by Anne Jolin
He chuckles, the sound causing my heart to swell. He grabs my chin with his hand, and looking down, I notice how much blood is really on them. They’re soaked. Recognizing what I’m staring at, he starts to take them off.
“Stop,” I tell him. “I want to do it.”
He concedes, dropping his other hand to rest on my hip. I take my time, slowly unwrapping his knuckles and tossing the bloody material to floor. Bringing his hand up to my lips, I place a kiss on each knuckle before doing the same to his other hand.
“Come home with me,” he whispers.
I nod, climbing off his lap. “Okay.”
He pulls a T-shirt over his sweaty chest and shoves his things in a duffel bag before taking my hand in his and leading me back out towards the street.
“Where is Frank?” I ask, suddenly remembering how I got here.
We push through the last door and Brax nods towards the street where Frank is leaning against the SUV, holding my purse.
“Oh,” I say lamely, starting to blush as we approach him.
“I’ll take Beth home. Thank you, Frank,” Brax tells the older Irish man.
When I take my purse from Frank, I feel extremely bashful about my earlier behaviour. “Sorry I was so rude,” I apologize.
“No worries, love.” He winks. “All’s fair in love and war.” Turning towards Brax, he firmly shakes his hand. “Fine job, sir. I’ll be staying in the city tonight.”
They exchange knowing looks before Frank climbs back into the SUV and pulls away from the curb.
“Where’s your car?” I question, looking up and down the street.
Tugging my hand, he strides towards the alley, and my body physically starts to shiver. Stopping dead in his tracks, he turns to face me.
“You’re safe with me, I promise,” he declares, tipping my chin up to look at him.
“I know,” I respond, standing up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.
Satisfied with my answer, he leads me down another block before I finally see it—the black muscle car from that night. After tucking me into the cool leather seat, he shuts the door and rounds the hood of the car before sliding into the driver’s seat. When he rolls the engine over, the beast purrs to life.
Everything about Brax is sexy—even his cars.
“This is the car I remember,” I mumble under my breath. It was more to myself than to him, but he answers anyway.
“I only drive it when I…” he trails off.
“When you fight,” I finish for him.
Nodding his head, he pulls out onto the highway. It’s past ten o’clock now and the roads are empty as we wind our way up the side of the mountain.
“Tell me about it,” I say, resting my hand on his thigh. “Tell me why you fight.”
He shuts his eyes for a brief moment before they face the road again. “I was that kid,” he whispers sadly. “That kid growing up who was always angry and got into more trouble than I was worth. My parents, god bless them, loved me despite of all the pain I caused them. I could be a real nasty fucker when I wanted to be.” His grey eyes look hollow as he recounts the story for me. “I would snap at nothing. Sometimes it didn’t even require me to be provoked. My anger would just crawl up my throat and take out everything in its path. I fought tirelessly with the people around me, constantly getting in fights, but it was my father with whom I butted heads the most.” When he winces, I squeeze his thigh to soothe him. “When I was twenty-two, we went at it hard and I hit him.” He pauses, and I unbuckle my seatbelt to get closer to him, wrapping my arms around his. “I told him I hated him and I left. He died two days later from a heart attack.
“I was a mess of guilt and more anger than I could bear for nearly a year—until I started fighting. It was small fights at first, but they were enough to get me through law school. Whenever I couldn’t take the pressure or I felt the anger building, I’d schedule another one. Sometimes, two or three times a week if I could find them. When Dad passed, he left his half of the company to me in his will. It was all I had left of him.” He swallows hard. “All I have left of a wonderful man I abused for nearly half my life because I was an angry asshole. I was—or, well, am—a clinically diagnosed asshole. Not that they call it that, anyway. It’s called volatile anger disorder or some shit.”
Not wanting to interrupt him, I stay quiet while he continues to talk.
