
For years we were off and on, so there were plenty of times to miss each other. I always went back to him. He was the only man I was ever with because deep down, I thought he cared for me at least, even if it wasn’t the same kind of love that I had for him.
That’s why I sent him a message the morning before I left for good three years ago. After he fucked me in the alley. After I fled back to my apartment, after we fought, after I cried myself to sleep, knowing it was over for good. Even still, before I left with Trish, I gave him one last chance. I texted him before packing what little I had in my apartment for the flight, and I asked him to tell me if he wanted me to stay. I told him I was going to San Francisco, but if he wanted me to stay, I would. I just needed him to tell me how he felt. I needed to know if it was one sided and hear him say it.
He didn’t text me back at all. That’s who Madox is. Or at least it’s who he was.
He never gave me any verbal indication of any sort that he wanted me. All I needed was for him to tell me he wanted me to stay, and he never did.
Not until last night.
Maybe I’m a fool to fall back into bed with him. But hearing those words, “I want you”… it did something to me. Like finally having your wish come true.
It took me back to the first night I met him and through all the years we spent together when those words would have changed everything. And to the first night, when I knew he wanted me to stay and I knew he cared for me. He didn’t even know me, but I knew he cared. He had to have cared, in order to do what he’d done.
That night was both hell and a living nightmare. But for me, it was the start to what I thought could be a fairytale.
I remember that entire month and the days after so vividly. I was only seventeen, soon to be eighteen, and I’d never heard the name Madox Reed before. It all happened because I had to pee, if you can believe that. Well, maybe not. Maybe it all happened because my stepdad was a dick. I wouldn’t stand for it, not even when my mother would.
I guess that was really the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’d reached my limit, and there was no going back. He yelled “cunt” when he punched the window as my mother drove away, weeks before the night from hell.
My mom had left him before so many times. It was like a yearly holiday. They fought a lot, damn near constantly. And every once in a while my mother would have enough and leave, taking me with her.
She’d always go back to him though, and after this particular fight she did just that. We’d spent the longest time at her friend’s house. Two weeks exactly, which was the most time she’d ever stayed away, but just like always, she’d gone back. She forgave him.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t get the fear out of me from that single moment. It lingered every time I got into my mother’s car.
When she was leaving him and driving away, I was sitting in the passenger seat, looking straight ahead and trying not to show anything at all. No tears, no anxiety. My mother was a wreck and she needed me to move quickly, to pack my bag and get in the seat – just like we had before. Through the yelling, through the fighting, I kept it all bottled deep inside, where it shook and shook and shook. Like a can of Coca-Cola waiting to explode. My heart raced when I saw him come out of the house as the engine thrummed and my mother rubbed haphazardly under her eyes. Her mascara smeared, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t like she could see it at all. Her face was red and there was barely any makeup left from all the wiping she did.
She put the car into drive as he screamed something at her. All the windows were closed, but my mother screamed back regardless. Still fighting, even though she was leaving.
They did that to each other. They fought and pushed each other away. It even got physical sometimes. As we took off and I stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the pain in both their voices, my stepdad punched the window – my window - and yelled “cunt” as my mother drove away.
Even in the memory, my body jolts.
The window was closed. Every time I remember it, I think about how hard he hit it. I can’t tell for sure anymore if it was as hard as it felt back then.
I never cried when we left him. My mother needed me to be strong. But back then if I allowed myself to dwell on that thud of the window, the sight of his fist, even the word that romance novels have taught me to love so much because it’s used so differently… that four letter C-word, I cried and I kept crying. I couldn’t stop.
Madox used that word too
, weeks later. He didn’t know what had happened – he didn’t know I hated the word, he didn’t know the word made my body shake in a way I wish I could control – and he said it in bed. But when he said it, it was with a reverence that singed the memory of what it used to mean into nothing but ash.
The way he used it was sinful and decadent. It’s the only way the word should ever be used.
