by Nicci Harris
"Max, stop it!"
Once beside the ladder, one big, tattooed arm reaches to grab the railing, bicep contracting as he pulls us both up. Water rushes off us. As soon as we are on top of the wooden slates, he lowers me down, a fierce scowl etched onto his face.
"Big fucking boats speed down this fucking canal, Cassidy!"
Carter is suddenly nearby. "I've been keeping an eye-"
Max snaps his deadly stare to him and points. "I'll get to you in a fucking minute!"
His eyes hit me again. They snatch my breath straight from within my lungs. I try to stay firm, but he's making me tremble beneath the intensity of his near-black eyes. "Xander said you guys swim in it all the tim-
"Xander isn't pregnant!"
My eyes well up. "Don't yell at me."
He turns around and grips the back of his neck with both hands, arms growing as they pulse beside his head. Turning back to face me, his expression has quelled in anger a bit. "Little one, you're pregnant. I feel like you're being fucking reckless."
I blink the tears out. "Swimming? I was just swimming."
He reaches to wipe my tears away and I step backwards, not wanting his comfort right now.
"Don't do that," he admonishes curtly.
I pant through my agitation. "You turned my phone off. You have no right."
"What?" His brows draw in tighter. "No right?" His body, big and powerful, looms over mine, the cords in his neck bulging, his jaw clenching. "Anything to do with you is my right."
My sudden need to settle the darkness in him replaces my agitation. So when he turns to leave, I reach for his arm. He stills with his back to me. Circling around his staunch frame, I position myself in front of him again.
"Max." I reach up to press my palm to his pulsing jaw. As he moves into my touch, he squeezes his eyes shut and sighs that rough sigh that is almost a growl.
I smile softly at him. "You just have to ask me, okay? Please, just ask me next time."
He opens his eyes, the black of his pupils slightly smaller, allowing a ring of that beautiful grey-blue colour to shine through. "Everything okay with the ultrasound?"
I breathe a little harder in response to the soft confused edge to his voice. Why was he worried? I don't understand. "Yes. Everything is fine." Stroking the afternoon stubble on his jawline, I say, "Why did you book it?"
He lifts his head to look over my shoulder. I twist around and relax slightly when I see Toni is out of earshot, chatting to Carter. I turn slowly back to the half-naked man-god in expensive black pants dripping canal water. "No one can hear us."
The look on his face tells me he doesn't want to share. "I fucked you on your stomach."
Warmth moves through me and I try not to let my smile break my face because Max Butcher is irrationally concerned for our blob.
Yay.
And I have learned to accept his affections in the form of hints, tones, and actions. That is his way. And that is what he has just wordlessly told me.
"He's safe, Max. I promise." My fingers trace the tight cord in his neck. "It's not until the third trimester that they kind of run out of room and we'll need to be careful."
The tension in him drops off like a lead belt and he wraps his big arms around my middle, arching my back, lifting me onto my tippy toes so he can kiss me deeply. The water on our skin causes our bodies to slide together. His tongue moves into my mouth, demanding mine. We breathe each other's breath. I cup his cheeks with both hands, feeling his jaw work as he loves me with his kiss.
His hands start to roam, kneading down the muscles of my back to cup my bum and lift me so I can straddle him.
"This suit," he groans, palming my cheeks. One of his hands slides lower, fingers dripping to tease me. "I wanted to tongue every part of your body when I first saw you in this."
The need behind his lips is devastating to my will. To my sense of self. To the space between us because we don't want any space. Want to be as connected as two people can possibly be. Moans crash loudly from me and into his mouth. He swallows my sounds as if they are his to claim, before shamelessly walking us up the bank towards the house.
I break away and, between laboured breaths, say, "Don't. Switch. Off. My phone."
His lips move to my jaw and neck, forceful in their pursuit to assert his words. "Don't overdo it!"
I hear Toni laugh as we move past him. "I guess I'll wait, like what? Twenty? Thirty minutes?"
"You're welcome to stay," Max declares just before his tongue chases my racing pulse up the length of my throat. "Settle in."
