Chapter 8 How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Meal
how to ruin a perfectly good meal
Dax
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The scent of vanilla assaults my nostrils before I open my eyes. Saige's hair is fanned out over the pillow in front of me, her naked back against my chest.
"Saige," I groan, reaching around her and squeezing her tit. "Turn it off."
She shrugs me off before reaching for her phone on the nightstand and disabling the alarm, then lies on the far side of the bed, facing the wall.
"Hey," I say, combing my fingers through her long golden-brown hair. "Come here."
She ignores me, curling into herself.
"There's no need to be dramatic," I tell her, closing the space between us and wrapping my arms around her body. "We fucked, and you liked it. It's not a big deal."
"I need to get up and get dressed," she says. "I have to make breakfast."
"Okay," I say, kissing her shoulder.
"Can you get out?"
I scoff. "No. This is my house."
Saige huffs before climbing out from under the covers, quickly pulling on a pair of straight-legged jeans that hug her ass and a scoop-necked cropped top. She ties her freshly fucked hair into a bun on top of her head, keeping her back to me the entire time.
I left a hickey on the side of her throat, just below her left ear, but I'm not going to tell her that. I like leaving a mark.
It just makes me want to fuck her again.
She's definitely not the same girl who walked into Aurora Cove two years ago. You can see it in her eyes. Elias broke her down long before she shoved what's-his-face off the balcony; what's left now is all sharp points and jagged edges, which works for me. It means she might last a while.
The tattoos covering her chest and arms are new, too. I don't know who drew them, but I could do better. I like to put my name in them…discretely, so they won't notice until it's too late.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on my discarded sweatpants, adjusting my hard dick so it's slightly less imposing.
"Hey, baby." I approach her from behind, wrapping my arms around the front of her body and then pressing my lips to that same spot behind her ear. "Let me ask you something."
"What is it?"
"You're on birth control, right?"
"Right…"
"When was the last time you got tested?"
"Tested?"
"For STIs."
She freezes—I feel her body tense before she pushes me away.
"Get off me," she hisses, scowling as she leaves the room.
The fuck did I do? Safety first.
I'm left scratching my head for a minute before…oh.
Right. We did kind of convince an entire town that Saige was a walking STI.
I guess I can see how that might make someone sensitive about the subject.
But come on—we all knew he made that up because he didn't want anyone else to sleep with her.
Keeping people from fucking his stepsister was a full-time, all-consuming job for Elias; he barely had room for anything else.
And then he dropped her at my feet.
I leave the room, making my way to the kitchen, where she's aggressively scrambling eggs.
"Saige…" I say cautiously, leaning against the counter beside her.
"Leave me alone."
"Listen—"
"If you think I have herpes, why did you sleep with me?" she snaps. "Seems pretty irresponsible on your part."
I grab her hands, turning her so that her back is to the countertop, and then step in front of her.
"I didn't mean it like that," I tell her. "Honestly, I didn't. I don't think you have anything." I lean in closer to her ear, lowering my voice, and add, "I just want to fuck you bare. I want to feel all of you—you feel so fucking good, Saige. I want to come inside you."
Her breath catches a little, and I press a slow, soft kiss to her lips.
"You probably have something," she says, but her tone is less convincing than before.
"I don't. I'm very careful. And I donate sperm occasionally, so I get tested somewhat regularly."
Her eyes widen. "You donate sperm? That's a terrifying thought. You really do have a god complex, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you don't do it because you need money."
"No, I do it out of the goodness of my heart. Because I'm smart, funny, and ridiculously handsome, and the world could use more of me."
"Like I said—terrifying."
"Stop deflecting," I tell her. "Take the test and let me come in you. You know how good we are together; hell, the whole house probably knows it."
"Dax…stop."
"I'm not doing anything."
"I haven't had sex with anyone without a condom in two years," she says. "And I have been tested."
"Good." I slip my hand into the back pocket of her jeans. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
She doesn't answer, but the side-eye and scowl tell me she disagrees.
"Let me do that for you, Saige," I say, taking the spatula she's using. "You can sit down, okay? I won't tell Elias."
"I think I'll just go," she says.
"You need to eat first."
"I have a meal plan."
"Yeah? I have a meal plan, too," I tell her before pressing my lips to her own. This time, there's no hesitation on her part; she lets my tongue slip past her lips easily, twisting it with her own.
