Learning from my first mistake, I don’t make the attempt of touching her again, but I move to sit next to her, leaving enough space between us not to make her feel threatened. Sitting on my bed with her, I say nothing for a while, but my mind is racing. Her reaction triggers memories from my fucked-up past. I remember waking up from nightmares just like she just did, scared out of my fucking mind thinking that motherfucker was still alive. I remember that feeling of being preyed on. Of being made to feel weak and helpless every single minute of my life. I remember being too damn afraid of letting anyone touch me because the only touches I ever received were violent and revolting. I look at Aylee, see the way she can’t even stand my touch, and I’m quick in putting two and two together.
“I thought I told you to stop apologizing for shit that’s not your fault.”
She makes an attempt at a shrug. “It’s a bad habit.”
“You thought I was who?”
She shakes her head again, her expression tightening into a frown as she curls her bottom lip between her teeth, an attempt to probably keep herself from talking.
“Aylee?”
“Maddox, please don’t make me. If I tell you, you’ll see how dirty I am. And then I’ll lose you. You’ll see my stains and you’ll tell me to leave you alone.”
“One thing you’re going to have to learn about me is that I don’t scare easily. Unless you plan on telling me you’re not into guys with tattoos there’s not a fuck of a lot you can say or do that’s going to push me away.”
“I’m only into one guy with tattoos.”
I can’t help reaching out to swipe a falling tear from her cheek. “Then do your worse.”
She turns away with a small, sad smile. “You asked me once why I was in therapy. And I guess you figured out it’s because I cut myself. I, um…I cut myself because I feel dirty most of the time. Like so dirty that if I could bleach out my insides I would. Sometimes it’s too much, too revolting, so I have to bleed the stain just to feel a little cleaner. Rachel and Tim, they adopted me when I was nine. They were a really nice couple, so I thought I’d finally found a good family that could love and care for me. And it was like that at first. They really doted on me. Especially Tim.” With her head still turned away I can only hear the steady sounds of her whimpers as she tries not to cry. “He worked a lot so when he was home he took over caring for me. I didn’t think anything of it at first, the way he’d ask me to leave the door open when I was showering. Or after I went to bed and he’d come in my room, lock the door, and just sit at my bedside. The first time he touched me, I was almost ready to fall asleep and I felt his hand between my legs…” She chokes on a sob. I make another effort to touch her but she shrugs me off. “Don’t…” She shudders and looks at me with watery eyes, desperate eyes. “Please don’t. If you touch me now I won’t finish. You need to know me, Maddox. You need to know the sort of fucked-up girl I am. You deserve that much.” She rakes a trembling hand through her hair, probably now adding to her stress by worrying about cussing, before she continues. She could say ‘fuck’ twenty times a day and I wouldn’t care.
“He made me think it was okay. I didn’t fight him, and I didn’t cry. I just let him do it to me. He said it was our little secret. Just for me and him. He told me if I ever told our secret, they’d send me back to the foster system. Return me like I was some puppy they no longer wanted. Every time he’d whisper that threat to me I told myself I was securing a place in the house. If I made myself accessible to him in this way then maybe he’d eventually see me as his daughter. It happened a lot afterward. Especially when Rachel wasn’t home. We never had sex. Just him touching me. And then one night when I was sixteen he decided he wanted more. He was drunk, I remember screaming and then Rachel came running in. He told her it was an accident and that he just stumbled into the wrong room. She believed him. She believed every single lie he’s ever told her. We never spoke about that night after. Even when I sliced my arm open and they took me to the ER. Nobody said anything. Nobody said a fucking thing.”
