Chapter 31 Clay
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
clay
She is so brave.
I leave our sons sleeping in their plastic clinic cots. As I open the hospital bathroom door, a cloud of steam envelops me, swirling around my body. I shut the heavy door with a click. I switch the fan on; the drone of sound and the water splashing create white noise.
We haven’t had a moment to breathe, to wash away the last twenty-four hours.
So, I approach her. She's a petite figure amidst the thick, humid air, her head resting against the tiles, breathing, lost in thought.
Water cascades down her crown, drawing her long blonde hair down to create a curtain around her.
Need you, little deer.
I undress quietly, removing my shirt and pants, and step into the shower, coming up behind her. I gather her hair, laying the long, wet strands down her spine like a thick wet rope.
I rub my big palms over her shoulders, massaging.
She moans and rolls her neck. I feel smooth, wet skin, and beneath, small muscles and delicate bones.
Anger builds within me as I see her bruises.
The urge to wrap my body around hers, to physically give her my strength, my muscles, myself, is overwhelming.
“I’m here,” I growl.
My heart fucking throbs as I recall her collapsing in the hospital room, as I remember the flare of agony that jolted through me when I couldn’t react. Couldn’t gather her in my arms, soothe her, tell her she’s safe. That I will fix everything. I fix everything for her! That is what I do.
Christ.
“I lied to you,” I admit darkly. “And we don’t lie to each other.
I apologise for that. I told you I knew you would be brave.
That’s not true. I knew you would survive, but I did not know how it would play out.
I’m so proud of you, sweet girl. I would not have been angry if, when you collapsed in your hospital room, you couldn’t find your feet again.
Know that I would have come for you. If I had to crawl, if I had to bleed out, I would have still caught you. ”
The memory pains me. I watched her rush through the parking lot, the crash still echoing through her.
If I could have split myself in two, given her one half and my boys the other, I would have.
I would have torn myself apart to be there for her, to keep my eyes on them.
I've never felt more mortal, more out of control, than I have these past few days.
“I know.” She sighs softly, her shoulders dropping beneath my touch. "My mum's face keeps appearing behind my eyelids. Last night, I dreamed about her.”
I press my lips to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, tasting shower water and something uniquely her— uniquely my little deer. "Tell me everything."
“I sharpened my teeth on concrete.”
My brows pinch. I don’t want her to have anything sharp, but I don’t say that. My hands stop against her soft, wet skin. "What does that mean to you?"
She turns, water streaming down her face, collecting in her long lashes. "It means I'm done being a victim. I want your name, your legacy, all of it."
I smile. "Soon," I remind her, bringing my hand up to thumb the outline of her lower lip.
Christ, she is beautiful.
She blinks, a bead of water bursting on her cheek. "I heard you speaking to the Family on the phone last month.”
"I noticed your shadow by the door."
She presses her palms against my chest, fingers fanning out, familiar, easy, home. "Have I made you vulnerable, Sir? Weakened you?”
"No." I capture her hand beneath mine, holding her palm over my heart.
"You've given me allies I never had before. The bikers are mine now. They were never fond of the Butchers. They were completely devoted to your father, but we have an understanding now. They proved their loyalty when they helped during the crash. They helped several of my soldiers and pulled you from the wreckage.”
"And the Dons?" she asks. “When you promised to give me everything I ever wanted… and I asked for you to divorce Aurora.” She swallows. “I didn’t really understand what that meant for you and the Cosa Nostra. I was just thinking about myself. It was selfish.”
“It was no such thing. I will give you everything, anything, and I will make it work. Don’t concern yourself with matters that I take care of,” I say.
Butch and I spoke with Alceu an hour ago, while we waited for my Xrays. He called as I declined further analgesics. He has eyes in the District as I have them in Sicily. It is not for a lack of trust, but a layer of defence.
His old voice had cracked down the line, reminding me that time was not on his side. “I hear the new Butcher District is bleeding, se?”
I didn’t like hearing that.
Fucker.
“I hear someone targeted your family,” he added. “I hear you trusted a woman to negotiate for your heirs’ lives… Should I be impressed or alarmed, my boy?”
With respect, I led him through every detail: Eleanor’s motivations; the car crash; bodies and chaos; my boys being taken hostage in the hospital. I owned my failures—secrecy breeds suspicion—but revealed only the necessary.
And I portrayed my little deer as she was—not a damsel, but a brave young woman who chose my sons over her own self-doubt and deep-rooted vulnerabilities, who remained focused even when the earth seemed to vanish beneath her feet—and mine.
“Revenge was the mother’s impetus,” I told Alceu. “She came for my twins. I finished the job, and Constable Boyd claimed the victory for his force.”
No further explanation was needed. I decided not to bare my teeth this time; I’d already drawn blood during our last conversation. I was admittedly tired and eager to get the Xray, to get to my little deer, to hold her.
Silence stretched, then he said, “And so your new bride came through?”
“Before Fawn intervened, the mother was disturbingly silent. Fawn got her talking, convinced her to open the window and lift the blinds. Without her, we would be having a very different conversation right now.”
Another pause.
I could almost smell cigar smoke curling from Alceu’s lips, or maybe that is my own addiction crawling up my spine, beckoning me.
“Interesting girl, your Fawn,” he said at last. “I’ve been told her mother shot herself. A, how do you say it, hippie-type of girl? And her foster brothers abused her, se?”