Good. I know she wants me. She knows she needs me. The sooner she accepts it, the better. I meant it when I told her this would be good for her once she accepted it. It'll be good for all of us.
"My plan is you on your back on top of the table with your legs spread…" I whisper against her lips just as Nolan steps into the kitchen.
"Morning," he says, sitting at the table with his laptop.
His presence startles Saige, and she jumps back.
Yeah, she's definitely afraid of him. We're going to need to work on that, and I'm not very patient.
"Good morning," I tell him cheerily. "Go sit down, Ripley."
I pat her ass with the spatula and then lean in, whispering against her ear, "And Nolan hates wearing condoms."
"Why are you telling me that?" she asks aloud.
Her brow furrows with confusion, and I shrug. "The more you know."
"Did you sleep okay last night, Saige?" Nolan asks as she sits across from him.
"Not really," she grumbles, taking out her phone.
I bite back a smile as I finish up with the food. Nolan is a light sleeper; her nightmare woke him up, too. "Saige, you're adorable. I really like having you around."
When she gives me silence instead of the biting commentary I anticipate, I turn back to the table to pile it on.
But Saige's face pales, her eyes widening like she's seen a ghost.
"Hey, Saige, you okay?" Nolan asks.
She doesn't answer.
"Baby, what's wrong?"
I walk up behind her, looking over her shoulder at her phone screen.
"Give me that," I say, snatching the phone from her hands.
I pace the floor, reading the messages on the screen.
I know what you did.
I know where you are.
I'm coming for you.
The last message is a photo of me and Saige walking back to the house last night. It looks like it was taken while I was yelling at her about the cigarette.
Fuming, I try to call the phone number, but of course, it's from a text app and doesn't go through.
"This is nothing," I tell her, blocking the number. "Don't worry about it."
"What do you mean, it's nothing?" she asks through tears. "Someone knows what I did, and they're stalking me. They're putting dead animals in my bed and taking pictures of me! Stop saying that it's nothing!"
"What happened?" Elias asks me, ignoring Saige. He grabs a plate from the counter and sits at the head of the table.
"Someone sent Saige some unsavory text messages."
"Let me see it."
I hand him the phone, and Nolan leans over, reading along with him.
Elias looks up over the screen, glaring at his stepsister like it's her fault.
"I should have known better than to help you."
"What?! How is this—"
"You're always fucking trouble," Elias says, cutting her off. "When I find out who's doing this, I'll just hand you over to them and get them the fuck off my back. And you, too. Win-win."
"Me!?" Saige shouts, pushing out of her chair so hard that it falls to the ground.
"Pick up the chair, Saige. Stop disrespecting my things," Elias says, his tone bored as he shovels eggs into his mouth.
"You are literally the bane of my fucking existence!
I loathe you! I abhor every fucking minute I'm forced to be in your presence.
I'm only in this situation because someone hated you!
I should have known better than to go along with this—you can't help anyone.
You're not some mafia boss; you can't cover up a fucking murder.
You're a washed-up, has-been high school athlete with daddy issues and a chip on his shoulder!
You can't help anyone. You can't even help yourself! "
Elias slams his fork down on the table and stomps over to Saige, grabbing her by her arm and hauling her into the kitchen.
"What are you doing!?" She struggles against his hold, but it's pointless. Elias has a couple of inches on me—probably about twenty pounds of muscle, too—he can handle Saige like a rag doll.
It creates an intriguing image in my head before she yells at him again and pulls me back out. "Get off me!"
"Hey! Leave her alone!"
But he doesn't listen, shoulder-checking me as he drags her along behind him.
"Elias!"
He stops at the sink, grabbing her by her hair near the scalp, and when she opens her mouth to disparage him again, he shoves a bar of soap into her mouth, holding it in place with his hand while she struggles against him, choking.
"I warned you, didn't I?" he growls. "I told you that if I had to put you back in your place, you wouldn't fucking like it."
Porcelain shatters against the cabinets not far from Elias's head, and we all freeze, looking at Nolan.
"I'm not going to watch this," he says. "You need to stop right fucking now."
Elias releases Saige, who spits the soap onto the floor before I pull her, sobbing, into my arms. "It's okay," I say, stroking her hair. "You're okay, baby."
"Well, three days in, and you've already ruined family breakfast, Saige. Good job."
I shake my head. "Elias…just stop."