Chapter 27
Millie
I pull on a hoodie as I exit the North Wing, the early-morning air cool against my overheated skin.
I woke up half an hour ago, absolutely soaked.
Abby was snoring in her bed when I slipped my hand into my panties and made myself come while recalling the dream. Creed grasping my hips, his chest brushing my back while I stared into Noah’s eyes, both men moving together, in sync, inside me.
I wish one of them would in real life, but Creed’s been avoiding me since that late-night kiss. I’m trying not to push but my dreams make it damn near impossible.
I miss him. I miss the person I am with him.
It makes no sense, really.
We’ve barely exchanged enough words to fill a page, but words feel irrelevant when his presence alone quiets something inside me that never stops screaming otherwise.
Every sentence he speaks, every look he sends my way, every gesture and frown deepens the unexplainable connection.
The gym’s empty. No sign of Creed despite the clock reading five-thirty. He should be here, but he’s obviously going out of his way to make sure we don’t cross paths.
I tell myself the squeeze in my chest isn’t disappointment.
I tell myself his absence doesn’t matter.
I tell myself I didn’t come here for him.
I tell myself a lot of lies lately.
Glancing between the punching bags and the treadmills, I wonder what to do with myself.
Throwing punches helped last time, but maybe it’s the side I should repress. Creed sure thinks I’m messed up for wanting his roughness, and maybe he’s right.
It can’t be healthy that I crave his dominance, take every punishing thrust and stinging bite, and don’t fall apart. Still, there’s a twisted pride in it. If I can endure him at his worst and not shatter, then I’m not as fragile as everyone believes.
Exhaling a deep breath, I drop my bag by the treadmills and put my headphones on, starting with a light jog.
I’ve been grappling with everything, beating myself up over making Creed lose the control he clearly hates losing, the kiss with Noah, Abby’s tears when she saw my bruises, my brother’s scrutiny. ..
I need a break.
I run, upping the tempo every few minutes, “Now or Never” by Three Days Grace playing in my ears. I go for half an hour straight, my neck slick with sweat by the time I pull a towel from my bag. Tearing my headphones off, I grab a bottle of water, chugging half in one go.
“What are you running from today, Millie Baby?” Creed’s voice reaches my ears.
My thoughts slow, falling into place instead of spinning into knots despite how confusing he is. He wants me, then he doesn’t want me. He comes over then pushes me away. Now he’s here again and I’m already bracing for his swift exit.
I spin, finding him in the doorway, hip parked against the frame, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’s in black sweats and a matching t-shirt, dark circles under his eyes, knuckles bruised worse than the last time I saw them.
Heat pools in my belly and I take a step toward him, drawn by an invisible rope, but I stop when he straightens as if bracing to push me away the second I try invading his space.
“Still not talking to me?” His eyes narrow.
He looks me up and down before moving toward the boxing bags. Pulling out his headphones, he covers his ears, dismissing me just like that. I’m still by the treadmill, chest caving in, something ugly twisting my heart.
He’s mad at me.
I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I’ve only seen him twice this past week. My throat tightens and I swallow hard, turning away, my body crawling with tiny insects. I want to scream at him, but I don’t have the words.
I don’t know what I want to say.
I don’t know what he wants me to say.
Does he expect apologies?
Fuck apologies, I’m not sorry.
I climb back on the treadmill and pick a song before restarting the machine. “The Autopsy of You & Me” by VOILá makes me breathe easier. At least that’s what I try to believe while I’m overcome by overwhelming confusion.
Hyde’s words fill my mind one after the other, soft, careful, and relentless. Each makes me smaller, safer, but it’s a heavy kind of safety, like a weighted blanket I pulled too high.
When someone makes you uncomfortable, run, okay?
No, running doesn’t help.
You’re fragile, Millie.
I’m stronger than anyone gives me credit for.
I soaked up Hyde’s care and protectiveness for months, giddy that I finally had the older brother I dreamed of. I didn’t notice his concern becoming my cage. Or when hiding behind him turned into a habit because it was easier than facing the world.
Let me help.
Let me fight.
I don’t need help. I need freedom to do what I want without second-guessing my every move. Without worrying about what people will say, think, or if I’ll disappoint someone.
I want Creed’s hands on me. I want his lips, but I don’t trust him with my words. Just my body.
Another lie.
I trust him too much with everything. With the parts of me that stop splintering when he’s close. With the parts that don’t feel fragile under his hands, no matter how hard he grips, no matter how far he pushes me. He makes me feel like there’s nothing in this world that could break me.
I run for another twenty minutes, my chest heaving, muscles burning, thoughts still tangled beyond recognition. The pounding of my feet against the treadmill drowns out everything else, at least I pretend it does.
