CHAPTER 13. LINES #2
Still nothing. Just silence. But then I notice: his pupils are huge, swallowing almost all the blue. His gaze drops as he shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. Without a word, he takes my left hand, his fingers playing lightly with mine, then leans in and kisses me.
It starts soft—his lips warm and a little dry—but it doesn’t stay that way. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth, slow, insistent, until I part my lips and let him in. The moment our tongues meet, something shoots through me—hot, electric, molten low in my belly.
Xavier lets out a quiet moan, barely masked by the hum of the car.
He pulls my hand forward and presses it against the thick shape in his lap—hot and rigid beneath the fabric—and it takes me a second to register that it’s his cock, straining through his pants.
I freeze, caught off guard. Then he pulls back from the kiss and whispers, voice hot against my ear, “I want you.”
My whole body jolts. I’m hard in an instant. God—he’s not out of it, just high from whatever the paramedics gave him. And apparently, horny.
I don’t move. I try to hold it together, but then he bites my neck, sucking hard, and I know that’s going to leave another mark.
“Xavier,” I whisper, breathing hard, trying not to draw the driver’s attention. “Pretty sure that’s the drugs talking.”
But Xavier doesn’t stop. His eyes are glazed with want, his hand sliding down to grab my ass, kneading it like he’s done it a hundred times. He leans in again, voice rough against my ear.
“I want you so bad, Newt.”
“Oh God,” I breathe, my heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else, my cock twitching at the words.
“I think about you all the time,” he goes on, nuzzling my cheek, his breath hot against my skin. “All day. All night. Especially at night…” His voice dips even lower. “I’ve imagined how I’d make you come…so many ways, Newt. Tell me—do you want to come in my mouth?”
“Fuck, Xavier,” I whisper, eyes squeezing shut as I claw for the last shred of self-control. “Please.”
I don’t even know if I’m begging him to stop—or begging him not to.
“I want to taste your cock,” he breathes, his hand sliding into my lap, pressing against the hardness in my pants. “Can I taste you, Newt?”
He rubs over it once—focused, unhurried—and I curse under my breath. His palm drags along the length, slow enough to make my hips twitch.
“I want to taste you,” he whispers. “And then I want to put you on all fours and fuck you until you’re leaking and begging—”
“Stop. Please.”
The words tear out of me, shaky, barely a whisper. “Please, Xavier.”
He does. Instantly.
The space between us rushes in like cold air.
When I open my eyes, he’s already pulling back, breath heavy, gaze turned away, his cheeks flushed like he’s ashamed and barely holding it together.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, jaw tight—and when I reach out to touch his shoulder, he flinches, jerking away before I even make contact.
“Sorry,” he mutters, still not looking at me. “I just need a second.”
He cracks the cab window, letting in a blast of icy air, and pulls his coat tighter around himself, breathing like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
We sit in silence for the rest of the ride, and I think my brain’s fried—my head buzzing with everything that just happened. Hearing Xavier say all those filthy things… It felt like something out of my wildest fantasies.
The kind I barely even knew I had, let alone let myself think about.
I know it was the drugs talking. I know he wasn’t fully himself. But now that the words are out there—now that I’ve heard them, felt them—
God, I don’t think I’ll be able to let it go.
By the time we pull up to Hickory Road, Xavier’s asleep—slumped against the car door, turned away from me.
And that’s when I see them.
Some of the journalists from earlier, still posted across the street, waiting to ambush us the second we step out. They haven’t noticed us yet, so I reach over and gently shake Xavier awake.
“Hey,” I murmur, touching his elbow. “We’re home.”
He blinks up at me, gaze slow and unfocused. It takes a second for him to register where he is—yeah, the meds are definitely kicking in.
“The journalists are still here,” I say, keeping my voice low. “We need to move quickly.”
For a few seconds, Xavier just stares like he’s still catching up, and my heart stutters at the fog in his eyes. But then he nods and reaches for the door handle, pushing it open.
The moment we step out of the cab, two guys with cameras and a woman smoking by the curb spot us—and instantly spring into action, charging toward us.
I curse under my breath and grab Xavier’s arm, steering him away fast. The last thing I want is to find out what happens when drugged-up Xavier runs into paparazzi.
He glances back, frowning.
“Let’s just get inside,” I mutter, giving him a light push between the shoulder blades. He doesn’t resist, and we hurry toward the front door.
Xavier slips inside first—and I almost follow.
