47. Paxton
47
PAXTON
T he warehouse has been abandoned since I was a kid, but I remember it like the back of my hand. Same four walls. Same dusty floor. Same broken windows. It’s crowded tonight. More than I thought it would be. I guess Roman did his job and spread the word. Or maybe every fight night is like this. And the shit parked out front? Hell, I can practically smell the money wafting through the air. It mixes with the expensive colognes and perfumes like a rich person’s potpourri. Refusing to look for any familiar faces from my previous life or current one, I drag Tatum through the throng of people in search of privacy. A few of them reach out, trying to congratulate me on the win, but I barely look at them. Hell, I can’t see anything right now. Not one fucking thing except the fear in Tatum’s eyes when I stepped out of the ring and pieced together what the hell was going on.
Choosing one of the rooms a little further away in hopes of it being empty, I twist the handle and push the door open. The hinges creak in protest as I pull Tate with me, closing the door behind us with another squeak from its hinges.
“I’m sorry,” Tatum blurts out.
Finding the light switch, I flick it on, then turn on my heel and cock my head. “What?”
“I said, I’m sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry.”
“I lost my shit over something so stupid?—”
“It’s not stupid,” I interrupt. Cupping her face, I drag my thumbs along her cheek bones, committing the feel of her silky skin to memory while fighting my own inner loathing. I can’t believe I brought her here. I should’ve known. Fuck, of course I should’ve known. That she’d react like this. I mean, I told her. I told her I was gonna fight. That I’d been sparring for weeks. That I used to fight as a teen. And she never cared. Hell, if anything, she told me the idea of it all was hot. I thought she’d like it. She’d like the adrenaline and the ambiance and the people and the energy. But it doesn’t matter. Because tonight she wasn’t using her head, she was using her heart, and I fucking stomped all over it despite knowing everything she’s been through. Running my thumbs along her cheeks, I beg, “Tatum, look at me.”
Her eyelids close as the fight seeps out of her. “I feel so stupid.”
“Not.” I lean in and kiss the tip of her nose, careful to keep my split lip away from her. “Stupid.”
“It was only a fight.”
“Not.” My lips skate across hers in the barest of touches. “Stupid.”
Her bottom lip trembling, she breathes out, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
My body flinches back as I register the weight of her words. The determination. The sheer stubbornness, but more so, the fear. Her fear is driving her, and if anyone knows what it feels like, it’s me. “Tatum, don’t say that.”
“Pax, I’m serious?—”
“I fucked up,” I growl. “Okay? I fucked up. Me .” The word lodges in my throat, making it hard for me to breathe, let alone say something to ease the fear emanating from the girl in front of me. I need to fix this. To apologize. To unload the crippling pain she’s suffocating from. The problem is, I don’t know how. “I know your past, and I still brought you here.” I keep holding her face, willing her to look at me. “This is on me. Okay, Birthday Girl? It’s all on me.”
“Don’t you get it?” she whispers. Reaching up, she grabs my wrists and slowly forces me to lower my hands from cradling her cheeks. “It was me. I’m the problem. The one who’s fucked up.” A pathetic whimper slips out of her. “You were fighting, which I knew you were going to do, by the way, and honestly, it was hot as hell. I know that.” She forces a smile, but it’s wobbly at best. “Shit, Pax. You looked really hot up there. All rippling muscles, and…” She pulls her lip into her mouth, biting on the plump flesh as her hands roam my pecs and abdomen. “And I’m extremely attracted to you, but…instead of enjoying it like any normal red-blooded woman would, I freaked.” She sniffs. “I completely freaked, Pax, and what is wrong with me, you know?”
“Come here.” I grab her face again, desperate to feel her, to take away her pain, to fix this. When her back hits the door with a tiny thump, I order, “Tell this pretty little brain to shut the hell up, okay?” I kiss her forehead, hoping it’ll soften my demand. “I’m the one who messed up. I’m the one who should’ve known this would trigger you. It’s on me, not you.”
“Don’t you get it?” her voice cracks as she peeks up at me, tears clinging to her long, thick lashes. “You shouldn’t have to worry about triggering me. No one should have to worry about triggering anyone. It’s juvenile and stupid?—”
“Not. Stupid,” I seethe. “Stop belittling yourself or your feelings. Do you understand me?”
Her head dips in the smallest of nods. But her eyes? They’re like steel, gleaming with a familiar dose of stubbornness I both love and hate. Especially in this moment.
“Pretty little liar,” I muse, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You don’t believe me.”
