by Riley London
Not fatally. But injury.
More pain to add to the tally.
My voice is hardly my own when it comes out. “You saved us there, at the end.”
“Just at the end?” There’s no bite in it.
“Talking to rocks. Who knew that would be the key?”
There’s so much that needs to be said. But I don’t have anything left for words.
He crosses over to where I’m still on my knees. Crouches down.
He looks at me and clears his throat. “You put up a hell of a fight down there, Max.”
I nod.
We’re good.
“I need to go,” he says. Some part of me starts to panic. His face takes on a questioning look, and then very tentatively, he grabs my hand in his good one.
“Some of the things that they said, that the elementals there said. They weren’t just elementals, Max. I think the stones trapped the souls of the damned.” His voice sounds distant. “I need to talk to my parents. It can’t wait, Max. I’ll be gone a day or maybe two.”
A day or two.
Not really gone then.
Those things can go unsaid for a day or two.
I reach out and touch his face. Without a word, he leaves.
I sink down further and do something I haven’t done in as long as I can remember.
Pray. Not to anyone in particular. Just to the forces of good, giving thanks that we made it through. That we get at least another day.
Ari stands there, regarding me. He seems distant. Maybe uncertain.
“Did you know?” I whisper.
What am I even asking?
He looks down at me, perfect features, arctic eyes, implacable countenance all in place.
“I knew you’d come back to us Max,” is all he says.
He offers me a hand, and for a long minute I just stare at it considering.
Then I let him haul me to my feet, and make the long, limping journey up to the house.
17
The first thing I do is head straight to my room for a shower.
Peeling off the clothes that I wore in Hell feels like Heaven. They are filthy, torn and spattered with all manner of things that I don’t want to think about.
I gather them up, stuff them into a trash bag, and throw it into the hall.
Otherwise my room will stink like brimstone.
The shower that has become my haven at Salem Academy does its magic, the steaming hot water streaming in rivulets down my tired, battered body.
Eventually the water runs clear and by the third time I’ve washed my hair, I have managed to eradicate the stink of Hell.
Mostly anyway.
Back in my room, I pull on a dark T-shirt and yoga pants. My long curls hang wet down my back. One glance in the mirror tells me I have a black eye and the start of what will probably be a fat lip.
I am fucking lucky to be alive.
Vanity will have to keep for another day.
When I unlock my door and step out into the hallway, a glass of water and a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers sit outside my door.
There’s no note, but this has Tristan written all over it.
I can’t help but laugh out loud.
But that doesn’t stop me from swallowing four and slugging the water in one long greedy swallow.
Nothing like a night in Hell to make you appreciate good hydration.
It’s a short walk down two sets of stairs and I’m standing outside the athletic room.
The sounds of water coming from the showers tell me where to find Erik.
I don’t wait.
“Erik?” I call, swinging open the door and stepping into the steam filled room. It takes my eyes a minute to adjust but is obviously been running the water ultra-hot for some time.
Hot guy. Hot shower.
A second of silence, followed by the deep rumble of his voice. “Max?”
I can’t help but grin at a note of hope in his tone.
“It’s me, big guy. You decent?”
Another pause, then a laugh. “Not really. Enter your own risk.”
Don’t have to ask me twice. I practically kick down the door to get to where he’s at. He looks up in surprise, barely managing to not drop the towel that he’s wrapping around his waist.
Damnit. Maybe I should’ve kicked the door harder.
I stand there for a minute, taking in the man. 6’5”, easily 250 pounds of ruthlessly sculpted muscle. Strong arms corded with muscle and snaked by elaborate runic tattoos that continue down his back and sides and into the unknown land below that damned towel.
Everywhere, muscles and strength.
But also scars. One large scar marring his abdomen that looks like fire, and that answers my question about the injury that took him mostly out of the field. The deep cutting scars, slammed impacts that cause bruises, stranger scars from encounters that I can’t even begin to imagine.
Seeing them, and imagining running my fingers across them, makes it hard to breathe.
He takes his eyes from mine, turns away, and then speaks softly over his shoulder as his hand rifles through his locker.
“Hey,” he says and there’s so much packed into that one word. So much emotion.
Hey, Max, oh thank god you’re alive. Hey, I thought I might never see you again. Hey, thanks for being cool with me almost giving my life for you today. No big deal. Hey, I’m the most talented fighter you’ve ever seen in action and maybe now you’re beginning to understand why I push you so hard to get better. Hey, maybe you’re starting to understand the heart that’s under all this muscle.
All that emotion in one little word.
It’s so him and there’s nothing that I want more than to cross this chasm and launch myself at him. And when he turns back my way, a little shy, a little possessive, a little bit of challenge flashing in those blue warrior’s eyes, I’m right there.
Challenge accepted.
I don’t care if he’s my brother’s best friend. I don’t care if he’s too old, too rigid, too different from me. I don’t care at all. All I want is that towel gone and for me to be able to show him how much I care.
