Chapter 47 Cassidy #2
She growls. "Fuck, Bronson." A sound that is both exasperated and on the brink of climax falls from her agape lips.
"I am fucking you, sweetheart," he says, just pummelling her harder. He looks at me. "You okay? Need anything?"
"Oh my gawd." I rush from the room, unable to stop the blush engulfing my cheeks. He is mad. No costume is needed to show that. Mad and amazing and lovable. I laugh to myself; I'm not sure why. I think I'm happy to see him with someone.
As I move back down the hallway, I feel the surrealism of this moment seep into me. I can't believe that I am here. That these boys are my family. That Max chose me. I touch my belly, smiling as I head back into the kitchen.
When I enter, I feel my skin start to simmer. The heat from a pair of eyes on me strokes my flesh to the point of scolding. Of fever. And only one set of eyes can do that. I search the room, glancing over small groups of people before landing on Max.
He's in a black V-neck and jeans, the kind of casual attire he would wear if the house was empty of visitors. The sleeves of his shirt bunch above his elbows, banding tightly around his strong biceps and showcasing defined, inked forearms.
I breathe faster as he tracks my movements. He leans his head to the side, lapping up the stilettos, the fitted jeans, the wings, and all the shimmer.
When I stop in front of him, his slow, menacing grin all but sweeps my legs out from under me.
My belly flutters. I know what that man is thinking.
His eyes have a promise. A dare. One I will be eagerly accepting.
That gaze makes me blush so hard even the butterflies in my belly have bright crimson cheeks.
"You don’t have a costume on," I manage to say.
His eyes narrow on mine. "Yeah, I do." He points to a white sticker on his jeans. Written on it in black Sharpie is 'God.' He's my God, there is no doubt about that. "I plan on fucking one of my angels tonight."
My whole world shines. "We have a couples costume on!"
Shaking his head, he lets out a soft chuckle; it's the best sound in the whole world. A breath-taking sound that is as rare as it is meaningful. "Only you."
Slowly, I take another step towards him until I can feel the heat from his body. "Only me what?"
He drinks me in, and when I lower my eyes to his hands, I see his fingers massaging his palms, wanting to grip me, anxious to do so.
Craning my neck, I kiss his chin softly.
But he lowers his head, taking my mouth hard and hungrily.
We kiss and pet each other, fondle and ignore the other guests as they move around us.
I break our kiss, and Max grumbles. "Don't smite me, my lord, okay? But I have to get the cake ready," I say, beaming at his tight face.
Skipping around him, I finish the final touches on the cake while he stands a few metres away, beside some men I don't know. He sips his whiskey, but his eyes never leave me. I can feel them.
As a group of girls slide past him, they make eyes, say hello, and try to engage him.
With a slight frown in their direction, he nods his head once in response to their eager approach.
They look offended. He's basically waving them off, and I hate how much that makes me smile.
Because I don't want him to be rude to people.
Don't want him to be an unapproachable, unfriendly person, and yet, that's Max.
I've come to realise that. He chooses the people who deserve his attention, and he's ruthless in his selection.
And this group, which includes a tall, leggy brunette dressed as Cat Woman, doesn't seem to have the prerequisites.
The cat girl follows Max's stare, locking on to me as I try to focus on fixing the frosting on the cake. Focus on the frosting and not her. Or how interested she is in my boyfriend. Yep, I'm not looking her way at all... She says something in her friend's ear, then wanders off.
Ugh.
The Mad Hatter, in all his tall, dark, and tattooed glory, finally appears, seemingly unaffected by our previous interaction. I, on the other hand, try to ignore the heat of embarrassment rousing below my cheeks.
Bronson looks at the cake. "Fucking red velvet, that's my favourite!"
Max frowns as my eyes bounce away from his big brother. My lips tighten, smothering a nervous smile.
Max moves over to me and folds his arms over his thick chest. "Explain."
Gawd, I'm so transparent. Peering up at him, his stoic expression firmly in place, I cover my smile with my palm and talk against it. "I kinda walked in on Bronson. That's all."
"No big deal," Bronson states, leaning in and running a tattooed finger along the frosting. "I was fucking..." He pauses, staring out into space. "What was her name?"
"Laura!" I say, smacking his hand away from the channel he's just created in the icing.
He holds his hands up. "Sorry. Yeah, the lovely Laura. Cassidy walked into the wrong room."
Max growls, but his face is somewhat amused. "Fuck’s sake, Bronson."
"What's he done now?" Xander asks, walking towards us.
He puts his arms around his big brother.
"Happy Birthday, mate." The Mad Hatter and The Joker embrace, patting each other's backs and it makes for a really funny visual.
Imagining the shenanigans those two characters would get up to on-screen, I giggle to myself.
After releasing each other, Xander nods hello at Max.
Max scowls at Xander and then looks at me, his eyes dropping to my belly for a split second.
The tension around the two brothers feels like a brewing storm.
Eventually, it will either pass with time or explode into chaos.
My heart falls when Max turns his back on his little brother and walks across the room to stand with his friends again.
I purse my lips while studying Xander's now tight face.
"Are you and Max okay?" The words just fall out.
And it must be the pregnancy because I would never usually involve myself in anything between them.
Knowing Max like I do, he would be bludgeoning his fists on a boxing bag during a conversation like this. But I want to know. "Things seem..."
He clears his throat. "Tense." Reaching for a bottle of vodka, he pulls the cap off and gulps it straight from the neck.
Bronson stays cavalier, but there is a flicker of a flame in his opal-blue eyes. Of disapproval. Of warning. "Slow down, dickhead."
Xander takes the bottle and disappears into the crowd.
With that, I quickly fix the cake, light the candles, and then attempt to embarrass Bronson by singing him "Happy Birthday".
I should have known... nothing embarrasses that man.
Max joins me, and we move outside to where Toni, Flick, Stacey, and some other people are all chatting and drinking.
While everyone laughs and jokes around us, I pull my attention away from them and move closer to the man beside me.
He lifts his arm and I cuddle his side. My wings create a little separation between everyone else and us.
I peer up at this titan of a man and see pain in his eyes.
I want to ask about Xander. About this rift.
It must be affecting him; I can see it right now, a kind of resentment barely masked in his grey irises.
Realising I haven't seen Xander since he disappeared with the vodka bottle, I gaze across the vast property: over the alfresco, out across the lawn, and to the boat moored on the canal.
He's nowhere to be seen, causing a strange feeling to play around in my belly.
I breathe in the air, which is laced with cigarette smoke, menthol, and a musky wet smell from the river.
It's a warm night, but nothing is as warming as Max's arms around me.
Instead of asking questions, I just hold him and breathe deep.