Chapter 28 Prince Not Charming
Prince Not Charming
It's eleven p.m. on a Wednesday night. Max's fingers are threaded through mine, pinning my palms to the mattress. He's thrusting deep inside me from behind when an erratic knocking shakes the bedroom door.
"Fuck," he groans as he flexes his penis inside me. "Not now!"
I moan laboriously into the pillow. "Max," I beg. I do that now, when he teases me, when I'm desperate for him. I beg. He's made me this needy. I wasn’t before. Now, I struggle to go a day without an orgasm.
"Max! I got a page." Xander's voice shakes.
He growls, thrusts two more times, and then crawls off me.
His erection squeezes out from between my thighs and slides across my leg.
I whimper at the feeling of being so empty and unsated.
Rolling over, I sit up straight in his bed and watch him move around the room.
Grabbing his clothes, he tugs them on. I'm breathing so hard and wild.
I'm so wet and needy, but I wait frozen for him to acknowledge me.
I think I whisper his name. "Max?"
Finished dressing, he closes the miserable gap between us and kisses me quickly on the lips. "I'll be back soon."
Then he's gone.
I blink at the closed door he has just rushed through.
My belly fills with unease. I want to run after him and beg him not to go, not because I'm clingy, but because nothing good can come from whatever they need to do in the middle of the night on a Wednesday.
Closing my eyes, I will the anxieties away.
It'll just be family drama. He'll be fine.
The "Family" drama...
Shuddering, I pull the covers up over my body even though I'm not cold. After several minutes alone in his room, I decide to see if Toni is still awake. Retrieving my phone from the bedside table, I find his name and hit dial.
The ringing drops and his lovely voice sings through. "So apparently, we don’t do Toni and Cassidy Series Night anymore because you're too busy getting humped by Max Butcher. I haven't gotten a boner for Uhtred, son of Uhtred of Bamburgh, for weeks now and that's all on you."
I laugh, but it's a little weak. "I'm sorry. I'm sure he'll get bored of me soon."
"Right. You remember when I said you won't marry and have annoying little brats with the first guy you sleep with? Well, you proved me wrong, Golden Girl."
I place my phone on speaker and shimmy off the bed to retrieve my knickers. I usually sleep naked, but I don't feel comfortable completely bare unless Max is beside me.
"Oh my gawd, Toni. Stop it. We are just..." I hesitate.
"In love. You can say it."
The truth is undeniable. Concrete. I know how I feel.
My heart is in a constant frenzy because I am so fricking crazy in love with Max Butcher.
There is no other word that comes close to describing this feeling, so that one will have to do.
.. Love. I step into my underwear and pull them up. "He's not."
"Oh, okay," Toni says dubiously.
"He's not. Stop it. It's not fair on me for you to say that when you don’t know if it's true."
He scoffs. "I do know it's true. He's obsessed with you. You spend every free moment together."
I smile to myself as I slide back beneath the sheets and look through the large, full-length window. "I'm obsessed with him."
"Yeah. I bet you guys look great fucking. You should film it."
My palm meets my face. "Stop it. How's Braidy?"
"He's good. We're good. We're good at it. I like it." I can hear his smile.
"Aww, I like hearing you happy. How are you guys handling his journey from the closet into the bright lights of Gay Land?"
"It's been bright and gay." He laughs. "On the surface, it appears like everyone has accepted us. The only problem is that his parents adore me, so ya know, something must be wrong with them."
"Toni D’Annunzio! Liking you is not a defect."
"You have to meet them. They would love you! And every time I go there, they tell me I'm too skinny and try to feed me." He sighs. "It's really good for my soul. Oh, we should double date!"
"Oh yeah," I mock. "Let's get your cop lover and my less than reputable boyfriend together and see what happens. Let's just see how crazy stuff can get."
"Oh my giddy aunt. I haven't thought of that. How are we going to work this sitcho?"
"I honestly have no idea."
"So where is Prince Not Charming?"
"Well, he kinda rushed off about five minutes ago and left me alone in his house."
"Was it a call? Another virgin?"
"No, nothing like that." I pause and squirm on the mattress. "I don't think..."
"Oooh, go snoop around his house." He claps. "Take pictures. Send them to me."
I roll my eyes. "No."
He squeals with excitement. "Go into Xander's room. Steal me a pair of his underwear. I'll wear them when I feel pretty."