***
Aylee
What the hell am I doing? Is this really happening? I grab a small bit of skin between my thumb and index finger and press down hard. The bite of pain tells me just how very real this all is. But I’m still confused as to how we went from a moment of the purest form of rapture two people can possibly feel to me word-vomiting all over him. Is this my own form of sabotage? Revealing the vilest part of myself to him, letting him see just how truly filthy I am inside so that he’ll run before my demons push him away. I’m on my feet as quick as I can manage. My nudity is an embarrassment that I need to cover. I find my clothes a few feet away from the bed. I start with my panties and shirt, hastily slipping them on and completely forgetting about my bra.
Everything in me is screaming for me to retreat. I’ve said too much. Revealed too damn much to the one person who I never intended to see the ugliness coating my soul. I need to go. Need to get away. The faster I run, the faster I can get to my blade and…
“Aylee.” He blocks my path and when I try to sidestep him, he moves with me. When he reaches out to touch me, I swat his hand away.
“I need to go.” God, my voice sounds so strange. I don’t have much control over my emotions right now and the harder I try to remain calm, be poised, the faster I feel my composure crumbling. If he doesn’t let me leave, I’m going to burst, and I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.
But I guess he’s driven by determination, his own sense of control far more rigid than mine allows him to move toward me with marked focus forcing me to take a step back just to avoid his touch. “Let me go.”
He shakes his dark head and pins me with a too serious stare, “Not gonna happen.”
“Maddox.”
“Aylee.”
The instant he takes me into his arms, using strength to subdue but not hurt me, I fight him like he’s my enemy. I’m not a strong girl, and I’ve never felt the need or the urge for such violence. But with Maddox, I rage. I scratch and punch and kick until we’re on the floor. I use whatever part of my body I can to hurt him, even my teeth to catch the skin on his arms. This isn’t cutting. These emotions aren’t from sadness, they’re from something meaner; uglier. It bypasses the sadness completely and lets me tap into pure, raw, white-hot anger. And I sink into the attack like a well-worn pair of shoes. I battle my demons. I fight memories that have haunted me. I fight what was done to me. I punch and kick through the black tar pooling at the base of my soul, forever trying to pull me under. Through it all Maddox holds me, takes the brunt of my abuse, utterly calm in the face of my brutality—he’s a haven in the tempest of my fury. It’s only when I’ve completely exhausted myself, my breath ragged, heart galloping, pulse spiking with sweat staining my skin that I finally fall into the waiting arms of my anguish. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s not the one that hurts me. But Maddox is there to catch me. The first sob is followed by a second and then a third, and soon enough it’s all too much for me to count. Gasping for breath, I cling onto him.
“Shhh.” I end up underneath him on the floor. He passes a hand through my damp hair and kisses my forehead. He kisses my tear-stained cheeks and my nose and lips. My body is shaking from the violent sobs that shoot up from the deepest, darkest part of my soul and he drinks them. Covers my mouth fully and swallows my shame, my guilt, and what’s left of the anger he knows so well. In his kisses I taste his soul, and it hungers for mine in ways that go so much deeper than mere sex.
“I’m here. I’m here, Aylee. Nothing and no one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise you that.” His voice is low, torrid, and he whispers with such rough emotion against my wet mouth that not even God himself would doubt him. His hand in the back of my hair clenches to a fist and draws my head up slightly to meet his gaze. The intense emotion in his voice radiates in his pewter eyes; they’re too overwhelming for me to hold his stare but too powerful for me not to.
I know I shouldn’t. I know most woul
d ridicule me, believing it’s because I’m so vulnerable right now, and that it’s a bad time but memories are made through time and right now making this memory with Maddox is as vital to me as the blood rushing through my veins. “I love you,” I whisper, and then I kiss him hard, slipping my tongue between his lips to stroke at his. If he doesn’t feel the same at least I’ll have this moment.