Cassidy
* * *
Toni didn't stick around, and I feel a little embarrassed, but I'm sure he was rather impressed with Max's stamina. If we'd been done in twenty minutes, he probably would have been disappointed.
"How are you home so early?" I ask and then stick my fingers in my ears and squeeze my eyes shut as one of the Butcher guards calls, "Pull." From across the yard, I watch Bronson cock the rifle and shoot at the flying target as it soars through the sky. That other worldly bang vibrates like a cymbal between my temples.
When I unplug my fingers, the sound of Max's laugh moves over me like a warm blanket - it's such a fricking amazing sound.
"Why did you close your eyes, little one?" He laughs again.
I beam at him. "It's a reflex." My cheeks bunch high above my smile. "Is that even legal?" I ask, pointing at Bronson as he drops the gun, heading over towards a tree to retrieve whatever it was he was shooting at.
"Does it matter?" he says with a smirk.
I scoot in close to him on the outdoor lounge, my legs making a pyramid over his lap. I rake in his expression while he looks out over the yard. His grin is relaxed, eyes gentle. His fingers draw little circles on my legs. He's in such a good mood and after the concern he displayed towards our blob, I feel like maybe we can try to talk about the baby again. Last time it didn't go too well. Max seemed more suspicious of our blob's presence than excited by it. But right now, he's laughing at Bronson, and loving me with his eyes every time they meet mine. Maybe today he'll handle this conversation better. "Can we talk about the baby?"
His casual demeanour remains, but his brows tighten. "Sure."
Swallowing down my hesitation, I proceed despite that tiny show of resistance. "Have you thought about names?" I ask even though I know he hasn't. I immediately feel like one of those girls who lead a conversation - manipulate one - and I hate it. I just. . . I just really want to talk about our blob. With him. I want to have this conversation with my best friend and my lover and the father of my unborn baby.
His eyes blink at the horizon and then he turns to meet my gaze. "You can name it."
It. My heart fractures, a few little pieces crumbling to the pits of my being. "I don't want to name it without you," I spit out, failing at stifling my growl. "I want us to name him."
He eyes me with uncertainty. When his narrowed stare moves to my belly, it is as if he is looking to our baby for answers on how to deal with its hormonal mother.
Max glances back at me and says, "Little one, I'm going to be here. For you. For him. But naming him is not something I . . .Fuck. It just doesn’t matter. His name changes nothing. I'm sorry. That's just not me."
I divert my eyes from his because I have to. I have to hide my deep disappointment in him. Looking down at the fabric of the lounge, I whisper, "You named Xander."
"How did you know that-"
My own words make me angry. "At some point in your life, you cared enough about a name that you named him," I cut in, grimacing up at Max.
He shifts his weight, turning his whole body to face me. "I was five."
I stand, having to leave as heat hits the back of my eyes and my mind can't form anything nice to say. It's all aggressive. It's all antagonistic. And I'm not that. My mum has often said, 'If you can’t say anything nice, don't say it at all'.
So I have to walk away while the pregnancy hormones make me want to yell at him.
; Max catches my elbow, fingers clasping around me, freezing me in my tracks. "It takes imagining him to form the need to name him."
I swallow hard and he pulls me back down to the lounge. He releases my elbow and grabs my neck, forcing me to stare at him even as I try not to. My eyes reluctantly meet his. . . which are soft with that love he won't say aloud and scorching with that determination he has to show me through his actions.
"I can't afford to let my mind reach too far into the future," he says. "I've learned not to. It's dangerous in my world. I don't daydream our forever, little one. I live it. In the now. Every second. I'm here. With you. I'm always right fucking in the present."
My heart collects all the pieces, some from him and some from me. I settle back down into the lounge and look across the yard at Bronson, who is now up the tree with a chainsaw. I tilt my head at him. Mad. They are all fricking mad.
Sighing, I turn back to my Max and acknowledge his truths. "I get it."
He grins, the corner of his mouth ticking, revealing the dimple in his left cheek. I lift my hand and poke it. I poke it in a form of defiance against his cuteness and mockery and emotional ambiguity. His chin jolts to the side, and I gasp as he presses his bared teeth into my finger, his eyes menacing. This is my favourite kind of Max Butcher.