“Just stating the facts, Pax.”
Facts.
It’s a load of bullshit, but how do I convince her of it? How do I make her see how much she means to me and that her feelings? They don’t have to be a bad thing. They don’t have to hold her back or keep her from me. Hell, nothing can keep her from me. Not a single fucking thing.
“Close your eyes,” I order.
“Pax…”
“Close them.”
Her eyelids flutter closed, shocking the hell out of me, while also proving how desperate she is to let go, even if she won’t admit it to herself. Untucking the T-shirt from the waistband of my pants, I grip the cotton between my teeth and rip a strip of fabric from it. What’s left of my shirt falls at our feet as I slowly tie the makeshift blindfold around Tatum’s head, careful not to catch any of her hair in the knot.
She’s trembling. Her breathing is shallow. Her lips are parted. The combination proves her fear is still driving her. Still keeping her from me. And even though I know it’s only a physical response made to keep her safe, I need it to stop. Now.
“Pax,” she whispers, “what are you?—”
“Careful or I’ll gag you, too.” Bending forward, I kiss her softly, savoring the sting from my busted lip. “And I’d really hate losing access to this pretty mouth, Birthday Girl.”
Her throat tightens on a swallow, but she stays quiet, believing my threat isn’t empty. Then again, I guess it isn’t. I do love having access to this pretty mouth, but right now, this isn’t about me. This is about her. Her fear. Her past. Her future. And fuck, I want her future to include me. Gently, I reach for her hands, keeping my movements slow as I guide them to my face. “Do you feel this?”
Her hands tremble as she runs her fingers along my jaw and finds the edge of my mouth. “Yes,” she whispers.
Nibbling on the edge of her finger, I murmur, “This mouth is yours.” I smile. “This mouth gave up smoking for you.”
She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and bites down, but she doesn’t utter a single word.
Guiding her hands lower, I let her linger on my biceps. “These muscles? They’re here to protect you.”
She continues her path down my body, finding the edge of my pants before moving to my semi-hard dick. When her palm brushes against it, my hips shift forward, and I bite back my groan. “This cock?” She smiles. “This is to give you pleasure. To make you scream my name. And to give you babies, if you ever ask for them.” I grasp her wrist and bring it up, over my abs and along my bruised side to my pounding chest. “And do you feel this, Tatum?”
She shies away, but I force her to stay where she is, letting the steady thump-thump seep into her palm as I cover her hand with mine. “This heart is yours.”
“Pax,” she breathes.
“Listen to me,” I order. “This heart is yours, and even though I’d give anything to protect it from being hurt or compromised, all because I know how it would affect you, that isn’t in my power.” I grasp her fingers and bring them to my mouth. “But it isn’t in yours, either.”
Her lips quiver, a shaky breath slipping past them and hitting my face harder than any punch my opponent could’ve thrown tonight. This girl. This fucking girl. She holds all the cards. Owns every piece of me. If only she’d take them.
“I know it’s scary, Birthday Girl,” I rasp. “I know opening yourself up again after losing someone you love is scary. But the past few weeks have been the best in my life. And I’m really hoping you’ll let me give this heart to you despite knowing you can’t control the future.” A low chuckle rumbles through my chest. “Let’s be honest, if you could, there’s no way you would’ve let me run into you again after all these years. But isn’t that the beauty of fate? That sometimes it delivers exactly what we need when we least expect it?”
“Pax,” she breathes out with the same weak bravado as before I dragged her in here. Before I pushed her against the door and blindfolded her in hopes of swaying her stubborn resolve. “I want you, okay? I want you so much, but I can’t do it again. I can’t.”
I curl in closer to her, anxious to carry the weight of her pain, while knowing I can’t. I can’t do anything but love her and be by her side and promise I’ll do everything in my power—for the rest of my life—to take care of her and be the man she needs me to be, if only she’ll accept it. “I fucking love you, Birthday Girl.”
Her head rolls forward with her shoulders, making her look small and fragile. “Don’t say that.”
“I love you, Tatum Taylor. I love every fucking inch of you. I love your soul. Your body. Your sweet side. Your bitchy side.” My mouth lifts. “I love when you’re tired. When you’re drunk. When you’re snippy and happy and everything in between.”
“Pax,” she whispers.
