Chapter 21
Blaze is like a high society’s exclusive party drug I never got to try. Only dished out at events I wasn’t good enough to attend. But I felt high off of it, him, the thought of what it might be like to kiss him, all the same. I was addicted without ever having tasted the real thing.
His attention is something I fear, even now, but in equal measures, crave. Long for. Yearn for.
It’s a hunger.
Something feral that’s been eating me up from the inside out for as long as I can remember.
Until I came here.
Since Bonfire Night it’s been devouring me like a demon nipping at my heels, sucking my soul out through my spinal column with its fangs sunken twelve inches deep.
Falling into him, like this, giving myself over to him, letting him take control. Kiss me like he couldn’t breathe without me. Like his heart would decay inside his chest. His lungs would shrivel, and his eyes would glaze over, fix on one spot until they rotted from his skull.
Everything about Blaze McCoy is designed to draw you in.
Just so he can watch you burn.
His lips are soft but firm, determined and controlled, but ravenous and greedy. He sips the breath from my lungs, feeding me his tongue, his teeth touch mine, but that”s because of me.
Inexperienced, sloppy.
But the sounds he makes, these deep grumbles that could be described as growls ripple along his vocal cords, echoing and vibrating into my mouth. The way his fingertips curl into my scalp, the back of my neck, his short nails curving into my skin, I suppose he must like it enough.
There are too many questions still exploding like fireworks in the forefront of my mind, not pretty and colourful, harsh and painful and too much.
Too bright.
Too loud.
Too all consuming.
Overwhelming.
It feels like something detonates in my temples.
There’s the lick of a tongue, lazy and slow as it rolls into my open mouth. My bottom lip quivers and I feel it pause, the tongue, withdrawing from between my lips. Heavy breath on my chin, pressure on the side of my neck, pain in the base of my skull.
There is suddenly heat in my eyes and wetness on my cheeks. I want to throw my hands up over my ears, to block out the high pitched buzzing, but they’re trapped. Locked tight, and no matter how hard I tug at my arms, they don’t get unstuck, they’re in a vice.
Panic.
Heart thumping.
Duh-dum, duh-dum, duh-dum.
A metronome of pain.
A reminder of life.
Something I don”t want.
My eyes squeeze shut, something big and warm and sticky damp slides up and over the discs of my spine. Rough hands, uneven skin, scarred. The mottled pads of fingers skate up and down my back, a light, comfortable pressure. My breaths come easier then, the panic ebbing away. The tide going out, the pull of the water leaving me gasping.
My forehead rests against another. Caramel, smoke and spice, tobacco.
Warmth.
Familiar.
Home.
“It’s okay, Pretty Girl,” deep and rough, raspy and thick. “We’ve got you.”
Pain pulses in the front of my head, radiating like sharp heat down the back of my neck, my eyes feel heavy, my tongue swollen, mouth dry. But I feel it, safety, as the man at my spine massages the base of my neck, his hands beneath my clothing, our skin touching, hot and achy.
“You’re safe.” Confident, solid, reliable. “It’s a lot to take in, you’re just overstimulated,” Cole’s voice creeps through me, seeping into my bloodstream like a toxin, but it cures these little insecurities, the decadent smoothness of his tone. “Take your time, easy breaths.” His own breath fans my neck, and I feel my lungs expanding as I breathe him in, smoky whiskey and leather, aged and strong.
My fingers curl into muscle, palms pressed to the tops of his thighs, and it’s the little grunt punched from Blaze’s lips that brings me back. Slowly, I blink my eyes open, the sun streaming in at my back, casting shadow across Blaze’s strong features, brightening the glint in his dark eyes.
Cole keeps his hands on my body beneath the thick layers of my clothes, and I shudder at the contact, goosebumps rippling across my flesh as he smooths those cool, scarred hands of his over my warm skin. He’s never been so close, so touchy, and I feel like I’m in some sort of daydream because when my eyes focus on Blaze’s, predictably, they’re lit with fire, but not how I expect.
Blaze licks his lips, tip of his tongue lapping lasciviously over his lip ring, “You like my best friend’s hands on you, Pretty Girl?” he rasps, staring into my eyes with something like want rather than the jealous anger I’ve become so used to seeing.