Because of him and my books, I love the word now; I’m over the power that word had held over me, but back then it brought me so much fear. Just the memory of how it was used was enough to make up my mind.
That wouldn’t be for weeks though. I had no idea who Madox was at the time.
When she went back to my stepdad, I didn’t.
Legally, I was almost an adult, and I had a car of my own, although it’d been at the shop at the time of their latest breakup. I told them I wasn’t going to live like that. I watched my mother break down in a way I’ve never seen, and I watched my stepfather’s eyes gloss over, although he eventually screamed at me when I didn’t accept his half-assed apology. Just like he screamed at my mother.
All I had was a car, a part-time job on the weekends, and about $50 in cash. I figured I’d sleep in the car. It was spring, so it was warm enough. I could park a couple of blocks from my work at a vacant house for sale. No one would mind.
I would make it work. Because there was no way I was going back to that house to listen to them scream at each other.
Fifty dollars would last me until payday if I only bought stuff from the dollar menu at fast food places. I wouldn’t need gas, because I’d walk everywhere. I was so sure of myself and if I lived in a perfect world, I could have made it work.
But life is no vacuum-sealed safe room. There are other people existing, watching… waiting.
The third night, I was so damn lonely. My mother called, but her voice was drowned out by the stern voice in the background telling her to put her foot down and not to contradict him. If I was going to make her choose between her husband and her daughter, then I was the problem. Maybe I was.
After all of this happened, I never chose between them again. I came and went and simply saw my mom and stepdad for who they were. A couple who fought, and I wouldn’t stand in the middle any longer. It was easier to love them, and easier for them to love me that way. We were never the same though.
The eighth night was my breaking point.
The guys at the corner store knew I was coming in just to use the bathroom because the school was closed at night. They told me I couldn’t come in anymore unless I was going to buy something. I was down to less than ten dollars; it turned out three dollars a meal wasn’t enough. It was late and dark, I was hungry, and I needed to go to the bathroom. Everywhere else was closed, which is why I drove there.
A few streets down from where I parked was mostly vacant. It led to a few houses and a bar. I walked behind a house for sale, intending on just doing my business. I needed to pee or my bladder would burst; I was on the verge of maybe crying because I felt so stupid and so alone. It would have been just that, and then I’d go back to my car and curl up under the blanket and cry myself to sleep again, wondering how my mother could choose him when I chose her every time. It would have been, but I wasn’t alone.
I knew something was wrong the second I squatted down in the darkest area behind the shed to pee as quick as I could. It was quiet, way too quiet until I heard their voices.
There were four guys, each holding partially empty bottles. One had covered his in a paper bag, but the others didn’t care if everyone could tell they were drinking cheap beer.
The pee dribbled down my leg as I pulled my pants up, stopping midstream. My heart hammered and I swear it tried to leave me, tried to climb up my throat and run. I was too afraid to be embarrassed or ashamed like I’d been when I crept back here hoping no one would see. It never occurred to me how bad things can get and how quickly a situation can turn.
They knew I was there; that was obvious because they didn’t break their stride as they pushed open the gate of the fence leading to the backyard of the house for sale. Words escaped me, breath abandoned me.
I just stood there full of dread, with the shed to my left and a privacy fence behind me.
Four of them, and one of me. Their smiles were telling, even in the darkness. The wolf whistles, the coarse laughs. I thought I knew fear before that night. I thought wrong.
“Yo!” I remember the word being shouted from my right, way down the road and I turned to look, breaking my gaze from the four intruders. Still not having moved, not having spoken, the true terror having turned every piece of me into a numb statue. Another group of people down the street fucking around and laughing were either coming or going, probably from the bar. But I could hear them too.
“Help!” How the word came from me, I have no idea. The first time I screamed it, the expressions on the faces of the men who’d followed me changed, these four young, drunk men who had waited for me to get out of my car so they could follow me and trap me. The second time I screamed out toward the stray voice I heard in the distance, I took half a step forward, feeling the adrenaline in my blood urging me to fight back. I knew someone was there; I just didn’t know if they would come and help me. I knew I couldn’t help myself though. I knew whatever happened if they didn’t save me, was going to be horrific. So I screamed louder and louder, begging for help until my voice was raw.