I expect nothing. I give him all of me because doing otherwise is not an option. My soul reaches for his and is simply content knowing that he’ll catch me. Or at least I hope he will. Please let him feel the same. I hear his growl, feel the vibration of it in his chest before he takes control of the kiss. He devours my mouth with hard, insatiable hunger that has his body crushing down on mine. Moving his hand between us, he slips my panties aside and slowly glides deep inside me. My legs grip his waist and we rock together with every in-and-out plunging motion of his hips. He grips my hair and only allows me a few short whimpers and gasps before he claims my mouth again. He’s driving into me, hard and deep, and I can hear my sweat-slicked back squeaking against the wooden floor as he drives long, deep, and hard inside me, coming up against that mind-blowing bundle of nerves he calls my G-spot. He rubs relentlessly and I see stars when he hits it—a breathtaking galaxy of stars centering in the universe between my legs.
“Aylee…” he utters with a tortured groan. “Aylee,” he calls again, the reverence in his tone filling my heart with the sweetest elation. He likes to pin me down and take control, which I happily relinquish. He takes my arms above my head, clenching my skin palm to palm and interlaces our fingers in a death grip. His grip is amazingly strong but I’m holding on just as tightly.
“I can stay in you forever,” he whispers harshly against my ear just before his body stiffens and I feel his length throb, pulsing deep inside of me as release takes over him. He groans against my neck as we share ecstasy in its purest, most divine form.
I fall into a state where mental and physical exhaustion makes me feel like I’m floating. Bliss is the sensation taking over me when my bones start to feel like they’re melting. It’s in the way he holds me so tightly against his sweat-stained body. We’re tangled up in each other, lower limbs intertwined—I’m practically his blanket. His arm wraps around my waist while he holds my head to his chest with the other. So good. So, so good. With his fingers slowly raking through my hair, I listen to the strong and steady lullaby that is his beating heart. I let it guide me to sleep and realize with powerful clarity that this is the only time in my life I’ve ever felt truly safe.
***
Maddox
That motherfucking cop deserves the worse sort of death. He and the fucker who had a hand in giving me life have a special place in hell waiting for them. Though I doubt my sperm donor isn’t already fucking burning to a crisp. If I could make a deal with the Devil himself, it would be for me to have a hand in their eternal suffering. Every single word of her confession had been like a fire poker searing slowly down my heart. I’m not accustomed to caring this much about someone’s pain, to truly feel and know exactly the sort of anguish buried so deep inside her that I could taste it. There’s only the smallest bit of difference in our experiences, but she’s dealing with her own monster. With a coward who gets off on preying on the innocent. And with all the fucked-up shit I went through, at least I can say my predator is six feet under, but Aylee is still living with hers. I tighten my hold on her to the point where her small whimper is the only thing that pushes me to ease up. Every time it hits me that I have to let her return to that place, with that fucking pedophile, I want to jump in my truck, ride out to her house, and find the motherfucker and hammer his face into the ground.
My arms tighten around her again as it hits me that beneath the blinding anger there’s the very real and very dark pit of fear sitting at the base of my chest. It’s a fear that something might happen to her and I won’t be there in time to stop it. It’s the fear of disappointing her. The fear of hurting her. The fear of not being enough for her.
I’ve never noticed this part of myself before. But I know it came the day she rode her bike to my house and it’s only gotten worse because now she’s become this permanent thing inside my heart. She’s living there now and my heart isn’t much but it’s the only home I can give her. It’s in her beautiful, delicate hands that I put the ruins of my heart. I’m wondering what she’ll think of me if I tell her I’m going to lock her in this apartment and never let her out of my sight. She’ll probably think I’ve lost my shit but I can’t stomach her being hurt ever again.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
What the fuck? The blissful silence is gone. Three hard-fisted knocks on the front door of my apartment startles the fuck out of me and scares Aylee awake. I hate that we’re interrupted and hate more seeing the fear in her eyes.
“Who is it?” she asks softly trying to sit up, but I don’t let her.
Keeping my arm around her slim waist, I answer just as quietly, “Don’t know. Don’t care.” I cup a hand around her nape and kiss her head. “Go back to sleep.”