My jaw clenched, but I kept calm. “She survived it all. And she belongs to me now.”
He grunted in approval or amusement; I couldn’t tell which.
Perhaps both. “A bold choice, my boy. I thought you mad for divorcing Aurora and taking the Nerrock girl. She is too soft, too young, too broken. But you’re surrounded by strong women.
Your mother was a savage creature. You wouldn’t choose a wilting flower. ”
I hated the comparison, despised it, even. “Fawn is nothing like my mother.”
He chuckled softly. “No. You actually love this one. Good for you, my boy. I loved my second wife too. Love can be a powerful ally when balanced with your legacy. I told your father the same, but he married for spite, not affection, loyal only to a pretty ghost. Butchers are fiercely loyal. That is why I respect you and always will.”
The call ended soon after that.
I am drawn from my recall by my little deer as her thigh brushes against my stiff cock, my body responding, focusing on that sensation, sending blood and energy rushing through me.
I want to sink inside her—I bare my teeth for just a moment, earning me a blush of innocence from my sweet girl.
“Say it,” I order. “Use your voice.”
She tilts her chin upwards as if guided by an invisible string, capturing my gaze. “I want to come.”
Christ. “I know. What do you say?”
“Please, Sir.”
“Such lovely manners.” She is so vulnerable and unguarded with me. Her body is open and naked before me. The gentle curves of her breasts, the rolling divots of her ribs beneath silky skin.
Her nipples harden under my gaze, water rushing over the curves and valleys of her form. My cock leaks at the sight of her. I want to lick every bead off her skin.
“But first, do you see what I see?” I ask.
“I see you,” she whispers defiantly.
“Look inward, sweet girl. Don’t be facetious.”
“I see a survivor, a mother—your world.”
“The very air I breathe,” I add.
“That air means everything,” she murmurs, and in that moment I understand the gravity of her love for me. I will never take it for granted. Never leave her wanting.
Her hips roll in a subtle, instinctive way—a greedy demand for pressure, a dangerous action that sends dark yearning and devious intent through me.
Lowering my head, I bury my fingers in her hair, anchoring her as I trail kisses from her lips to her throat. Her every swallow vibrates against my tongue, reminding me how I still intimidate my little deer. How my mouth still startles her, my presence still stirs her.
Let’s see your sharpened teeth.
I drag my tongue lower, to her breasts as they heave, rising and falling beneath my sucking mouth. I nip gently, then follow with a flick of my tongue, coaxing her nipples into sharper peaks. I hum, mouthing her taut pebbles.
The contrast between her soft, small curves—so fragile and feminine—and the hardened buds that promise primal surrender thrills me to no end.
Her moans deepen.
Husky.
Urgent.
I lavish attention on her.
She threads her fingers through my hair, tugging me closer. My cock bucks against my abdomen. I ache to take her hard against the bathroom wall, but she is tender from the crash, and I am not completely without pain.
When I lower my eyes to her pussy, she instinctively props her knee on my shoulder, opening herself wider. A soft whimper escapes her lips, a vulnerable sound that contradicts the action of pure lust and greed.
My hands trail up her smooth thighs, then gather the gentle curve of her hips. I knead her flesh. With both hands, I grab her hips and arse, drawing her pussy towards my mouth. My little deer meets me, rolling forwards. I slip my tongue inside her, circling and exploring.
She gasps. Her arms brace her against the cool tiles while she bucks and squirms in my palms, pushing and pulling as I eat her out. Wet blonde hair veils her, the ends stroking my shoulders.
Gliding my tongue up and down, my lips suck and devour her tender, eager pussy. Her pelvis sweeps against me, lost in the motion, and I tighten my grip on her hips and arse to keep pace.
She trembles, shuddering, gasping.
I latch onto her clit, sucking the erect little bead into my mouth while I thrust my thumb between her slit and the tip of my pointer-finger into her puckering arsehole, provoking a yelp of surprise that trails to a heedless whimper.
I scoop my fingers together, pinching her inner wall, working both digits in harmony. She contracts, locking onto my fingers. Her clit buzzes beneath my tongue, and I massage and knead as she comes apart with a violent cry.
Good girl.
That’s it.
I drag her pleasure out with relentless attention—to her clit, to her inner muscles, to the wall inside her arsehole— demanding multiple orgasms at once. Her cry echoes around us, and her body gyrates.
“Sir. Yes. Yes. That. Yes!” She gasps for air between words, staking her surrender with every jerky syllable. Her cries crack, then soften into a stream of moans as she rides the wave of release crashing across her body.
I lavish her trembling flesh with gentle flicks of my tongue, wringing out the last tremors of her pretty orgasm.
When her muscles finally slacken, I lift my lips from her skin, tasting the sweetness she’s left behind.
Looking up at her—my fucking queen—I draw my fingers from inside her. “Does my sweet girl feel worshipped?”
“Yes, Sir.”
She trembles, completely spent, pink and warm across her chest and thighs. “Was I loud?”
“Beautifully, so.” I rise to my full height, forcing her to crane her neck.
I gaze down, seeing her embarrassment pinken her nose and cheeks.
“Don’t worry, little deer. These rooms are soundproof.
” I brush my knuckles down her flushed cheek.
“I like you blushing for me. Where are your sharpened teeth now, sweet girl?”
“Sheathed.” She beams.
“That’s good, little deer.” I fight my ridiculous grin. “I do hope you don’t have to use them often.” Not now that she has had her pretty little revenge.