I glare playfully, feigning aggression as I climb on top of him. Swinging my leg over his lap, I pretend he can't just throw me metres and metres away with little ease, pretend I am pinning his muscular body down as I poke his dimple over and over. He catches my wrists and pulls me until my cheek is pressed to his.
His lips meet my ear. "Put your fucking tongue in my mouth now."
I don't hesitate; my lips mash against his. His hands roam everywhere. Rolling on his lap, I cup his cheeks to deepen our connection, feeling him wanting me through the touch of his fingers and the demand behind his lips. Somehow, through the intoxicating sensation of his hands palming me and his tongue and mouth devouring me, I'm still drawn away by the feel of something vibrating in the back pocket of my denim shorts. And it isn’t what I'd like to be vibrating back there.
I pull away from him to retrieve my phone. The word Konnor flashes at me from the display. Max groans when he sees it. Moving his big, tattooed arms to the sides of the outdoor lounge, he looks at me with exasperation.
I smile sickeningly sweet at him. "Sorry, I have to get this." He frowns at me. "Don't frown at me." I smooth the creases between his brown brows and lift the phone to my ear.
"Hi," I answer. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" I catch Max's scowl and giggle.
"Cock blocker," Max says loud enough for Konnor to hear.
"Fucking charming," Konnor snaps on the other end of the receiver.
"Don't fucking swear around your sister," Max growls.
I roll my eyes and attempt to climb off Max, but his palms come down on my thighs, locking me in position. "No," he admonishes gruffly.
Covering the speaker, I say, "Then play nice." I direct my attention to Konnor on the other end of the phone. "You okay, big brother?"
He pauses for a moment, but I can hear his sigh. "There is this charity thing in two weeks. And I'm going with Blesk and. . ." His voice trails off with uncertainty. "It's for me. Fuck. That sounds stupid. I mean, my bio mum created this charity for missing children. . . And I want to go. And I'd really like it if you-" He groans his displeasure. "And Max, I suppose, if he wants to, come with us. Dad bought us a table. It was something ridiculous, like, ten grand."
Excitement over my favourite person inviting me to an event overwhelms everything else. I bounce and squeal on Max's lap. "Yes! Of course. I'd love to."
I remember Dad telling us about this charity. Konnor's legacy. After he was kidnapped, his mother, Madeline, created this charity for young families who found themselves in the same situation. . .
I still.
I'm painfully aware of this stillness because the gentle brush of Max's fingers on my thighs now feels like glass scoring down my skin.
Blinking over Max's shoulder, I hardly even acknowledge the way he is now scanning my expression. The way the blue in his eyes is absorbed by his pitch-black pupils.
The charity. . . It's called. . . Nerrock Missing and Beyond. . . Nerrock. . .
My thoughts freeze.
My mouth opens to exhale the name.
Dustin Nerrock.
It's his charity. Konnor won't be safe. I won't be safe. I feel the frantic bat of my lashes before I even realise Max has taken my phone from my hand, hung up on Konnor, and stuffed it into the side pocket of his jeans.
Warm hands meet my cold cheeks. "What just happened?"
Max's voice finds me in my haze of panic. "It was Konnor. He wants to go to this. . . charity event. It's for missing children." I stare straight at Max. "It's Dustin Nerrock's charity."
Max's hands pulse against my cheeks at the mention of Dustin's name, but no other part of him seems to respond. He leans in and kisses the tip of my nose. I smile softly at him.
"It's not," he assures me. "It's his dead wife's charity. He isn't even in the District right now and from what I've seen and heard, Dustin has zero involvement in it."
"Konnor wants me to go," I breathe out the words, trying to ground myself, to draw myself back to the now. "I'm not sure I can though, not when Dustin has any association-"
Annoyance flares in Max's eyes. "It does things to me, knowing you are still afraid of him. I will know the exact moment Dustin arrives back in town. I have eyes on his every move, little one. That bastard can't shit without me knowing about it."
I didn't expect that.