How delicious he is.
And how much I appreciate everything he did today.
How absolutely terrified I was that I would never see him again.
But instead what I say is, “You saved him, Erik. You got him out of there. Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing Father Gabriel home to me.”
I don’t know what it is that he expected me to say, but it isn’t that.
He looks at me for a long minute, those dark blue eyes so serious. So full of thoughts and emotions.
What he wants is clear on his face. But if the last few weeks have taught me anything, it’s this: Erik is not a man who puts his needs before the needs of others.
He’ll think of his responsibilities to Asher Wan – whatever those are.
His commitment to Salem Academy.
His loyalty to my brother.
His thoughts on what’s best for me.
But who takes the time to wonder what’s best for Erik?
Tonight, I am taking that on myself. Boldly I walk across the small distance separating us and stop just a hair’s width from his body.
I don’t hide the way my eyes rake him up and down either.
“You are fucking the lethal out there.”
Noncommittal tilt of his head.
“You are the reason I am alive. The reason Father Gabriel is home.”
Drag of the hand over that square jaw.
“You are brave. You are kind. You are such a badass.
Duck of the head. One eyebrow shoots up as amusement, embarrassment, and something else war on his face.
“You also manage to be hot as hell doing all of it.”
Blue eyes snap up to mine, and then back down again.
“And you look fucking delicious in nothing but a towel.”
Tips of the ears are blood red.
Oh yes
. I’ve got him right where I want him.
Almost.
“My only regret is that I didn’t scare you enough when I kicked open the door so you dropped that fucking towel.”
Erik’s blue eyes come up to meet mine then, holding my gaze. This time they don’t drop. They are dark, heavy lidded with desire and the promise of things to come.
I wait.
The door’s open, but he’s got to step through it.
And oh lord, does he ever.
In one swift move, he picks me up like I weigh nothing in one arm, his hand hooked under my ass. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist.
For some reason, with the other he’s holding up that damned towel.
When he puts me down, I’m ripping it off with my teeth.
He walks with long determined strides to the door, nudges it open with his foot, and then kicks it so it bangs against the wall. There’s a sound starting in the back of his throat, an almost primal sound of desire, that has my core melting even as I hang on.
He steps out into the hallway and turns toward his room, and we run straight into Ari.
My stomach drops.
I’d give anything to be back in that athletics room, up against the steamy wall, without the interruption.
Erik? Yeah, he doesn’t even stop.
Just walks straight by Ari, holding up the towel, with a tight nod and me in a half caveman carry with my legs wrapped around his waist.
Ari freezes, and turns around to look after us as we go.
Our eyes meet.
I swear, he winks.
But Erik pushes open the door to his room – equally gracefully as it bangs off the wall and kicks it straight behind him. He sets me down very gently on my feet.
When it closes, he throws the lock and then turns to look at me.
Pink creeps across his cheeks.
Then he quirks an eyebrow and drops the towel.
Oh. My. God.
There’s something about the mix of vulnerability and lethal steel, of wicked wants and shyness, all packed into this warrior’s body that’s driving me over the edge.
And I can tell from the long hard cock at full attention that he’s feeling something similar.
A tremor runs along my skin. He pulls me to him, and then eases my back is against the wall I suddenly realize is behind me. His lips are exploring the crevice of my neck, that spot, that feels so good I involuntarily arch into him.
Holy shit. I make a sound and his grinds his hips into mine in response.
He’s lifting me again, holding me up effortlessly, when he captures my mouth with his. He might be a bit shy, but you’d never know from his kisses. Those kisses? They say command.
In charge.
All man.
Want.
Desire.
Now.
I’m practically helpless in the way that my body’s responding, the way that some spark of desire catches flame into full-blown lust. My mouth parts to let his tongue explore, even as I can’t wait to have him explore other parts. Muscles ripple under my hands and if he keeps grinding against me like that?
Flash. Bang.
I slide a hand down along the plane of his stomach and grab the tip of his cock – holy Jesus, he is packing heat – and his whole body bucks. Moaning against his lips, I slide my hand down the length of him.
Pulling his lips back from mine, he looks a little panicked for a second.
“Max.”
Wait, did I misread some signal?
“Let’s take our time,” he whispers, lowering his lips to mine again. Somewhere in time with the spinning of my head, he turns around and lowers me onto his bed.
For just a second, I take in the room. It’s so different than the lush luxury of the second and third floors. Minimalist. Utilitarian. Perfectly Erik.
None of that matters. All I want is him. The weight of his body feels amazing against mine, but I let out a frustrated growl and he pulls back to look at me.
Ugh, I’m so bad at this.
“Clothes off,” I manage.
He grins and grabs the hem of my shirt with his teeth to pull up over my head, as his hands are already snaking to unhook my bra.
Off.
