26. Chapter 26
Maddox
When I finally get home, it’s later than I’d expected, and the silence of the house is deafening.
I find Rylen hunched over his bed with the door wide open. My legs carry me to him on instinct, drawn like a magnet to the one person I can’t seem to breathe without.
I take in the sight of him packing a bag, and my jaw flexes, teeth clenching so tightly it hurts.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snap, anger vibrating through me in waves. He doesn’t even give me the courtesy of looking at me when he speaks.
“After today, I just—need some room to breathe,” he says, continuing to stuff handfuls of laundry into his rucksack.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right? You’re seriously running away from me, again ?” I scoff, ripping the bag away and tossing its contents on the floor.
If he thinks for one second that I’m going to sit back and let him walk away, he’s in for a rude awakening.
Gremlin gets startled from the commotion and her fluffy little body scatters from the room with a hiss. I want to feel bad for upsetting her but I’m too worked up to respond—I’ ll go make sure she’s okay later, when I know Rylen isn’t going anywhere.
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You take everything so personally, maybe you should stop making everything about you.” His words are sharp but they sound tired, like the fight is going out of him and there’s nothing left but an empty husk of a man I once thought hung the moon.
My voice wavers as I reply, “I mean this in the most disrespectful way possible… shut the fuck up, Rylen.”
The silence that follows is filled with so much tension that it’s ringing in my ears. We’re breathing like we just ran a marathon, brows furrowed and fists clenched at our sides. What feels like minutes pass before I can’t take it anymore.
“Why are we even fighting?” This is so fucking stupid!” I shout, throwing my hands up in the air. “Do you think I enjoy hurting you?” I ask—it’s a genuine question but it comes out like an attack.
“I think you fucking love it,” he deadpans. The words hang between us in the suffocating silence.
I blow out a sharp breath, turning around to hide the trembling in my hands. I clamp them together, and rub tight circles into the flesh with my thumb to ease the nerves.
I don’t understand why he’s being like this, I thought everything was fine. I thought he’d accepted that we were, what… together?
“I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry for getting you involved in my bullshit,” I whisper, “I’m sorry for today, for you needing to settle my debts for me.
But what I’m not sorry for, is kissing you.
Or for that day on the couch, and the ones in my office, or for what happened in the kitchen the other morning,” I continue, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“I—” the words come out heavy and low, “I’ve had your lips replaying in my head since I was thirteen years old, and I’ve known since then that I would do whatever it takes to keep you.”
I turn to face the bed again, summoning every ounce of courage to voice this next part to his face.
I’m fucking terrified of what I’ve already admitted, but there’s no point stopping now.
He’s going to hate me either way so I might as well get it all off my chest—the ‘I love you,’ waiting right behind my teeth.
I blow out a steadying breath as our eyes lock.
“That’s not what this is about, it’s not why I’m running—I mean, it is, but not in the way you think,” he exhales, cutting off my confession.
“Oh.” I murmur lamely.
My stomach is doing somersaults waiting for him to say something else, anything, even if it’s just to fuck off. To tell me I’m being stupid, that I’ve gone soft.
His eyes are unblinking, focusing on one random spot of the carpeted floor. His expression is completely blank and I can’t tell if that’s better or worse.
How long has it been since the confession almost left my lips?
Seconds, minutes, hours? I don’t even know…
All I do know is that every cell in my body is screaming at me to run.
My heart is thundering so strongly that I think I’m going to be sick.
I self consciously rub my sweaty palms on the legs of my jeans.
Then I hear him speak, so quietly I almost believe I’m imagining it. His eyes slide up slowly until they’re locked back onto mine.
“You’ve always been mine, Mads… even when I tried so hard to fight it,” he swallows, blowing out a ragged breath before continuing. “And now that I’ve had you, I’m ruined for anyone else,” he admits, a silent tear coiling down his cheek. “That’s why this is so hard—”
The look in his eyes is heartbreaking, it’s once again that I’m reminded of the boy I met back in juvie.
The one who flinched anytime a door opened.
Who would horde snacks under his mattress in case they stopped feeding us.
Who took a beating for me when I’d stepped out of line, and who held me as I sobbed over the loss of my father.