Swallowing hard, I say, "This is a really big step for Konnor. He's never shown any interest in his biological mother before. Always kept her memory at arm's length. But when he found out I was pregnant, he told me he was jealous. I think that by going to this charity, he's really embracing his past. Finding a connection to her. I should be there for him." I should be there for him! "And you're sure he has nothing to do with this charity?" I confirm, seeking further reassurance.
Max frowns at that. "Nothing. Trust me."
I nod to myself. "I should be there for Konnor then."
"Your brother is a pain in the arse. He stresses you out." Max clenches his teeth. "I don't like that."
"If you just got to know him, you'd see just how wonderful he really is."
He lets out a long exhale and stares at me contemplatively. "Fine. You can go then. I'll go with you. Get to know him."
My blonde brows rise. "You'll come? And, like, be nice?"
A gentle grin spreads across his lips. "When am I not, like, nice?"
I giggle at that. Like all the time, Max. "Menace. You're seriously coming to a family thing with me? With Konnor and Blesk?"
His grin transforms into a provocative curve. "I look fucking magnificent in a tuxedo."
Cassidy
* * *
As soon as we arrive at the Hyatt Hotel, it's apparent to me that this is the kind of event that will have its own spread in the District's social magazines and on their websites.
Carter opens the passenger door for us, and Max exits first, allowing me the sweet view of his backside. His black slacks are perfectly snug around him. Turning, he holds his hand out for me as I step out of the car. My six-inch gold, rhinestone encrusted heels press into the red carpet, and my sheer skirt flows around my ankles, making me giddy.
I was so excited when I found this dress the other day. It's a new red Alamour design with a square neckline and sheer bodice banding just above my newly showing bump. My underwear is covered both by a small sewn in bra and mini skirt lining. It's a fricking beautiful dress!
Standing beside Max, I take a moment to appreciate him in his black tuxedo. I didn’t really know the difference between a suit and a tuxedo until yesterday when Toni told me. It's in the satin details - satin lapels, lining down the slacks, and buttons. I lick my lips and then adjust Max's bow tie, envisioning him in only it. I can feel h
is eyes tunnelling into mine.
I blush without looking at him. When I finally gaze up, I find his stare devouring.
"How do you do that?" I ask, reaching up to stroke his freshly shaven jawline.
His smile is soft. "What?"
"Go from animalistic, rugged sex-god, who spent most of this morning with his face between my thighs, to this powerful looking gentleman?"
He leans in close, a salacious curve to his lips that sends flutters down between my thighs. "I'm going to find a place tonight to shove my cock into your mouth for calling me a gentleman. Then I'm going to wash that word down your throat with my cum." My lips part and I swallow hard. He leans back until I can see that sexual appetite in his narrowed eyes. "Is that better?"
I nod and bite my bottom lip. "Much."
Cameras start flashing around us and I smile shyly at them. Max doesn't though, saving all those glances of emotion for me. But he does offer them a nod of acknowledgment, which in comparison to his usual scowl, is quite the game changer. Placing his hand on the small of my back, his fingers spanning out, the press of them apparent and possessive, he leads us up the carpet, towards the front door.
When we get to the entrance, Max grins at me and that hint of menace makes me melt. We pause in front of the grand lobby. The chatter of the press surrounds us, the flash of their cameras evident, but we are in our own world. He lifts a finger to my chin, tilts my head up to meet his adoring eyes, and then plants a loving kiss on my lips for everyone to see and photograph. I almost moan but manage to quell it.
He's so good at playing the part; I suppose he's learned that over the years. The Butcher Boys are always being photographed. Max is usually less than impressed with the attention, but today he seems to be putting on a show for everyone. Showing me off. Showing us off. I absolutely adore the way that makes me feel - warmth in my stomach and chest, a softness to my stance and movements.
Walking up the staircase, we make our way inside the banquet hall. From across the room, I spot Konnor. He looks handsome in his tuxedo and grey bow tie. My jaw drops open at the sight of Blesk in her dusty-blue strapless column dress. She is a classic beauty, there is no doubt about that, and my brother can't keep his eyes off her.