Almost.
Just as I reach the entrance, one of the journalists—a woman with straight black hair and lipstick red as blood—lunges forward and slams the door behind him, shutting me out. She plants herself in front of it, blocking the way.
“Mr. Doherty! Just a few words for the Daily Star!”
“Please, move,” I say, my mouth a flat line.
“I just need a moment,” she says, smiling like it’s rehearsed. “Tell us about Katie Fairfax—who is she?”
“Nobody,” I snap.
“How did Xavier Ormond react to the news of your engagement to her?”
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to shove her. Obviously, I’m not going to push a woman—but she’s really testing my nerves.
And the worst part—I don’t even know why it’s getting under my skin this badly.
It’s not because of Katie, that’s for sure. She can handle herself just fine. No, it’s the way they’re spinning this whole thing—twisting it into some pathetic story about Xavier pining after me like some lovesick fool.
And that—
That gets under my skin more than I want to admit. My chest pulls taut. Heat surges through my veins. I don’t even notice my fists clenching until they’re already tight.
Calm down. Don’t do anything stupid.
“Are you planning to leave Hickory Road?”
The same damn questions. Over and over and over again.
“Do you love Xavier Ormond?”
Don’t do anything stupid.
“Yes, of course I love him!” I snap, loud enough to startle even myself. “We’re going to get married, adopt a puppy named Gladstone, and open a charming little bakery in the suburbs. Happy now?!”
I glare at them, my pulse thudding in my throat. “Now get the hell out of here.”
They freeze—dead still. For a second, it’s like I’ve smacked the three of them silent. Not a click, not a word. They just stare at me, like they can’t decide whether I’ve completely lost it or handed them the story of the year.
And that’s when I catch it—just at the edge of my vision. A tiny, flickering light.
My stomach sinks.
I turn my head, slow as a rusted hinge, and there it is: the fat black lens of a video camera, red light blinking like a smug little heartbeat.
Oh, perfect. Just perfect.
I grit my teeth, shove past the red-lipped journalist while she’s still frozen, and push through the door.
I slam it behind me and lean against the wood for half a breath, my heart thudding like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. The phantom flash of that red light still burns in my vision.
But then I remember Xavier and look up, blinking into the half-dark of the hallway. That’s when I see him—sitting on the bottom step, slumped against the railing, head tilted to the side, eyes closed like he’s drifted off.
“Xavier,” I call, but he doesn’t answer.
I hurry over, trying not to panic. When I shake his shoulder, he lets out a soft, indecipherable hmm?, eyes still shut. The meds must’ve kicked in full force.
“Hey, let’s go upstairs,” I say, taking his elbow and trying to pull him up—but he doesn’t move.
I pause, staring at him, doing the math. He’s bigger than me, out cold on diazepam, and currently about as cooperative as a brick wall.
“Alright,” I sigh, looping an arm around his waist and hauling him up with everything I’ve got.
He rises—barely—but he’s on his feet. His eyes crack open, and he blinks at me like it takes effort just to process my face.
“Hi there,” I say, trying not to sound winded.
“Newt,” he murmurs, then trails off, staring at me through half-lidded eyes.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I keep my voice steady, hoping it anchors him. “Let’s get upstairs.”
We start the climb—slow, clumsy, one step at a time. It takes a full minute to reach the top. When I open the apartment door, he’s still conscious, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing holding him up. Which, to be fair, I am—he’s leaning into me with all his weight.
I guide him through the living room and kitchen, down the dark hallway, straight into his bedroom.
The room’s bathed in soft blue shadows. I ease him onto the edge of the bed and start working on his coat, but he’s not exactly helping—just sits there like a rag doll, watching me struggle to tug the sleeves off his arms.
Finally, I get it off, toss it aside—and then hear him murmur, “Newt.”
“Yeah?” I crouch down to take off his shoes, glancing up.
He smiles, just a little, voice thick and slurred. “Look. We’ve switched places.”
It takes a beat for me to register what he means—until he adds, “Now I’m drunk, and you’re putting me to bed.”
I snort at that, tugging off his shoes one at a time. But then, without warning, Xavier stands—wobbling a little—and starts unfastening his pants.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I can already guess. Stupid question, maybe, but given his state, I figure it’s worth confirming.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he mumbles, still wearing that dazed little smile, eyes on me as he drops his pants and steps out of them. Then his fingers move to his shirt buttons.