“When I started at the firm, Mom began insisting that I use Frank, my father’s old driver. I was upset about it at first, like she felt the need to have someone watching my every move, but it was the best thing that could have happened. Eventually, Frank started noticing the signs and noticing my disappearing at night. He confronted me about it, and to this day, he is the sole reason for my progress. He’s the only one who ever knew about both my lives—until you.” He looks over at me and I smile, resting my head on his shoulder. “It was part of the rules. Frank would train me, but I wasn’t allowed to fight anywhere outside a ring and no one was allowed to know about it. Anyone from my nightlife remained only there and vice versa. As far as anyone was concerned, I lived one life, not two.
“The night I saw you…” He clenches his jaw. “The night I hit him was the first time I fought outside a ring in nearly five years. I rarely need to fight more than once a month now, unless things get really bad.”
I wince inwardly, knowing that my problems with Kyle are what’s causing him to need to fight more. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t be sorry, babe. You’re everything.” When he looks over at me, I can see the bruise forming around his eye. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
“Cheesy,” I tease him, letting my head fall back down on his shoulder.
He rests his head on top of mine. “You loved it.”
“I did,” I confess.
We don’t talk for the rest of the drive, and as I play back his past in my head, my heart and soul ache for him. My Cinderella.
I’M LOST IN thought when he turns off the highway and the car ascends up a steep, paved road.
Resting my head on the back of the seat, I turn to look at him. “I don’t have a change of clothes with me,” I mention, only half caring at that moment.
His beautiful face looks battered even in the dim light of the moon, but a smile dances in his words. “You won’t be needing them tonight, babe. We’ll stop by your house in the morning before work so you can get ready.”
I press my knees together in response. Just being around him does wicked things to my body. The thought of him actually having his way with me causes my hand to grip the door handle.
We continue to follow the narrow driveway until we reach a locked gate. Braxton reaches out the window to punch some numbers into the keypad and the magnificent cast-iron gates open. It’s nearly another five minutes before the trees begin to clear and a house comes into view.
“Wow,” I breathe out like a complete imbecile before I can stop myself.
It is quite possibly the most stunning house I’ve ever seen. The face is a mixture of rock and wood, while the trim remains a faded black. The roof meets in three steep peaks, and a beautiful chimney takes root in the back corner. There is a four-car garage to the left, no doubt to house Brax’s obsession with black cars, and a huge porch that wraps around the right side of the house. The paved driveway blends into a stunning design of various grey paving stones put on display by the large outdoor lights. The house sits in a wide tree clearing like a guarded solace, protected by the wilderness around it.
It’s no wonder we’ve never seen him around. This estate is on the very outskirts of Rock Falls and seems to be a hideaway of sorts.
Clicking a button on the dash, he opens the second garage door before pulling the purring muscle car inside and parking it between two other black cars. Obviously. I take a mental note that the inside of his garage is likely the entire size of our condo—if not bigger—as he helps me out of the passenger’s side door.
“Are you like the equivalent of a rich goth?”
I blurt out, cocking an eyebrow at him while running my hand over the hood of a black Porsche.
“A goth?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I roll my eyes at his furrowed brow. “Yeah. You know… Listens to emo and punkcore music. Wears a lot of”—I motion towards all the black cars—“black. I mean, you don’t wear eyeliner, so are the cars like some rich-guy version of a goth?”
His laughter echoes through the now-enclosed room and it nearly knocks me on my ass. I look over again to see him leaning against the old car, his arms crossed over his chest, and holy fucking hell, he’s smiling. I don’t mean the half grins or flirtatious smirks I’ve seen thus far. I mean he’s sporting a no-holds-barred, show-me-your-pearly-whites goddamn smile. And I’ll be damned if it’s not the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sullen Braxton Bennett is a knockout, but happy, playful Brax? Well, hell…he’s something else entirely. I’d make an ass of myself every day just to see that smile.
Pushing off the car, he stalks towards me, snaking an arm around my waist. “No, babe,” he hums and his chest vibrates against mine when he pulls me snug against him. “I’m not a goth.”
