by Nicci Harris
"Don't you fucking dare do that just for me!"
My breathing picks up at the sight of him - tormented between lust and guilt.
Swallowing down my heart as it tries to beat up my throat, I say, "I want to, Max."
As the muscles in his cheeks pulse, he releases his grip on me. He nods once stiffly, giving me permission to touch him again. And then I see something I never thought I'd see in his expression - bullshit. He's a lot of things, my Max. A towering, broody man with a physique built for destruction and dominance. He's a powerful heir to a corrupt empire. A boxer. Rugby player. Brother. Menace. To name a few. . . But he's not fake. Max doesn't do bullshit and yet, there it is, allowing me to armour my broken pieces. Hide them. He's allowing me to pretend that last night didn’t happen, to be powerful and free and in the moment.
I hide that realisation by dropping my gaze to his erection, which is now nearly as long as my forearm and almost as thick too. I still have no idea how he puts that inside me. His foreskin has bunched below its smooth head, and as I lick up the full length of it, Max shuffles his feet apart. Placing both palms on the tiles in front of him, he leans some of his weight forward. My tongue meets the smoothest pinkest skin I've ever seen and when a bead of precum slides out, I lap at it eagerly.
Working the underside with my tongue, stimulating his tight ridge, I enjoy the taste of his skin.
I feel good doing this - in control.
Wrapping my hand around the base of his erection, I try to take him into my mouth as far as I can. I close my eyes as the feel of his girth strains my jaw. He feeds one of his hands through my hair. Gently at first. Then fisting lightly to urge me deeper, to open my jaw wider. As I relax my throat and let him slide down further, he groans low and long.
Max's thrusts meet my inward strokes, but he's still being careful not to go too deep. For a second, I wonder if he was gentle like this with other girls and somehow I know he wasn't. From what I've seen, his soft side is a temperament only reserved for me. He pants roughly, guiding me with his fist, down and out.
He takes control.
He begins to pump into my mouth faster, still seemingly concerned with not going too far, but he's slowly starting to get a little carried away.
I press my palms to his taut thighs, bracing myself. Focusing on breathing through my nose, I swallow around his erection, and he uses that moment to slide in further still.
"Fuck," he hisses. His pleasured groans spur me on, so I try to use my tongue to massage the underside of his penis in time with his rhythm. Then something shifts. His movements become more chaotic and relentless as pleasure takes hold. He's nearly there. I feel for his balls as they draw up. The muscles of his thighs twitch. His abdomen crunches. And now he's cradling my cheeks and really thrusting into my mouth. I blink up at him and he trains his dark eyes on me before closing them and dropping his head back. He shudders. Groaning and holding my mouth around his erection, he releases inside me in three powerful pulses. I keenly swallow what he gives me, feeling desire thrumming between my legs even though my mind won't allow for any kind of pleasure. I feel ripped apart. Between my body and my psyche.
He doesn't release me for several seconds. The throbbing of his erection slows in unison with his heavy breathing. When he finally pulls my head back, his penis slides out and hangs half-erect by his thigh. Slowly, I stand up. He reaches for my neck, envelopes it with his hand, and pulls me to his lips for a soft quick kiss.
A little light-headed, I try for a smile. "That was really deep."
His brows draw in. "Did I hurt you?"
He always asks me that. Shaking my head slowly, I say, "You never do."
Warmth moves through me when he pulls me into his chest and holds me there as if he loves me. As if he's fighting some kind of battle. As if he's afraid of something. But Max Butcher isn't afraid of anything.
And I don’t think he loves me - I know he does.
As he strokes my hair, I rub my cheek against the shadowed wall of his hard chest. Ugh, I wish last night would disappear. Wish I wanted him to touch me the way he used to. Take me without asking. Worship my body.
I think I'm a little broken. A little lost.
More than anything, I want Max and Cassidy's world back.
Wrapping my arms around him, I squeeze tight. As if my tiny, little grip can possibly hold us together.
Max
* * *
I tap the top of the Chrysler with my palm and then step back as Carter slowly cruises away with Cassidy in the back seat. She twists around, her golden eyes wide and fixed on me.