Letting go of her hands, I touch beneath her chin, and with the lightest of pressure, lift her head before leaning down and kissing her. It’s soft. Gentle. But so fucking charged, I can feel it in my bones. It’s a promise. A prayer. She raises her hands and grabs my wrists as I cup her cheeks again, holding her exactly where I want her. My mouth moves over hers, and I drag my tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting her tears. The slight tang of salt wrecks me, and I squeeze my eyes shut as she opens her mouth wider, letting me in.
My cock strains between us as she sucks on my tongue, well-aware of how close I am to stripping her down and marking every inch of her if it’ll convince her to stay. To admit she loves me, too, even if it’s scary. Slowly, my hands trail down her cheeks, then lower. I grab her throat to keep her in place, refusing to let her walk away when I know there’s a tiny voice inside her head begging her to do exactly that. When my other hand grazes the outside of her breast, I palm her fully, savoring the feel of her pebbled nipple against my palm. She gasps as I take my feel, massaging her through the thin fabric of her top. My knuckles are bloodied and bruised, and the kiss makes my busted lip throb in discomfort, but I can’t find it in me to care. Not about anything but the girl in front of me.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please. I need you.”
I kiss her harder, swallowing her plea while undoing the top button of her jeans and shoving them down her body and onto the floor. When she realizes I have every intention of giving her exactly what she wants, she blindly reaches for my pants and tugs them off me. The head of my erection bobs against her stomach, pulling a soft smile from Tatum’s lips. And I like it. That she knows what she does to me. That she likes what she does to me. The reminder proves exactly how many cards she holds when it comes to our relationship, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Slowly, she strokes my length from base to tip, and my balls tighten with need.
“Fuck, Birthday Girl,” I growl.
Gathering my precum against her palm, she squeezes me, well-aware of exactly what she’s doing and how close I am to the edge, despite not even being inside her. Grabbing her wrist, I shove her hand above her head, adding her second until she’s helpless and squirming. Without a word, I reach for her thigh, and she jumps, trusting I'll catch her. Once her legs are wrapped around my waist, I press her spine to the door again.
“Keep your hands up,” I order.
She nods, the blindfold still in place.
With both hands on her hips, I pull back slightly until the tip of my cock finds her wet slit. Then, I push inside her tight little body, one inch at a time, as her mouth opens on a moan. Once I’m fully seated, I press my forehead to hers, sharing her air while giving her a minute to adjust to the intrusion.
“I love you, Birthday Girl,” I growl. “I love your tenacity. Your grit. I love your body. Your soul.”
“If you’re trying to make me come with your words alone, you’re pretty good at it,” she whispers. “Now, if I could just convince you to keep moving, that’d be great.”
I smile and nip at her mouth. “I love your sass, too. Even when you’re a pain in the ass. And I don’t want you to say it back. Not until you’re ready. But I need you to know I love you. I’ll always love you. From now to forever.” Burrowing my head in the crook of her neck, I pull out, then push in again, desperate to feel her let me in physically after the mind-fuck we just endured. Her wet heat surrounds me and my eyes roll back in my head. She feels so good. Too fucking good. “Tatum, a condom,” I groan. “Shit?—”
“I have an IUD.” Her hands find my shoulders. “Don’t you dare stop.” I thrust into her again, this time even harder, and she whimpers. “Keep going. Please keep going.”
So, I do. As her nipples rub against my chest, my hips piston back and forth, driving us both toward oblivion. Her fingernails claw against my bare shoulders and her body shakes with every ounce of friction until I’m convinced I could do this forever. Maybe not last, she feels too fucking good, but being buried inside her like this? Feel her like this? Taste her like this? Touch her like this? It makes all the shit I’ve been through worth it. Everything. Every single thing. Because it led me to her.
Sweat breaks out along my skin as I suck on her neck, my balls aching with need. “Tell me you’re close,” I order.
“I’m close. I’m really close. I’m—shit.” The word breaks into a whimper as her body squeezes around me, and I spill inside of her, determined to fall over the edge right along with her. Muscles tightening, tingles spreading, cock jerking. I fall apart and ride the high, already craving the next time I can be inside her so we can do this all over again. As she drops her head back toward the ceiling, I trail kisses along her exposed throat, paying special attention to the tiny bruise I gifted her with. But fuck, if it isn’t hot.
“Can I take off my blindfold now?” she whispers.
With a smirk, I reach up and tug the scrap of cloth off, dropping it to the ground. She blinks in an attempt to let her eyes adjust as I cup her cheek and force her to look at me.
When our gazes connect, I repeat, “I love you. Just so we’re clear.”
Her mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles. “I believe you.” When it falls, she adds, “And that’s why this is so scary.”