34. Nine
"Damn man." Lucas shakes his head with a half-laugh, though his eyes are still darting over my split lip and the fresh bruise blooming along my cheekbone. "She's definitely going to get worried even more."
He's not wrong. Amara's either going to kill me on sight or patch me up with another one of those ridiculous pink band-aids, pretending to scold me while flashing that dangerously beautiful smile of hers.
But right now? My knuckles are still pulsing, blood singing under the skin.
The guy had been leaning against the lockers like he owned the damn hallway, that cocky little smirk plastered across his face. His eyes flicked to the strip of pink across my cheekbone—the one Amara had insisted on sticking there earlier, swearing it would "heal better."
"Played dress-up with your pretty little girlfriend?" he sneered, chin pointing at the band-aid. His buddies laughed low in their throats, like hyenas circling.
"My girl put this on me," I said, my voice low, controlled, every word dragging across my teeth. I took a step closer, until the smirk on his face faltered just a fraction. "Say another word, and I'll break your fucking jaw."
The bastard only chuckled, eyes flicking back to the pink band-aid like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.
"Figures," he drawled, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. "Bet she kisses it better too. Maybe she should try me next—"
Boom.
My fist connected before he could finish. The sound cracked through the air—bone on bone, sharp and brutal. His head snapped sideways, his smirk vanishing as blood sprayed from his split lip.
All I saw was red, all I heard was the ragged sound of my own breathing. My knuckles screamed, but it wasn't enough. I wanted more.
He staggered back into the lockers with a metallic clang, laughing through the blood like a lunatic. "Damn, that little bitch really means something."
The clang of his body against the lockers only fueled me.
I lunged again. My fist slammed into his gut, the air leaving him in a choked grunt. Before he could recover, I grabbed his shirt collar and drove another punch into his jaw. His head snapped back, and for a second, I swore I felt his teeth crack against my knuckles.
"Don't." I hit again "fucking say a word."
Each word punctuated by another hit, each one harder, faster, like I could beat the filth out of his mouth. My vision blurred at the edges, rage coating everything in red.
Hands clawed at my shoulders, trying to drag me back, but I shoved them off, landing one last brutal punch that sent him sprawling sideways, half-collapsed against the lockers. His blood streaked down the metal, dripping onto the floor.
"Xavier!" Lucas voice cut through, sharp and furious. His arm locked around my chest, yanking me back with every ounce of his strength. "Enough, man! He's down, he's done!"
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The spar's over. My chest is still heaving, sweat slicking down my spine, knuckles swollen and angry red. Lucas leans back against the ropes, smirking like he's already forgotten I tried to take his head off.
"Uh oh" he drawls, wiping his mouth with the back of his glove. "she looks mad."
I frown, following his gaze to the gym doors.
Amara's standing there. Fresh out of ballet, in her post-ballet outfit, hair twisted into that perfect bun that makes her look like she stepped straight out of a dream.
Her blue eyes are locked on me, on the bruise already blooming across my cheekbone, the split lip, my bloodied knuckles. Her grip tightens on the strap of her dance bag, and I can tell—she came straight here. No hesitation, no detour. Straight from rehearsal to find me.
She steps closer to us, ballet bag hanging from her shoulder, eyes pinned on me like I'm the only one in the room.
"Oh, you must be the Fountain girl." Lucas teases, grinning like he's begging for a death wish.
"It's Fontaine." I correct him, my glare cutting straight at him. He only shrugs, smug as ever.
But then my gaze shifts back to her.
The edges of my anger dull instantly. I strip off my gloves and walk to her, closing the distance without a second thought. I dip my head and press a kiss to her forehead, lingering just a second too long.
"Swan, you're here." I murmur, softer than I've been all day.
"Yeah, well..." she speaks, her tone clipped but trembling at the edges.
"I'm here because rehearsal ended early.
" She drops her bag onto the bench with a soft thud, arms crossing as she stares me down.
"So I came straight here, because clearly someone needs to be reminded he's not made of stone. "
Her voice is sharp, steady, but underneath it I hear the quiver she's trying to hide. Worry disguised as anger.
She's looking at my bruises like each one is a crack in her own skin, like she'd patch herself up if it meant I'd stop bleeding. She's standing here because I can't control myself, because I keep letting my fists speak louder than my brain.
I hate the thought that every time she sees me, it's with busted knuckles and blood on my face. That she's always running to find me, patch me up, piece me back together.
I don't want to be her wreck. I want to be her safe place.
"Damn, she's prettier up close." Lucas whistles, trying to break the tension.
"Lucas." My voice is low, warning.