As I watch them exit the driveway and disappear out of sight, it takes every piece of restraint to stop myself from chasing after her.
Things are not right.
I jump into Romeo - fuck, the Rover, and drive off before I start to think too much. Think about her soft mouth stretched around my cock in the shower, taking me deeper than most girls can. Think about her teary eyed and swallowing around my thrusts.
I shouldn't have allowed it.
But I was a selfish bastard.
It's a ten-minute drive to Jimmy's, but it feels like a split second. His security waves me through the boom gate. Large hedges border the driveway like looming barricades, and atop every light-pole there are many sets of eyes watching my approach through cameras. We have good security at home, but nothing like what Jimmy has. It's a good thing he has it too. He's got enemies - more than he thinks, perhaps.
I park in my spot, beside Butch's car, and jump out. I take note that Bronson's bike is missing, but I don't need to speculate as to why. He doesn't have the levelheadedness for this side of the business.
As always, the front door opens for me before I can ring the bell. The young maid, who I'm sure gets down on her hands and knees and wears a collar for Jimmy, ushers me inside. His love of submission is well known.
I stride past her and head straight towards the boardroom, growing further agitated with every step.
We'd set this meeting a few days ago, but due to Cassidy's delicate condition, I cancelled. At that mere thought of her, heat rushes into my head.
As I approach the boardroom, Jimmy's thick Sicilian accent sounds through the door. "This is distasteful business."
My teeth mash together. Him speaking in English means he has Australian soldiers in there ready to intervene if things turn south.
"He threatened my family, Jimmy," Butch states, his tone harder than normal but not hard enough given the crux of the conversation.
I push the door open, causing it to hit the brick wall with a thud. The sound renders the room silent. I didn't mean to do that. Happy accident.
Clay and Butch turn to acknowledge me with tight smiles while Jimmy stares deadpan at me from across the room. Two overweight soldiers sit casually on stools at the small bar. Hostility gathers around us. My eyes stay fixed on Jimmy as I round the table, sit beside Clay, lean back, and fold my arms across my chest. I should have been here earlier, but I was with Cassidy - I don't rush those moments.
Jimmy ignores my rude interruption and looks back at Butch. "You don't know, se? The boy had ulterior motives. He could have organised this alone."
Bullshit.
Butch drains his whiskey before pressing, "He sent her down there. Xander confirmed it. I trust my son's instincts; you should too."
Her. I bite my tongue to stop from growling.
Jimmy tsks. "And you're so sure he knew what would happen?"
And now I want to lunge across the table and rip out his tsking tongue.
Jimmy leans back into his seat. "I don't want my family at odds. I will talk with Dustin-"
"That's not enough," Butch interrupts, glancing at me sideways, knowing I'm losing what little restraint I have. I'm glad he can see it. My aggression feels tightly coiled, and the grip I have on that coil is slipping.
"Luca." Jimmy appears almost exasperated. "You know he's got the Australian blue-collar fucks wrapped around his finger. Iddi sù devòti. Just like us.
You know they won't work with Sicilians. We lose Dustin, or worse, he takes up alliances elsewhere, we lose the truckers, our mines, our diamonds."
Clay nurses his whiskey instead of drinking it, keeping his mind sharp and his temper in check. He's a tall, business-type man now, but I remember the egotistical cut-snake he was at my age. Although, it'd be hard to believe that looking at him now. He's annoyingly polished these days. Logical. This is the first time I've seen him since he got back from his honeymoon, but I imagine Butch has filled him in. He is his heir, after all. His heir, yes, but my brother and our code of loyalty is impenetrable.
"I could do it," Clay says smoothly. "I could make the deals up in the Kimberley."
"No, my boy." Jimmy dismisses him with a wave of his hand. "You're going to need to keep squeaky clean if you're to run for a councillor position next year. And not just you, all of you. We can't afford any attention." He looks dead at me. "Keep your business clean."
He best be referring to his business and not my relationship with Cassidy. "Your business," I mutter angrily.