“Please, just, take what you want from me. Use me to get through this,” I breathe, “there’s nothing left in me that doesn’t already belong to you.”
Rylen’s chest rises and falls in sharp uneven beats, like he’s choking on air. His hands are fisted into his hair, pushing back the strands as if his body doesn’t know what to do with the information.
Then he’s on me, hands cupped on either side of my jaw, lips crashing into mine with a hunger that feels less like kissing and more like survival. His teeth catch my lip, and I taste blood, tears and thirteen years of starvation.
His mouth tastes like the night we stole vodka from the group home kitchen when I was fourteen, lips pressed against a shared bottle, his laugh making my chest ache. That was a decade ago, and I’ve been chasing him ever since .
His hands shove under my shirt, and I tingle all over as his calloused fingertips brush over my naked skin. It drags me back to that old busted brown couch we had after running away together, his fingers brushing mine as we fought over the remote.
I’d thought it was nothing back then. It wasn’t—it was this, waiting, boiling under my skin all these years. The electricity sparking in my chest as I pretended not to notice back then. But I notice now. Fuck, I notice everything. This night will be committed to memory until I take my last breath.
The fabric tears at the collar, and he uses the torn parts to pull my mouth back onto his. My tongue slips out to coax his mouth wider, letting out a soft moan as our kiss deepens.
His palms feel searing hot against my bare chest as he rips away the tattered remains of clothing dangling from my torso. He grips onto my hips, dragging me closer still, until not even a wisp of air could flow between us.
That same heat sparks in my memory; his arm around my shoulders at fifteen, pulling me close after I got jumped behind the school. ‘They’ll never touch you again,’ he’d said, voice trembling. He’d kept that promise. Even if it cost us yet another freedom.
And now we’re stumbling, tearing off our clothes like it’s the only way to survive. His shirt, my jeans, all of it gone in a blur until skin hits skin.
“Fuck, Ry,” I gasp into his mouth as he guides me back towards the bed. My knees hit the edge, and he pushes until we fall. The ceiling spins, his weight follows, crushing me in the best way. We smile and chuckle into the kiss but never break it for longer than a heartbeat.
“Say my name like that again,” he mumbles into my mouth as his hands slides down my torso, and I swear my body’s being deprived of oxygen from how often I’m forgetting to breathe.
My cock kicks up, hard and leaking, and his hand wraps around me like it’s always belonged there.
God it feels so good. I groan into his neck, rolling my hips as he teasingly strokes me.
I’ve pictured this in the dark so many times, fist pumping hard and desperate, biting down on his name as I came undone.
But the reality of actually having sex with Rylen is earth shattering, I never knew anything could feel so right.
My knee slides up beside his body and he latches on, hooking it higher, dragging me closer until his cock is pressed to the swell of my ass as we grind in frantic rhythm.
“Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re desperate for it. Aren’t you?” he grins, looking down at me with eyes full of lust and something else, something softer; a stark contrast to his words.
I remember nights crammed into twin bunks, his knees brushing mine in the dark, our breaths in the same stale air. That same electricity is here again, only now it’s a thunderstorm with nowhere to hide.
He reaches toward the side table and pulls out a small tube, flicking the cap open with a click, and squeezes the cold gel onto both of our fingers.
His navigate their way between us, caressing my tight entrance, as I slick the head of his cock. His eyes roll back on a moan, exposing his throat to me as I line his cock up and stroke him languidly against my hole, never quite letting him push inside no matter how much his body wants me to.
I nip at his neck, sucking until it blooms red, my tongue drags up until my lips are pressed against the shell of his ear, voice thick with need. “Now who’s desperate for it, love.”
“Stop fucking teasing me, or I’m gonna blow and it won’t be cute.” His words are a low growl, vibrating against my lips as he strains for control.
“Don’t worry,” I chuckle, the sound caught between us. I lean in, catching his bottom lip between my teeth and sucking it into my mouth before releasing it with a wet pop.
“I just know you’re gonna fuck me so hard, the only word I’ll remember is your name,” I say, my voice thick and certain. I finally stop the teasing, relaxing my muscles and allowing him to press slowly inside.
My back arches, and a long, shaky breath leaves me as I stretch to fit his size. Every inch of him filling the hollow ache I’ve carried for years.