He ignores it, of course. "Hi, I'm Lucas Wilson, your buddy's only man." he says, drawing out the words.
Amara raises a brow, amused despite herself.
He meant, 'your man's only buddy.'
"Well, I'm Amara Fontaine," she says with a polite smile, her tone light but her eyes flicking straight to mine before sliding back to Lucas. "The better half of your man here."
She doesn't even know how much that's true.
Lucas smirks, "Better half? More like the only half worth dealing with."
Amara chuckles, tilting her head. "Oh, so you do have taste. I was starting to wonder."
"Damn," Lucas whistles, pressing a hand to his chest like she just stabbed him. "She's got claws. You sure you can handle her, Ring Lord?"
She's the only person alive who can handle me.
Amara beams at him, "He tries, but honestly? Half the time I'm handling him."
There you go, my Swan is always right.
He shoots me a grin, "I like her. Can we trade? You can keep the boxing ring, I'll take the ballerina."
He says it like she's some prize, like she isn't the very thing keeping me from going completely off the rails. My fists flex instinctively, knuckles aching to shut him up the same way I did that guy at the lockers.
"Over my fucking dead body." I snap, the words grinding out of my chest before I can stop them.
Lucas has a girlfriend, and they have been dating for the past 2 years. If anything and whatever he is doing - its obvious, he is doing it to annoy the fuck out of me.
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We're in my room now. Its just me and her.
The way I like it.
But the fire? That's still in my chest. Burning hotter now because she's here. Because she's on me.
Amara straddles me, her legs snug around my waist, sitting on my lap like it's the most natural thing in the world. Her palms rest on my shoulders, her weight light but enough to pin me down in every way that counts.
"Xav," she murmurs, leaning in. "Why aren't you talking?"
I stare straight ahead, jaw tight, hands fisted against the sheets so I don't do something reckless.
She tilts her head, trying to catch my eyes. "Helloooo," she sings softly, teasing now, "talk to me, pleaseee." she continues "Was someone jealousss?" she teases, drawing the word out like it's honey meant to stick to my skin.
Jealous enough to bury someone 6-feet deep.
Slowly, I lift my eyes to hers, and that smug little smile of hers makes something inside me snap clean in half. My hands find her waist, dragging her flush against me.
"You think this is funny?" My voice is low, dangerous. The kind of tone that usually makes people back off, but not her. Never her.
She tilts her head, lashes fluttering like she knows exactly what she's doing. "A little."
"Wrong answer, Swan." I growl, and in one sharp movement, I flip her beneath me, pinning her wrists to the mattress.
Her laugh bubbles out, breathless this time. "Ohhh, someone was jealous."
I lean down until my mouth hovers by her ear, my breath hot against her skin. "Jealous doesn't even begin to cover it."
Her breath hitches, her body arching just slightly beneath mine—and I know I have her right where I want her. I'm about to kiss her, to erase that damn grin with my mouth, when she presses a hand to my chest.
"Wait, wait." Her voice is soft, but stubborn as ever.
My brow furrows. "What?"
"I have a gift for you."
"Hm?" I draw back just enough to look at her, narrowing my eyes. "If it's an apology, I'll take it."
She laughs and makes it impossible to stay mad. She slips out from under me and pads across the room, leaving me sitting there on the edge of the bed, still buzzing with everything unsaid.
Then she turns, holding something behind her back, and my irritation dies the second I see her face.
Her smile makes me forget every dark thought I've ever had.
"Matching fits!" she announces, practically bouncing as she reveals the - pink pajama pants covered in Hello Kitty prints.
I blink. "What the..?"
"And for me..." She lifts a slinky black camisole with delicate straps, smirking like she knows exactly what she's doing to me.
My brows shoot up. "What about me?"
She flashes me that grin again—mischievous, sharp at the edges. "You can stay shirtless."
She disappears into the bathroom with her little prize, and I'm left sitting there, staring at the ridiculous pink Hello Kitty pants like they're the biggest threat to my masculinity I've ever faced.
If that's what she wants, that's what she gets. Hell, I'd wear a damn tutu if it'd make her smile like that again.
So I pull on the pink Hello Kitty pants. They hang ridiculously low on my hips, the loose fabric brushing against my thighs, but I don't care.
"Swan, this thing is loose." I mutter as I hear the bathroom door click open, I hook a thumb into the waistband and tugging it out to prove my point.
I look up and every ounce of air leaves my lungs.
She steps back into the room wearing that black camisole, the thin straps skimming her bare shoulders like a whisper. Her hair's a little messy from our earlier chaos.
But that's not what grabs me.