I’m nodding before I can think to lie. Blaze’s grip tightens, his hand along the side of my throat, the other still tightly locked in my curls.
Eyes locked on his, I think of last night, when Cole and I came in from the gym, how he left me with Flint and Phoenix. How they surrounded me, not unwanted, but it was a lot, overwhelming, until our lips connected. Three mouths finding one another’s, separately and together. Phoenix soft, Flint determined, both of them together something else entirely, our tongues stroking hotly, teeth clicking, noses bumping.
Anxiety makes me want to bat these touches away, arch my back, curve my spine to dislodge Cole’s hands. I squirm uncomfortably, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip with so much tension the skin splits and I taste copper.
“Ember.”
My head snaps back with the violent fist in my hair, my throat exposed, Blaze dips his face into my neck, breathing deeply, inhaling my scent, nose nudging the sensitive skin just behind my ear. His lips graze down the side of my throat, his tongue swirling into the hollow at its base. The flat of his tongue laps up the centre of my throat, over the curve of my chin until he’s licking into my mouth. My lips parting for him on nothing more than instinct.
His tongue completely overwhelms mine, everything in me melting into him, giving him my submission. And when a small breathy whimper slips free of our kiss, it’s Cole who moves his hands. One wide splay of fingers smoothing around to my front, over my tummy, fingertips pressing divots into my flesh as his other slides beneath it, lower, but still above the band of my underwear.
I’m dizzy and drowning in the feel of hands on my skin, two sets of breaths on my neck and face, when only weeks ago just the thought of something like this, being surrounded, touched, caged in by two huge bodies, would have been enough to send me into a manic state.
I’m so, so hot, heart thundering in my chest, my ears buzz and the mixture of their scents is intoxicating. A sudden inhale of smoky whiskey, leather, tobacco, caramel and spice, all of it thrust together makes my thighs tremble, pinching tightly together. It’s the spark of pain that has the keening cry ripping out of my mouth and both men tearing themselves back.
“What the fuck did you do?” they both explode at each other in perfect synchronicity.
Black stars dart across my vision and my hands fly up, clamping over Blaze’s shoulders as I pitch forward, head bowing, body folding in half in the small space between our bar stools. Breath pants harshly from my mouth and I can already feel the pain in my head ratcheting up.
“Ember,” my name on Cole’s lips like a silk ribbon caressing me.
Those rough hands skate down my spine again making me shudder before they disappear, and I feel the frown tugging at my lips at his sudden absence, my back going cold despite the heavy clothing covering me.
“What’s wrong?” Blaze asks, releasing my hair, palming his way over the crown of my head, down my clothed spine, the other running up my arm to the ball of my shoulder. “Can you sit up for me, Pretty Girl?”
Gritting my teeth, pulse pounding like the constant swing and collide of a sledgehammer in my thigh, I walk my hands down his chest, using the firmness of him to push myself up with my fingertips bending so far back they crack.
“Talk to me, what’s hurting?” Blaze asks, his deep voice lacking its usual sadistic charm, right now it just sounds frightened. “Is it your heart?” I hear it then, feel it in the way the words spit off of his tongue, true guilt.
“Headache,” I grit out weakly, shaking my head, teeth clenched, jaw tight.
My breath is this agonised sounding haemorrhage of air. And when my hands slap down on my own thighs to stop my body from careening sideways off of the backless stool, I pitch too far left anyway. The heel of my hand colliding with my wound making my feet slip from the rungs of the seat, Cole grabbing me around the waist just in time to stop me falling.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Blaze barks too loudly, making me tremble as I think of last night, his shouting, and then the vicious snapping words he whispered into my face, ‘you wanna act like a little whore, you can fucking be one.’
My mind swims, a wet towel messily slaps to my forehead, water dripping down my face, making my teeth chatter instantly at the iciness of it, but it feels good too. My shoulders deflate, arms dropping heavily into my lap, gentler over the slice in my leg this time. I draw in a shuddery breath as Cole’s hands, now colder, damp from the water on the cloth, come to my cheeks, gently tilting my head back as he stands beside me and Blaze. Blaze’s hands tight and steady around my waist.