"Oh my God, Toni."
"What?" he says. "Would you prefer to analyse why he left until your fanny dries up?"
I tuck the sheets between my thighs. "Not really."
"Do you think it has something to do with his work?"
I sigh. "I know it has something to do with his work."
"You need to talk to him about it." I want to tell Toni what happened the last time I tried that, but it doesn’t feel right betraying Max's trust. Talking about it isn't going to change anything.
It's not just a job. I don't think he can just quit because his girlfriend doesn't like that kind of behaviour.
These deeds are part of his responsibility, his duty as the son of Luca Butcher.
He's the son of a gangster. For him, corruption and intimidation are the norm, a privilege and burden of his last name.
I wonder if he's ever asked to break free of it.
Hating the thought and wishing I'd never had it, I also wonder if he likes being a gangster.
I imagine the power can be intoxicating.
"I can’t." I snatch my phone and mute the speaker before pressing it to my ear. "We can’t really talk about this here."
"Well, why did you call then?"
I yawn, snuggling deeper into the bed. "I just wanted to hear your voice."
"That's gross. I love you too."
I eventually fall asleep with the phone wedged between my cheek and pillow. My body rolls further towards the edge of the mattress as I hear movement around the bed. Caught in slumber, it takes me a while to draw my consciousness back into the waking world.
My breathing must have changed, though, because I hear Max's deep, raspy voice. "Go back to sleep, Little One."
I settle back into the mattress, spooning my Max pillow tightly to my chest. Sleep numbs the feelings and questions I have, and I begin drifting back into my dreams.
With a slight thump, his shoes come off. His keys jingle. His jeans drop to the floorboards and then something metal clinks onto the bedside table.
My eyes snap open and I stare dead ahead.
My heart leaps into my throat.
Oh my God.
I know what that sound is. It's not like I've ever heard a gun being placed on a bedside table before, but I still somehow know.
I know he keeps his gun in a safe. At least, he did in Bali. The last time I saw it placed out in the open was after he'd passed out with another woman pressed to his body. A little unease stirs me further to suspicion. Is he drunk? It must be late.
The bed dips as he moves in behind me and envelops me with his big, warm body.
His chest presses against my back. His hot breath feels like warm silk on my neck.
The smell of whiskey, smoke, and shoe polish surrounds me.
Despite the heat radiating off him, I'm suddenly freezing.
I pull the blanket up, trying to get warm again.
I'm left in two states of mind. One wants to slide out from beside him and investigate. The other wants to fall back to sleep in his arms. I'm supposed to be at peace with the gun. I like the gun. It keeps him safe, him in control.
My eyes close. Wiggling my toes, I slide my feet along the soft sheets. I try to concentrate on how his beautiful body is pressed to mine, try to remind myself how lucky I am to even be in his bed. Reminding myself I'd promised not to ask questions, I try to follow him into slumber.
It doesn't work.
I wrap my fingers around his hand and lift the whole heavy weight of his arm off me as I shuffle out from under it.
I hold my breath when the mattress moves around, but he's only rolling to face the other direction.
My bare feet hit the floorboards, but there is no sound.
I tiptoe my way over to stare at his gun.
It looks heavy.
Like, I'd struggle to hold it up and point it at someone.
I've never given much thought to the weight of a gun.
In the movies everyone can hold one up—even the children.
But staring at Max's gun, I think I could probably point it and shoot immediately, but if I was hesitant or holding up a bank or threatening someone.
.. Oh my gawd, why am I even on this train of thought?
I shake my head and swallow hard. Stepping backwards, my feet suddenly get caught in his clothes on the floor and I nearly trip. I lean down and scoop them all up. After carrying them into the ensuite, I drop them into his clothes basket.
All the warmth and colour drain from my face.
There are blood splatters all over his shirt.
He's hurt.
My chest tightens so hard that I want to gasp for air. Rushing to his side, I switch the bedside lamp on and pull back the covers, terrified that he's... perfect.
Clean.
My hands tremble on the blanket. I stare at his bare torso as it rises and falls, then glance up to catch his eyes open and fixed on mine.
When I jump backwards, he lunges for my wrist and pulls me onto the mattress.
He rolls me beneath him, pinning me. Inadvertently pressing my palm to my throat, I feel my pulse thrashing beneath my fingers.
A hard, sad, and determined gaze nails me to the mattress. "What are you doing?"