My eyes drift lower to the hollow of her throat. The delicate collarbone that always makes my palms itch to touch and there, resting against her skin like it was made for her, is the pendant I gave her.
The swan.
She's still wearing it.
A slow smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. That stupid, soft kind of smile I'd kill to keep hidden from anyone else.
I shake my head, and say it again, "The pants are loose."
Her eyes drop before she can stop herself. I see it—the quick flick downward, the way her gaze lingers for half a second too long on my V-line, the sharp intake of breath she tries to hide.
My mouth curves slow, wicked. "You good down there?"
Her cheeks flush instantly, that pink spreading high. She clears her throat like that'll erase the heat in her voice. "You're supposed to make it tight." she says, reaching closer.
"Yeah?" My voice dips low as I watch her fingers hover near the waistband.
"The elastic," she mumbles, eyes darting anywhere but my face now. "The... the thread. You just pull it."
I lean down slightly, close enough that my breath grazes her temple as I whisper, "Why don't you show me, Swan?"
The pink creeps up her jaw as her gaze drops to the waistband of my Hello Kitty pants. She bites her lower lip, fumbling slightly with the thread.
When she bites her lip, I lean in and capture her bottom lip gently between my teeth, pulling it free from her own teeth. My voice is a low hum against her mouth. "Mmm? Nervous or distracted?"
"Xavier, don't do that again." she narrows her eyes, and shakes her head.
But I can see how hard she is trying not to bite her lip, again.
Slowly, carefully, she leans in, the subtle curve of her back pressing closer to me. One hand brushes against the fabric as she guides the elastic, fingers grazing my skin.
Her fingers hook the thread, twisting it with the delicate precision of someone used to ballet strings rather than elastic. Her thumb slides lightly along the waistband as she pulls it tighter, and the warmth of her touch presses low against my hip.
I can't help the low groan that escapes me, I can't help but notice how careful she looks while doing the tiniest, and most intimate task. Her hair falls forward, and her eyes flick up at me for just a second before returning to her careful work.
"Done." fingers adjusting the knot, the subtle press of her palm on my lower abdomen making my breath hitch.
I raise a brow slowly, dragging my gaze up to her flushed face. "You forgot something, Swan."
She didn't pull them all the way up. They're still hanging low, exactly where they were before, right on that sharp dip of my V-line.
She blinks innocently, fingers fiddling with the leftover thread. "No, I didn't."
"Really?" I take a deliberate step closer, watching her swallow hard as the distance between us disappears. My voice dips, smooth and dangerous. "Because it feels like you left it right where you wanted it."
Her eyes flick down for half a second before darting back up. "Don't know what you're talking about" she says quickly backing up until the backs of her legs hit the bed.
"Oh, I think you do." I cage her in with one hand braced on the mattress beside her, leaning in so close that my breath fans against her jaw. "You tied it tight... but left it low. You enjoying the view, Swan?"
"And if I am?" she says.
Then I kiss her, tasting the laugh she was about to throw at me, swallowing it like it belongs to me. My teeth graze her lower lip, and she lets out this soft, broken sound that sends every last shred of control I had straight to hell.
Her back hits the mattress as I press her down, one knee sliding between her thighs. "You think you can mess with me, Swan?" I growl against her mouth, kissing her hard again before she can answer. "Tie me up in pink pants and leave me hanging like that?"
her nails rake down my bare back, and she says, "I sure as hell can."
So I trail my mouth from her lips to her chin, then along the sharp line of her jaw. She tilts her head, granting me more, and I take it, moving lower until I reach the soft skin of her neck.
I suck kiss and suck it gently, tasting her warmth, and then she laughs out loud.
Her palm presses against my chest in these little taps, like she's trying to push me but isn't really trying.
Why is she laughing?
"Amara?" I lift my head, confused, my voice softening.
She bites her lip, still grinning, cheeks flushed pink. "Xav.." She giggles again, hiding her face in her hands.
"What?" I ask softly, grabbing her wrists gently to pull them away.
"I-" she exhales between laughs, "I'm ticklish. Don't kiss me on my neck!"
For a second, I just stare at her. This girl- laughing when I'm losing my mind over her.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips. "Ticklish, huh?"
Her eyes widen, instantly catching the tone in my voice. "Xavier, don't you dare."
"Too late." I pin her wrists above her head, leaning close, voice low "Guess I know your weakness now, Swan."
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I saw Xavier scrolling through his phone, sitting lazily, I cross my arms and lean against the headboard, trying to look unimpressed even though he is lying there shirtless in those ridiculous Hello Kitty pants.
Who looks that hot while doing nothing?
"You're lazy" I tease, biting back a smile.