Cole’s eyes are such a confusing mass of colour, amber and yellow and hazel and orange. Fire. They seem to glow the longer I stare up into them, my lips parted with my heaving breaths. He licks his lips, blinking those long inky lashes, his beard short and neat on his concerned face. He’s so handsome, a strong nose and plush, deep-rose coloured lips.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks me quietly and my cheeks flare with heat beneath his cool touch.
I try to move my head away from him, quickly lowering my gaze so I can see nothing except our feet, mine bare, Cole’s in luminous orange trainers, the top of white socks just peeking out the top, and Blaze in black socks. It’s so shockingly normal. Comfortable. It makes my chest clench.
“No one’s gunna be mad at you, Little Spark,” Cole reassures me, but it sounds as though it”s directed at anyone but me.
It’s that that has me drawing my gaze up, my eyes instantly flaring wide at the sudden nickname. My cheeks heat at the fire roaring in Cole’s amber gaze before flicking to Blaze, it’s what confirms I was right. The words a warning for Blaze not to kick off at me at whatever answer I might give Cole.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, still looking at Blaze.
His nostrils flare and his jaw is tense, a muscle thrumming along it, his teeth grinding as he breathes in a short, sharp breath. Because he blames himself. Because of last night. And I won’t tell him it’s not his fault, he wouldn’t believe me anyway, but no one ever really understands. I don’t cut myself because someone makes me feel bad about myself, it’s just the only way, most days, I feel like I have any control, can get my control back, feel relief, let it bleed out of me, my emotions are something I’m in charge of when I slice into my skin.
It feels like a wasted explanation to someone who could never attempt to understand.
“Look at me,” Cole orders, a shiver working through me at the silkiness of his words. My gaze finds his, his rough hands feel feather soft against my cheeks, his thumbs smoothing beneath my eyes, “Can I see?”
I swallow, breathing deep, “Come on, Pretty Girl,” Blaze sighs, his warm breath feathering across Cole’s hand, making the little hairs around my face sway. “Let’s go to our room.”
Cole’s hands drop away from me, my cheeks burning, my insides squirming at the loss of him, but he reaches out a hand for me as he takes a step back, my eyes flicking to Blaze, his hands tight around my waist.
“Take Cole’s hand,” he rumbles with a jerk of his chin, his grip moving me to stand. “Let’s go together,” he says, standing with me, the three of us suddenly in a very tight, close circle.
It’s the first time I really take a moment to look at Cole. This close, without feeling uncomfortable, without his guard up. Without fear of what Blaze might do if he saw.
Cole’s torso is bare, his rich brown skin glistening with a drying sheen of sweat. He has tattoos in places, black ink shading, designs covering most of his upper half, disappearing lower beyond the waistband of his shiny, loose, gym shorts. But his skin, beneath the art, is scarred. All over its puckered and smooth and dipped and raised, burn scars, patterned like the ones on his hands.
My fingers ache with the desire to reach out, to trace them over the hard packed, rippling muscles, the narrowing of his waist, up and over the broadness of his shoulders. Down the solid ridges of his back.
He takes my hand, seeming not to notice my staring, he turns and starts walking. His steps slow, my own a little weak, limp, I feel pain and tiredness like it were an entire person riding my shoulders.
We’re moving towards the hall, the destination Blaze’s bedroom. The room that I think of as ours now. A space that smells like both Blaze and I, his dark smoky musk, caramel and spice, tobacco and the sweet citrus orange blossom of me. It has a bed dressed in soft grey sheets that I tossed and turned in last night because he wasn’t beside me and I couldn’t sleep thinking he hated me properly now.
But as I turn my head back over my shoulder, watching his dark eyes blaze a trail up from my feet to my head, he licks his lips, and slowly, his eyes finally finding mine, he starts to follow. His pace slow, his eyes never leaving mine, not until I turn around, staring at the back of Cole, but I know his eyes are still on me as he stalks closer.
A predator tracking his prey.
His mate.