"Our business, Max," Clay corrects me.
Butch notices my expression, the heat now spreading to my neck.
"Jimmy," Butch snaps, drawing Jimmy's attention back to him. "I want to deal with Dustin myself-"
"We are not having this conversation," Jimmy says, feigning composure as he cracks his knuckles in front of him. "No one is to discuss this with Dustin."
"I have spent the better part of my life making uncomfortable truths disappear for you, but this one will not just disappear," Butch states, his brows weaved in tight.
"No, I believe it won't," Jimmy replies.
"Let me take care of it then," Butch says, his voice low.
"No." Jimmy opens his arms to us, pretending to welcome our concerns but squashing them all the same. "It pains me. I'm not happy with how things went down. I am very fond of our Cassidy-"
"Don't fucking say her name," I hiss.
Jimmy stiffens. "I think that's just about enough out of your mouth today, boy. Not another word."
My fist hits the table, rattling whiskey tumblers.
When I stand up, all eyes lock on me, as do two Glocks which are pointed directly at my tight forehead. I couldn't care less. As I scowl across the Marri boardroom table and into Jimmy's brown eyes, I feel no fear. I used to fear this man - not anymore. And for a moment, just a split fucking second, Jimmy's throat contracts, and through that fleeting gesture, the truth is exposed - he's a little intimidated by me.
I hiss low through my teeth. "No one is to go near Cassidy."
He attempts to interrupt me, but I don't allow it. "She is out of this! She stays out! No one is to talk to Cassidy. No one is to so much as look at her with goddamn indifference or I swear to your God, Jimmy, I swear it, I'll bring your whole fucking empire down."
Jimmy's gaze sears holes through mine. He lifts his hand to signal the soldiers. "Do not point guns at my family," he orders, his voice calm, annoyingly so. His soldiers lower their weapons. "You disrespect me, Max. Do you think so little of me that you treat me with suspicion and hostility? I think of you as a son, se? Your father - a brother. I have given you everything you have ever asked of me. Given you opportunities, and this is how you treat me?"
My body vibrates with adrenaline. Blood thrashes, feverishly and volatile, through my arteries and veins. "I. Want. Dustin. Dead!"
"Dustin has left the District," he states plainly. "He is taking care of an issue I have up north."
"Even better. Let me meet him up there," I bite out.
"Max, think about this," Clay says, still seated casually. He swirls his whiskey around the glass; not a drop is missing from its initial fill. "Go home. Be with Cassidy. Let the matter settle."
I look at Butch, who is now completely unreadable, and then back at Clay. Jimmy has big plans for him. Perhaps that has infiltrated my big brother's honour as a Butcher. Am I wrong to think his loyalties lie with us? No. He's sly. And he's cut throats for me before.
"The fish rots from the head," Jimmy says, drawing my scowl back to him. "We are the head - Storm and Butcher. Don't be the rot. Do as Clay says. I give you my word that whoever disrespects my family will never do it twice."
I bite back my growl, turn my back on him - knowing just how much he fucking hates that - and stride from the room. The door slams behind me.
I may be punished for that. But he needs to know that if anyone disturbs her peace, gets in her way, derails her progress out of the fucking nightmare I've put her in - Fuck. If she so much as feels unsafe. Even a hint. A murmur of unease. I'll rip his world apart. Dismantle it. Dirty deed by dirty deed.
Passing the maid who I'm sure looks delicious on all fours, I suppress the urge to fuck my anger away. Not too long ago, a different version of myself would have dragged that girl into a room, buried myself deep inside her, and made her scream my name. But now I ignore my cock, jump into the Rover, and speed off towards the gym.
When I arrive, the gym is near empty. My guards usually call ahead, anticipating my destination while I drive. We are all followed: Xan, Clay, Stacey, Bron sometimes, but he slips them on his Ducati when he wants to be alone. Butch likes to have eyes on each of us around the clock. Given we can't even trust our own at the moment, it's a good thing too.
And I have eyes on Cassidy now. . .
I grab my pager and send a quick message to Carter.