His head lifts from the pillow, those eyes narrowing "Lazy?"
"Yes." I nod slowly, savoring the look on his face. "All you do is lie there, Mr. Hayes."
He pushes up on his elbows, muscles rippling like he's doing it just to prove a point. My eyes flick down before I can stop them. His arms, his chest, that sharp V-line peeking above those loose pants— and I don't look away.
He is my boyfriend after all.
"I could do three handstand pushups right now." he says, his voice smooth and cocky.
I know he could probably do more.
"Just three?" I look back up, trying to sound bored, but my heart is pounding like crazy.
He chuckles, slow and dangerous. "Maybe more" He leans closer, and his voice drops so low it's basically sinful. "if you lie down beneath me."
"You wouldn't." I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
His grin is pure trouble. "Try me."
For two full seconds, I just stare at him then I hear myself say, "You wouldn't last a second."
I don't even know how I ended up flat on the floor, I stare up at Xavier towering over me, his hands braced against the floor, his body ready to flip.
"Comfortable?" he asks, smirk in place, all smug and infuriatingly gorgeous.
I nod.
Then he does it. With that controlled strength of his, he kicks up into a perfect handstand like gravity doesn't exist for him. His muscles flex, the curve of his abs tightening, and oh my God.
Oh my God.
He lowers himself for the first push-up, and as his face dips close, his lips brush my forehead in the softest kiss. I freeze.
What-what was that?!
Before I can process, he's pushing up again, arms straining, abs carved like they were sketched by a sculptor. He dips again - another kiss.
"Two" he murmurs against my skin, low and teasing, before pushing back up.
My brain has officially short-circuited. All I can do is stare - at his strength, at the way his muscles ripple with every controlled movement, at those damn Hello Kitty pants hanging low on his hips like they have no right to.
He has insane strength in his hands. Wow.
He keeps going. Kiss after kiss. My heart is pounding so loud I'm sure he can hear it.
"Three... four" he whispers between each press, his breath warm, his lips brushing me every time he lowers.
By the fifth, my hands are clenched in the side of my pants. By the sixth, I've forgotten how breathing works.
Why does he look so beautiful upside down?
His gray eyes lock on mine each time he comes down, sharp enough to steal every thought from my head, soft enough to make me want to melt in them.
His hair, dark and tousled, falls forward with every push, brushing his forehead, framing his face in a way that feels almost unreal—messy but perfect, like him.
And his lips... God, those lips. A shade between sin and salvation, curving with the faintest smirk even as they ghost against my skin. Full, soft, tempting. Like they know exactly what they do to me.
His body a flawless map of strength and grace, and for a second, I think—he looks like something sculpted, something that was never meant to be real.
"Seven." he says, his voice a little breathless now, which somehow makes it ten times hotter.
And then—eight. He lowers, slower this time, his lips lingering a fraction longer on my skin before he pushes back up like it's nothing. Like eight handstand push-ups is child's play.
I can't feel the floor anymore. Can't feel anything except the weight of his gaze and the fire it lights in me.
When he finally drops down beside me, chest heaving, I can't move. I can't speak. My entire body is on fire.
"Told you." he murmurs, turning his head to me with that damn grin.
I swallow hard. "I... eight? Seriously?"
"Could've done ten," he smirks. "But I didn't want to kill you with how good I look upside down."
Did he read my mind?
My jaw drops. "You're—"
"Gorgeous?" he offers with zero shame, staring up that ceiling.
I look at him. The way his dark hair falls across his forehead, messy from sweat and gravity, making him look like every forbidden thought I shouldn't be having.
How badly I want to lean down and press a kiss right there, in that soft space between his brows.
"You're staring." he says without even looking at me.
"I'm... appreciating." I murmur, cheeks warm, refusing to look away now.
"Appreciating what?" His head turns, and those dark eyes pin me like a secret I'll never outrun.
How do I say everything?
The way he makes me feel like the world isn't sharp anymore, like the noise in my head goes quiet when he's near. The way his presence feels like coming home after being lost for too long. Safe. Loved. Like I could fall apart right here, and he'd hold every broken piece like it was made of gold.
Instead, I whisper, "Eight."
His brow arches, a teasing curve. "That impressed you?"
Yes, because its you.
"No," I lie, smiling faintly at the ceiling. "The forehead kisses did."
A quiet laugh slips past his lips. His hand moves and so does mine making our pinky fingers brush and then curl into each other like they've been waiting all this time.
The silence between us softens, warm and delicate. Then I feel a gentle brush of his lips against my temple, softer than before.
"Make that nine." he whispers, his pinky tightening around mine like a promise.