The closest man grabbed me, trying to cover my mouth and I fought the best I could. I remember the way his grimy hand felt over my face. I bit him, scratched him, kicked out and hit his shin. The next time I screamed for help, the word was ragged and hot tears were streaming down my cheeks. He was so much bigger than me.
I was tired and weak, and I was so fucking scared.
I didn’t have to keep fighting though. There were only three guys down the street who had heard me, but they came.
My knights in shining armor were older than me, but younger than the guys who’d tried to hurt me. They were all wearing the same jacket and one of them threw his off as he saw what was happening and ran. His muscles bulged under the streetlight and the asshole who still had his hands on me, released me to take off. He hopped over the side fence and I thought my rescuer would do the same the way he was running, but he stopped short as my shoulders jerked forward and I dry-heaved.
I got sick right there. Maybe from the shock or the horror. Maybe because I hadn’t eaten. Still, I didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed, because fear clung to me, just like the feeling of that man’s hands on me.
Eight nights alone and living with anger and sorrow had been hell, but that night was disgust and fear in a way I’d never felt before. With the shock came the need to throw up. I didn’t have anything in me though.
I still remember the way my hero stared at me when I finally lifted my head to look at who had rescued me, the way he pulled back my hair and told me it was all right. He was beautiful, and I was haggard and covered in filth.
“What’s your name?” he asked me.
There was a comfort to his tone, his touch. I knew I was disgusting in every sense of the word. I was shaken up, horrified and questioning everything. I hadn’t bathed in three days since the last time I was able to use the showers in the locker room at school, I’d peed on myself and my clothes were dirty. Fuck, it was the lowest point in my entire life. Rock bottom had a new meaning for me that night.
He didn’t seem to notice or care about any of that, and when he talked to me and put his hand on my arm to comfort me, I didn’t either.
“Sophie,” I breathed my name and told him, “Sophie Miller.”
He offered me the kindest smile, and all the while he rubbed soothing circles along my back. I kept shaking; I couldn’t stop, even if inside I felt so warm with him holding me the way he was. “I’m Madox and these are my friends, Cody and Ryan.” My gaze shifted to the other guys, both of them watching me and instinctively, I moved closer to Madox.
Madox
. The name itself sounded powerful and protective. I whispered it and then looked back up at him. It was a sin to look at him the way I was in that moment. I knew I shouldn’t, that I was going to hurt later but just before I could tear my gaze away, he smiled at me. One of those sweet smiles that’s genuine and steals all your worries from you.
“Sophie’s a beautiful name.” The way he said it, I felt beautiful. I felt like someone else. I felt like the night hadn’t happened the way it did. The moment was over quickly, with the sound of the other guys quieting down and the sight of them keeping their distance.
I didn’t question him at all when he told me, “Come on.” I was grateful when he wrapped the jacket he’d thrown down before around my shoulders.
The scent comes back to me at the thought; he smelled clean but woodsy as he held me close to his side. His hands were strong and warm, and he was taller and far more dominating than the other men, but there wasn’t an ounce of fear in me.
The other two guys talked to him, their words bouncing around in my head but not being heard as I tried everything in my power to just stop shaking.
I only knew I wasn’t okay and something bad must have happened, because I couldn’t stop shaking.
I was in so much shock that I didn’t even realize I was in the car with them until the doors were closed and we were moving. That’s when I freaked out, but Madox shushed me.
He asked me to trust him, and there were no questions after that, only demands. To come inside. To shower and change into his clothes. To this day, I swear someone else took over that night. No sane girl would have blindly listened to strangers like I did, especially when I remember how scared I was of Ryan and Cody. They didn’t look at me like Madox did. They didn’t know what to make of me, and I didn’t know what to make of them.
Tell Me To Stay Page 5