Max: Get someone on Dustin Nerrock. Watch him.
Glaring across the gym, I note both training rings are free and there is only a handful of men in the weights area. I clench my fists. Dustin fucking Nerrock. Craving the ache and fatigue, I head straight for the bags.
After a three-hour weight and boxing session, my mind has relaxed somewhat. My muscles are on fire, but my mind is cool - settled. I'm about to finish up when Butch storms in, his voice booming across the room. "Everyone out!"
Fuck.
He enters like a goddamn nuke exploding; people fly off like shrapnel in the opposite direction and out the nearest exit. Although he's in his fifties now, his frame thicker and movements heavier, that doesn't weaken him. He is evermore fuelled by determination and pride. And while a lesser man might tire of such an exhausting level of expectation, he is only ignited by it.
Gripping the bag on either side, I slow its movements before pressing my forehead to it. I sigh harshly, stealing a second before the mayhem starts. Sweat pours from my brows and down my nose. Time's up. Turning to face him, I brace myself for what is to come.
A lesson in respect, I am sure.
"Gloves off! Get in the ring!" he orders.
Fuck.
Caught between wanting to show him no weakness and wanting to keep all my teeth, I stand strong. He doesn't even bother to remove his shirt and tie, ready to mess me up dressed like a fucking accountant. With determination in his eyes, he strides past me and into the ring. I follow him, working on removing my gloves. As soon as I enter, he swings at me.
"Fucksake," I growl as I duck under his fist.
"You fucking amateur!" Butch growls. Lunging towards me, his head bobbing, he lands a right hook into the side of my jaw. Pain shoots through my face and into my eye socket. "I thought you were the smart one!"
Dodging another punch, I fumble around with my sweat-soaked gloves, trying to get them off. They finally drop to the mat.
He jolts towards me. His fist flexes. Keeping my arms high, I block his quick swing to my face. That pisses him off.
"I told you I would take care of this!" Butch growls.
I take a few light steps around while he darts from foot to foot. There is nothing but 'The Butcher' in his deep-set scowl right now and defence is my best bet. Still, I throw a few punches his way, connecting on the third, but then he charges at me, shoulders lowered and arms on guard. I hesitate. He slams me into the mat with a loud thud.
Dropping on top of me, straddling my hips, his weight pins me down. I'm a fucking big guy, but he's heavy with
rage and disappointment. I hold my forearms up, shielding my face as he beats the living shit out of me. His fists feel like a wooden bat to the side of my head. A few vision-blackening blows rain in, and my eyes are forced shut due to sweat, drool, and sticky blood.
My every sensation is now felt in the dull smacks of his knuckles. Even though my forearms are shaking with exertion, I keep them high, blocking the strength and destruction of each one of his swings. Our collective grunts and growls are animalistic and raw.
Pain shoots through my cheekbone, but I wait. Wait for an opening. For the moment he tires. Straight after his first sloppy blow, I drop my guard for a moment. Lowering one fist, I take another knock to the face. I ignore the pain and jab his right rib hard.
His thighs release their hold on me.
He rolls onto his back.
Lesson settled, we pant side by side, flayed open on the mats. Blood trickles down my face and into my mouth. When I taste the warm metallic substance, I spit it out.
Clenching my teeth, I bury my groans deep in my chest. "Not bad for an old man," I rumble.
"You're getting good," he states emphatically, his voice steady and unaffected. "You should consider boxing. Get you away from freezers."
Wiping the blood and sweat from my forehead, I point out, "I don't want to box."
He jumps to his feet without a single show of discomfort. But when his blood-stained white shirt catches his eye, he scowls with disapproval.
With furrowed brows, he states, "We don't always get what we want, Max."
As he turns to leave, I sit up on the mat, lifting my knees up and leaning forward on them. "I'm going to kill him."
"I know you are, son," he says over his shoulder as he approaches the door. He stops with his hand on the door handle. "Can you wait?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"We always have a choice, Max." He turns and levels me out with stern eyes. "I told you I would take care of it. I told you to keep your cool head. You made the choice not to listen."
Cassidy