Creed doesn’t stop throwing punches. His knuckles bleed, bare back glistens with sweat, and his tattoos shift beautifully over his biceps. I watch him the whole time and he... he doesn’t look at me once.
I step off the treadmill and walk toward the exit, each breath shallow, uneven. I make it through the door, into the hallway, the cool air hitting my flushed skin.
Ten more steps and the anger inside me takes the reins.
How dare he touch me like I was his, then pretend it meant nothing? How dare he ghost me like I’m a mistake he regrets?
He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I felt it in the way he held me and lost himself inside me. He doesn’t get to act like I forced him. He doesn’t get to erase it.
It was fucking important. It was everything.
I turn on my heel, storm back inside and grab his arm. I don’t have the strength to spin him, but he does it for me, his big body towering over me, nostrils flared.
Before I can process what’s happening, I slap him.
My chest heaves, fury rolling off me in hot waves as my hand connects with his face and the crack echoes between us.
His head turns and stays that way, jaw flexing.
He lets out a slow, steady breath like he’s holding himself back with both hands.
My heart jumps into my throat when he finally looks at me.
His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, something sharp and dangerous coiling behind them, but it’s not the rage that makes my pulse stutter.
It’s the restraint.
His tongue drags over his bottom lip, cruel amusement flickering across his expression. “Are you done, baby?”
My chest rises and falls, pure fire scorching my veins. I hate how unaffected he looks. Doesn’t he realize his effect on me? I don’t understand myself when he’s close, and at the same time, I understand myself perfectly.
He rips me open and stitches me back together.
I rise on my toes and grasp the back of his neck, craving the clarity only being this close to him provides. He’s hot to the touch, the scent of his skin calming me down as I pull myself in and press my mouth to his.
Instead of taking over and kissing me back, like I expect, he goes perfectly still. He doesn’t push me away, but his lips don’t move against mine. His hands don’t touch me, hanging loosely at his sides. He just fucking stands there, forcing me to experience the full weight of my desperation.
I don’t stop, though, ready to claw a reaction out of him no matter the cost. My teeth sink into his bottom lip hard enough to break skin. He hisses and groans, his blood filling my mouth. I suck hard, fighting for a reaction but he gives me nothing.
Humiliation burns through me, and I tear away, slamming both fists against his chest.
If he won’t kiss me, then he better fucking fight me.
I throw another punch and that’s enough. He cuffs my wrists, pinning them to his sternum, yanking me closer.
“None of that,” he grits out, his forehead dropping to mine. “Talk, baby. What the fuck do you want from me?”
The truth is, I don’t know how much I’m allowed to want. Everything. Nothing. Something.
His jaw flexes, frustration bleeding into his features.
“Why do you talk to everyone but me?” His fingers tighten around my wrists, hard enough to bruise and butterflies take off in my tummy. “Why do you shut down when I’m around?”
My pulse roars in my ears. His thumb shifts against my wrist, a ghost of a touch that sends shivers down my spine.
“What are you punishing me for, Millie?”
It’s not him I’m punishing... it’s myself.
My fingers loosen in his grip, trembling softly as Creed searches my face, his eyes desperate. He’s so close I can feel his heart pounding. His breath ghosts my lips, hot and uneven, like he’s just as undone as I am.
“Fucking say something, baby.”
I stare at him, my breath caught in my lungs, the answer clawing its way up my throat. “I’m scared.”
“Scared,” he repeats.
I nod. Admitting that aloud is the most honest thing I’ve said in almost a year.
And it feels so good. I’m fucking scared of how easily I stopped holding myself back with him.
How easily I could throw caution to the wind and give him everything while he changes his mind about wanting me three times a week.
“What are you scared of?” he asks, loosening his hold around my wrist before letting go.
He shuffles back and it takes me a second to realize why. The door behind my back creaks open, footsteps breaching the silence. Creed glares over my shoulder, tension locking into his shoulders and hardening his jaw.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I turn around, eyes clashing with Noah’s. He rakes a hand through his damp hair, either ignoring or choosing not to notice the edge in Creed’s voice. He closes the door behind him and sets his bag down near the wall.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he replies, hooking his fingers in the collar of his hoodie. He drags it over his head, no t-shirt beneath, just lean muscle, pale skin, and ink curling around his ribs. “Figured you’d be here.”
I swallow hard, my filthy dreams flashing before my eyes.
Creed’s warm, muscular chest at my back, his big hands holding my hips as he pushes into me from behind. Noah in front of me, his mouth in the crook of my neck, cock in my pussy. Their warmth and scent surrounding me while they take me apart one touch at a time.
My pulse stumbles, heat flooding my face.
I look away, eyes cast down, cheeks beet-red, desire pooling in my belly. Creed shifts behind me and I know he noticed my reaction when he snatches his gym bag off the floor and shoulder-checks me on his way out.