“I shouldn’t want you like this,” Max whispers over my lips, the heat from his breath forcing chill bumps to sweep over my skin. My eyes slam closed as another long breath transfers from his mouth to mine. “Tell me no,” he says, his lips barely brushing against mine.
I swallow just as his warm lips crush over mine. He climbs onto the bed, his hands still gripping my face as he deepens the kiss. And this kiss, although it’s gentle, it is somehow still brutal and raw and hard. The weight of the situation is evident with each touch, every breath, but within that is a beauty so profound, words would never do it justice. Pausing, Max groans. His fingers twist my hair as his tongue teases my lips. I savor the soft feel of his mouth like a morsel tossed to a peasant. I relish in this because it is something I have longed for, no matter how wrong or perverse. I have wanted this from him for so long. This kiss grants me a type of validation. Somehow, among the dark depths of this nightmare, I’ve found some fucked up version of love—and I believe it’s the only love language I will ever understand. I’ve given myself over to a devil, and God help me, all of the misery has been worth it for this very fucking moment.
Max rests his forehead against mine, his thumb caressing my jaw. “I can’t help it,” he breathes over my mouth. “No man could…”
And our lips join once again. I feel every piece of me begin to melt, and internally I scream at myself to snap out of it, but Max—everything he is, the parts of him he believes are ruined, tainted, the way he’s touching me like I am everything at this moment—well, I just can’t stop it. He isright.Weare right, and sometimes, yes, sometimes, maybe fate has to fuck up every last thing in your life to put you where you belong because thisiswhere I belong. I feel it in my heart even though my mind wants to deny it.
Max’s hands slide down my neck, my shoulders, my sides. He grabs me by the waist, his lips still pressed hard over mine. His fingers flinch into my sides and he groans before he tears his mouth from mine.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Another kiss and our hands are all over each other, but just as my fingers graze the waist of his jeans, he tears away from me to stand, bowing his head and pacing. I push up from the bed and stare at him.
“I can’t,” he pauses and locks eyes with me. “Ava, I can’t…” he says, grabbing me and throwing me against the wall while kissing me like I’m his very fucking breath.
The air surrounding us is thick with primal energy—brutal want and passion. His hands roam over me. My fingers dig into his huge biceps. He owns parts of me he shouldn’t and I am fairly certain he knows.
Growling, Max fists my hair before pulling away once again. “What do you want from me?”
I want to shout: “For you to love me”, but I can’t say that. I am fully aware I am in love with a very bad man, that I have betrayed myself, and when you betray yourself you are truly lost. So, instead, I whisper, “Nothing.”
“Do me a favor, Ava.” He presses a finger over my lips and that intensity in his eyes morphs to worry. “If I ever ask you what you feel for me, just don’t tell me. Don’tevertell me.”
And with that he turns and exits the room, leaving me undone and terrified that the only man my heart is capable of feeling this way about is the grim reaper himself. And even though I’m well aware I’m longing for the very thing I know may one day take my life, I can’t help it. All my heart keeps telling me is that some things are worth the risk, because without certain things you’re often better off dead anyway.
20
Max
My head is spinning. I’ve lost all fucking control with her, and it is taking every ounce of man in me not to turn the hell back around and fuck her up against that damn wall. I want to mark her, taint her. I want to fucking claim her—and that is fucked up to no end.
Earl’s sitting at the table, smoking as usual. His eyes lift from the paper he’s reading. “She ’bout ready yet?” he asks, the cigarette gripped between his lips, ash falling to the floor when his lips move.
“No.” I shove past him. I’m sick of these fuckers asking the same damn question. “She’ll be ready when I fucking say she is.”
“Why ain’t she ready, Max?” he asks. I stop and slowly turn to glare at him. Anger pulsing through my veins at the thought of having to actually let her go.
“Because she isn’t.” I take a step toward him. “She had a life and it takes a hellavu lot longer to break hope than fucking desperation.” Another step. “That’s why!”
“Well, if she ain’t ready in another week or so, might as well just kill her.” He smirks, his dingy, crooked teeth showing. He reaches for his beer and I smack it out of his hands. The can hits the floor, foam spewing out. He eyes me up and down, most likely debating on how badly he’d get his ass beat if he tried to do anything to me.
“Like I said,” I say as I make my way out of the room, “she’ll be ready when I say she’s fucking ready. And we’re not killing her. I’d kill you first, you son of a bitch.”
“Almost think,” he calls from the kitchen, “that you got a little thing for that one.”
Ignoring his comment, I quickly climb the winding staircase and lock myself in my room. I pace, dragging my palms down my face. I stare at the pack of smokes on the corner of the dresser before snatching them and lighting one, puffing like a goddamn chimney on my way to the window. I grip the cigarette between my lips as I fight with the old wooden frame. It finally pops loose with a bang, squeaking as I raise it. The cold December wind whips in and my muscles tense. This is what I need, this chill. Something to bring me back to the real world, something to snap me the fuck back to what I’m supposed to be doing, but then the breeze kicks up and it lifts her feminine scent from my skin. My eyes slam shut and I inhale on a groan as I bring the smoke back to my lips. The nicotine seeps deep inside my lungs in a thick cloud.
She is going to have to leave here. Eventually—dead or alive, and right now, I am trying to decide which way is more kind. Would it be worse for her to be bartered off to some fucker or for me to kill her? I could do it without her even knowing. In her sleep. I could open the door and put a bullet in her brain and she’d never even leave the realm of dreams. But that thought makes bile rise in my throat. I wouldn’t do that. There is no need. And I won’t let her be sold off. What I have to decide: if I’m going to keep her, or if I’m going to set her free.
Two hours. I spend two hours submerged within my conflicted wants. I smoke half a pack of cigarettes before I leave my room and head down to the cellar. When I open the door, she’s lying on the bed dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s already a quarter of the way through the book I just bought her. She doesn’t glance up when I start across the room, she just keeps on reading.
“Since I saw you.” I stop beside the bed, take the book from her hands, and toss it to the floor. “Listen to me, since I saw you, all I could think about is what your lips would feel like.”
She glances up at me, and fuck me, those eyes of hers. There isnostopping this.
I grab the back of her head, pulling her mouth against mine. My hands travel from her neck, around to her shoulders before roughly rubbing down her chest and stomach, all the while my mouth viciously kissing her.
My fingers skim beneath her shirt. The feel of her skin is so fucking warm and soft it causes a feral shot of lust to rip through me. We tear our shirts over each other’s head, the need to feel one another the only thing able to force our greedy fucking mouths apart. There’s a pause where we stare at one another, both conflicted because everything about this situation is wicked, yet, I fear neither of us are strong enough to stop it. Truth be told, neither of uswantto be that strong.