“Max,” his voice is rough as his eyes slide over my body. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
It’s like that, sliding between heat and emotion, until I’m naked with my legs spread and his face buried in my core. Expertly, he laps at me, just the right pressure, just the right teasing. Pushing me to the edge. Pulling back. Taking me there again.
Moans and little gasps of pleasure go on and on until my fingers are wrapping in the sheets, wrapping in his hair, and I’m begging as explosions of sensations take shape in my body.
“Please,” I whisper sounding parched, desperate, ragged.
He kisses his way up over my mouth and looks at me with wide eyes. “Please what?”
I make a strangled noise, and he grins. “Please, Erik.”
At the sound of his name on my lips those eyes darken and he slides back down, licking and teasing me with renewed energy until the build of rising pleasure crashes down and all I can say is his name. It’s so good, so intoxicating, but I want him near me.
On me.
In me.
“Please,” I find myself saying again, coming back to myself enough to lean forward and use his name as a weapon to my wants.
“Please Erik, I want you.”
It’s then that I see how far gone he is, how his restraint’s been hanging by a thread. His body slides up along mine, and god, the size and the hardness and the beauty of that chiseled body has me enraptured all over again.
He kisses me deep, hard, probing and I kiss him back, wanton.
I want to give him a touch of the sensation that he gave me, but as I make to slide down his body, to take him in my mouth, he pulls me closer. Looks into my eyes, resting his forehead on mine, and whispers softly, “I thought I was going to lose you.”
It’s clear how much it cost his to say that.
I push him onto his back and he goes willingly, looking up at me with those Atlantic blue eyes. His hands grasp my hips and he says, “Max, are you absolutely sure?”
Fuck yes, I’m sure. I do a little move with my hips, but he doesn’t let go.
He sounds more agonized when he manages, “Max?”
“So fucking sure,” I grit out and he lets my hips go. He’s huge and hard and for a second, I wonder how the physics will work.
But fuck it, there’s one way to find out.
Guiding him to my opening, I roll my hips in wicked little circles, teasing him, teasing myself until I’m almost on the edge, and then slide him inside. He moans, holding back. Fuck, he’s big. Stretching, filling, easing inside. Inch by delicious inch.
Inch by urgent inch.
He’s holding back, trying to be gentle, but I want it all. All of him. Inside me now. One thrust and he’s deep inside me; I adjust, seating myself, trying to adjust.
Holy god.
I let out a sound that’s half pain, half pleasure, all want, and he sits up in one swift move – oh lord, those abs – and wraps his arms around me. Slowly, his rocks his hips and I meet him thrust for thrust, and by some magic that’s ancient and primal and a thing of beauty we’re moving as one. Tension’s building fast in my core, even though he’s moving slow like he’s got all the time in the world, stretching this out.
Making it last.
Our eyes meet, and shivers cascade across my entire body. I could get lost in this man. I’ve never wanted that. Never wanted just one person. Never wanted a connection that put everything else at risk. And yet here I am, on a precipice that’s not just promising to claim my body, but maybe my heart if I’m not careful.
He does some move that’s worthy of a gymnast and I’m lying on my back, with him between my legs, filling me up and then oh my god I see that he’s been holding back. Erik gives me everything, letting go, driv
ing deep inside me over and over until I’m spiraling, lost, and then back and still, he’s there.
Steady, relentless, focused on a mission for my pleasure.
Again and again, until it seems like the last threads of control holding him back fray and there’s an intensity, a power, and something else – a deeper urge for connection – as he brings himself close to release and me with him again.
Claiming, possessively, and giving.
Another orgasms arcs through me, and this time I take him with me, his whole body rigid as his cock twitches inside me, straining, pushing. Hard, huge, holy hell.
Rolling on his back, taking me with him, he looks at me with something like wonder in his eyes. I want to look away. Avert my eyes.
Now’s when I always leave.
Grab my stuff.
Go.
But then he whispers, “Stay. Just for awhile.”
His eyes go soft and he kisses my lips with such tenderness. Any fear, any thought of fleeing, any desire to be any place but here evaporates.
I’ll stay, just for awhile.
18
I go back to my room, Erik and I reluctantly parting ways.
“You could stay with me tonight,” he says softly, looking so hopeful for a second that it makes my heart hurt.
Some deep, dark, secret part of myself, all I can think is that I hope I don’t fuck this up.
That alone is jarring, because I’ve never wanted to give anything a try for more than just a night.
Instead, my lips linger on his until his body offers the promise of another round. Pulling back, I look into his eyes and laugh.
For some reason that I can’t quite put a finger on, I trace a hand on his cheek and dropped one more kiss on his nose before standing up.
“Get some sleep,” I say softly.
The deep rumble of his voice follows me out of the room.
“Good night, beautiful Max.”
I ignore when my chest pulls tight with some undefined emotion.
I’m making my way back up the stairs when I sense someone standing at the top. For the first time in a long time, the normal surge of fear that I have felt every day since Father Gabriel was abducted doesn’t hit.
Instead, I open my senses. Tristan.