I know it’s not Dro because he always has his set of keys on him. I’m not expecting company. Which means whoever the fuck is at the door is either going to stay there or come back later because 1) I’m comfortable. Aylee’s naked body pressed up against mine is a goddamn luxury I’m not about to give up. And 2) If you show up at my place without a phone call or a text it’s pretty much a guarantee your ass is staying outside.
So seeing as both scenarios are unlikely to happen, I ignore the knocks and get back to soaking up every second I have with her.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The knocks are forceful this time, louder, and followed by, “Yo, Max, open the fucking door, man!” It’s only the sound of Willkie’s urgent voice that finally gets me to my feet. Aylee sits up, pulling the blanket to cover her nudity. I grin when she meets my gaze and ducks her head to hide the flush staining her cheeks. That’s definitely my second favorite reaction of hers. The first would have to be the way her tongue always darts out to nervously run across her bottom lip.
Putting on my briefs and jeans, I lean down and take hold of her chin, “Lick your lips.”
“Max…”
I grin, thumbing at her lip, “You should call me that more often. I like the way it sounds coming from your mouth. Now,” my eyes trail down her button nose and land on her plump pout. “Lick. Your. Lips.”
My dick throbs when she slips her tongue out to lick her bottom lip and it strokes along my thumb. She pulls it between her lips, and the heat from her mouth and the erotic slide of her tongue has me on her in a flash. I take her face between my hands, mold my mouth to hers, and taste the sweetness of her mouth. I’m ready to be inside her heat again when the loud call of, “MADDOX!” brings me back to the goddamn cock-blocker, Willkie.
“I’m coming back and we’re continuing this.” With one last kiss, I reluctantly turn my back to her to answer the door. Piece of shit better have a good reason for why he’s at my place right now.
“Yeah, yeah, hold the fuck up,” I grumble when he knocks again.
Opening the door, I’m ready to ask him what the fuck is up when he barges past me. “Dro got taken in, man. His garage got raided, it’s swarming with cops. I wasn’t there but Baz was. He called me half an hour ago, said shit was bad.” Everything falls to the wayside as I jump into action.
“Where is he now?”
“Downtown. Haven’t heard anything from Baz since it went down.”
Heading back to my room, I tell him over my shoulder, “Let me grab a few things and we’ll head out.” In my bedroom I find Aylee on the bed just how I left her minutes ago. She looks at me expectantly, trustingly, with love so blindingly beautiful that all I want to do is dive into its brilliance and swim its purity. It quickly becomes clear to me that my priorities are shifting when my first thought is not Dro but her a
nd her safety. I want to keep her here but it’s not safe. Instinct tells me it’s only a matter of time before the cops come, swarming this place. Only four people know that the garage is where Dro keeps most of his products and launders his drug money through the car shop front. If the cops know about the garage then that means we have a rat. Someone fucking snitched to the 5-0, and whatever deal the son of a bitch made he better make damn sure he’s going to get some deep witness protection because we’re going to drop his ass once we find him.
There’s no way I’m taking a fucking chance on the cops coming here and finding Aylee. It suddenly hits me that her old man is a cop and with my mind racing from one point to another, I’m thinking he had a hand in the raid.
Jesus, fuck.
“Everything all right?”
I nod. “My foster dad’s garage was raided. Cops took him in.” Funny how rather than lie or omitting details, I find myself telling her the truth.
A small frown of genuine concern brings her brows together. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Do you know what happened? How serious is it?”
Heading over to my dresser, I grab my phone that I muted earlier and look down at the screen to find twenty messages and ten missed calls. Fuck. Most of the texts are from Wynn. They’re all coded. To anyone else reading them they wouldn’t make much sense but she’s freaking out about the rest of the stash in the apartment. “I don’t have all the details. But I plan on finding out.”
Replying to her text in code, I let her know I’ll take care of the products and cash we have stashed in various places around the apartment before putting my phone in my back pocket.
“Aylee, I hate to do this…”
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