“Oh. Uh. Okay.” I stumble over my words, losing focus at his proximity.
My eyes have fallen to where his shirt is clinging to his body from the sweat and I fight the urge to trace the outlines of his muscles with my fingers.
“Babe?”
I drag my eyes up over the stubble on his jawline and past his full lips to finally meet his dark-grey eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you hear what I said?” he asks, knowingly cocking an eyebrow at me.
I bite my lip, having been caught once again blatantly ogling him, and shake my head.
He chuckles again but softly this time. “I need to shower.”
“Oh,” I let out on a breath, a blush creeping over my skin as I think about the way he would look naked. Good lord. Can I even handle seeing Brax naked? Hell if I don’t want to find out.
I barely remember him taking my hand as he walks us out of the garage, through an obscenely large laundry room, and into the kitchen. From there, he expertly weaves us through the dimly lit house and finally up a grand spiral staircase. After pushing open the door at the end of a long hallway, he flicks the switch, and I’m almost sure I have to pick my jaw up from the floor.
I’ve seen very little of the house, but the master bedroom would have any woman clinging to the bedpost and begging to stay. It’s gorgeous. Expansive bay windows face the back of the house take up one wall, and a king-sized bed covered in red silk fills the other. There are also two unique, wooden nightstands that match the bed and two big armchairs in the open room.
Brax leaves me and my gaping mouth standing in the centre of the room as he walks through another door, flicking the switch. Light immediately floods what I come to realize is the master bathroom as he pulls his shirt over his head and then tosses it onto the floor.
Swallowing hard, I watch him turn on the shower and test the temperature before striding back over to where I’ve stayed rooted in place. Taking my hand, he walks me into the bathroom, stopping in front of the glass shower wall.
Spinning me around slowly, he pushes the hair off my neck with his rough hands. “Put your palms on the glass,” he instructs.
I hesitate, and he must notice because he’s quick to reassure me.
“We aren’t going to have sex tonight, Beth,” he declares, and a whimper escapes me. “Now put your hands on the glass so I can undress you.”
I do as he asked, trying desperately to ward off the disappointment that comes with knowing I won’t get to have him tonight.
His fingers wrap around the delicate zipper at the base of my neck and he slowly drags it down. I feel lightheaded from a combination of the steam filling the room and the heat of his bare chest behind me. He takes one arm at a time by the wrist, removing it from the glass and sliding it through the sleeves of my dress. Each movement he makes feels slower and more torturous than the last. Once he’s returned my palms to the glass, he pushes my dress down over my hips, letting it pool around me on the floor. I step out of it cautiously in my heels before he kicks it away.
“Perfect,” he hums, trailing the pad of his index finger down my spine and over the swell of my ass.
I can’t help the moan that escapes me when his hands curl around my waists at the sides, his fingers hooking into the lace of my panties. He drags them slowly down, repeating the process from before helping me step out of them. Expertly, he unclasps the back of my strapless bra, and it too joins the pile of discarded clothing on the floor.
I hear him shuffle out of his shorts behind me as I stand quivering against the shower wall in nothing but my heels. Moving the hair off the back of my neck again, he peppers slow kisses along the line of my shoulder and up to my ear.
“Step out of your heels, Beth,” he whispers into my ear.
I oblige, kicking them to the side. Then I feel the hardness of his cock settle between my ass cheeks as he folds his muscular body around mine, pressing me softly up against the outside shower wall. My nipples pebble against the cold glass as heat pools between my legs.
“There’s not a single thing on Earth that calms me the way you do,” his lips confess against my naked back. “There is nothing and no one that in captures my heart the way you do. You are everything, all the time, and you are mine. I will kill any sorry bastard whoever even thinks about touching you.” His body vibrates behind me as he skims his knuckles down my sides past the swell of my breasts. “This perfect skin will be marred by nothing except the bites and hickeys I mark you with when we fuck. The only swelling your body will suffer is when you carry our children. You are mine, Beth. Do you understand?”
No hesitation. No fear. No doubt. “Yes,” I breathe against the glass. “For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”
Moving gracefully, he scoops me up in his arms and steps under the hot shower spray. When he sets me on my feet, it’s the first time I’m allowed to take his naked body. Say what you will about a man as intense and complex as Brax, but when fire and brimstone meet angel dust, when Heaven and Hell combine, they become a being like no other. Everything about him inspires fear and worship. That being said, I intend to worship every inch of his body and soul.
His lean, muscular torso is covered in tattoos that settle into a deep V on his stomach. I bite my lip as I follow the light trail of hair down to the most perfect cock I’ve ever seen. He’s rock hard and the bigger than anything I’ve ever imagined. My mouth waters from just looking at the steel length encased in soft, pink skin. Everything about him is beautiful, even his goddamn dick.
After squirting shampoo into his hands, he threads his fingers into my hair and slowly begins to massage. I struggle to keep upright as he continues to wash my hair, relaxation flooding my shorted-out system. He rinses my hair before coating his hands in body wash. It smells like him, the sensation making me dizzy once again as I reach a hand out to steady myself on the wall. Lathering the soap in his hands, he moves behind me, where he starts to work each of my muscles. I moan shamelessly while he pampers me, almost so far gone that I barely notice when he stops.
Looking over my shoulder, I see his hands move to his chest. “No,” I rasp, my voice so low in the shower that it’s barely audible. “I want to touch you.”
I do as he did with me, lathering my hands in soap, working my fingers into the muscles on his back, chest, and arms. The tension leaves his battered body with every muscle I work. I try to inspect the tattoos displayed over his defined body, but my eyelids feel heavy and my knees feel weak.
“Bed time, babe,” he says, rinsing us both off once more before turning off the shower.
Upon stepping out, he wraps a large, white towel around his waist before doing the same to me. Once he lifts me over to the edge of Jacuzzi bath tub, he sits down with me in his lap. Taking his time, he dries my hair and body as I slowly fight against sleep.
It’s a fight I l
ose quickly because I only vaguely remember the feeling of being carried to bed and laid between the silk sheets. The bed dips and an arm hooks around my waist, pressing my back against his front so we are spooning.
His five-o’clock shadow scratches my cheek when he kisses me. “Sweet dreams, my girl.”
I don’t know if I answer or not. Sleep swiftly steals my consciousness and I dream of nothing but grey eyes.
My eyelids flutter open, my body surrounded by heat. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and when I do, I smile. Turning around in his arms, I’m overwhelmed with the urge to touch him. I reach up to cup the side of his face with my hand before running my thumb over the bruise under his eye.
My Cinderella.
He is a savage storm followed by a blissful calm, like the still that comes after a catastrophic earthquake or the deafening silence after a ruthless hurricane. He is the beauty in chaos, and I am undoubtedly in love with him. I would slay the hounds of Hell to protect him from the purgatory his fury entraps him in. The monsters claiming his soul will meet their demise at the warmth of my love for him. I make this vow as I silently watch the moonlight trace the edges of his gorgeous face.
Thrust forward by the guilt of ugly pasts and touched by the hand of fate, our futures collided. We will save each other, and may God help anyone who stands in the way of that.
“PLEASE KILL ME now,” I groan when the alarm clock starts to go off much too early for my taste.
I’ve barely woken up and the righteously annoying alarm clock is still beeping away when the arm around my waist tightens. There’s no time to protest as I’m flipped over and caged in by his massive body over the top of mine. His elbows keep his body weight from crushing me, but his eyes are blazing intensity and his body is strung tighter than a bow.
“Don’t say shit like that, Beth,” he chides.
I flinch—not from his tone, but out of sheer embarrassment. With everything going on right now, the threats Kyles uttered, I shouldn’t have said something so thoughtless. Especially not around Brax who takes everything so seriously.