Chapter 12
It was two in the morning, and Tabby was lying under her covers, pretending to sleep. Despite getting up at 7 a.m., there was no chance she’d actually fall asleep. She was so excited she could hardly keep her eyes closed.
Last night, she’d been handcuffed to Toby’s headboard as he rubbed lube across her tits and slid his cock between them. Before he came, he’d mused about how fun it might be to climb through her bedroom window and screw her while her fake boyfriend watched fake TV in the other room.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he’d said, his big hands clamping her breasts in place as he fucked them. “I sneak into your house, piss-drunk and needing a ride. Are you gonna give me one, Tabitha?”
She should probably get ‘yes’ tattooed on her forehead at this point.
A noise outside her window made her heart jolt, but the silence that followed said Toby hadn’t yet arrived. She settled back into her pillow, smoothing down her fuchsia slip. She usually slept in undies and a ‘Hog Wild’ t-shirt with a boar on the front, but the silk negligee had arrived at Silver Daughters this morning, and she had to admit it was a lot more roleplay appropriate.
Barely a day went by without Toby sending her something. She was lying her balls off to Sam and Nix about why she was receiving so many parcels.
“It’s merch from this company,” she’d say, whipping the boxes upstairs before either saw the invoice slips from Agent Provocateur or Calvin Klein taped to the top.
Luckily, her sisters were still too distracted with Nix’s pregnancy and the ‘skulking Jo’ situation to question lies that would have had them coming after her like Sherlock Holmes a year ago.
Toby mostly sent underwear, but there were other things as well. A new iPhone because her screen was cracked, a Mecca voucher that let her replace all her ancient makeup with shiny new palettes from Charlotte Tilbury and Urban Decay. But the most shocking thing had arrived a week ago in a box big enough that Noah had given her serious side-eye. She’d told Toby she wanted a leather jacket, and he’d sent her a beautiful, belted coat from Kahait. The most incredible thing she’d seen since Toby had fucked her in front of a mirror and she’d been able to watch his ass in action.
It was still too hot to wear the jacket, which was good because despite how out of it Sam and Nix were, they had noticed the fingerprint bruises cropping up all over her body, and a fancy new jacket would leave them in no doubt of her sugar baby status.
“You don’t have to keep sending me stuff,” she’d told Toby after he’d come all over her boobs. “Seriously, it’s super generous, but?—”
“Does it turn you on?”
She’d blushed, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah, but?—”
“Me too. I love looking through stuff and figuring out what I’m gonna send you. Besides,” he’d said, sliding down her body and wrapping his arms around her thighs. “You’re paying me back, aren’t you, sweetness?”
Tabby wasn’t sure the conversation had really been resolved, but it was hard to care when Toby ate her like ice cream. He was so, so good at giving head. Good at everything sex-related. That was part of why she felt so guilty. Toby was such a stellar fuck, she was pretty sure she should be paying him. But if he was as horny about buying her presents as she was about receiving them, who was she to argue?
Her window rattled, and she held her breath, but it was again a false flag. She didn’t know why she was being so jumpy. Sam sometimes slept in the house, but she mostly lived with Scott, and Nicole and Noah had their new place in Fitzroy, so there was no chance she’d get busted. She and Toby could be as loud and depraved as they wanted.
Digging under her pillow for her lip gloss, she reapplied, wondering exactly how mean Toby would be when he finally arrived. Their games had shifted over the last few weeks. The blackmail, pseudo cuck stuff was still there, but they’d expanded into bondage and the kind of elaborate roleplay Tabby wouldn’t have believed she could pull off.
Last week, a French maid costume, complete with a feather duster, had arrived at the studio. When she’d called Toby for an explanation, it had been simple. “Put it on, come over, and clean my house.”
“You’re not serious?” she’d asked.
“I’m serious about the fact that I’m gonna gag you if you don’t quit talking back.”
So, she’d shown up at his house dressed like a porno housekeeper, and they’d stuck to their characters all night. Toby had ordered her around while she nodded shyly and agreed first to give him a massage and then to lick the head of his cock while he jerked off. When he was done coming in her mouth, Toby had wiped himself on her cheeks, and since he was still hard, he’d pushed her onto the floor and fucked her.
It had been world-endingly good. They’d both gotten tested, so it was off to the races, semen-wise. That had been her request. She’d never been a ‘creampie’ gal, but she’d been dying to feel Toby dripping down her thighs, and it made the roleplay even more authentic, not having to stop for condoms.
It had meant a cringe-inducing ‘I’m not seeing anyone else right now, how about you?’ conversation, but she’d already known Toby wasn’t hooking up with other girls. The motherfucker didn’t have time. His tattoo was long finished, but there was never a question of ending their fuckbuddy status. Almost every afternoon, she found herself sneaking over to his place. She’d even started staying the night, sleeping in Toby’s massive bed with Mopsy at her feet. It wasn’t something she’d anticipated doing, but after four hours of sex, pizza, and more sex, it was impossible not to pass out in Toby’s arms. And he seemed more than happy to have her there, even if it did raise questions about their… situation.
No matter how you spun it, she and Toby weren’t actually dating. She’d met none of his friends, and all of hers had either forgotten he existed or remembered only ‘that tall dog guy who used to be around.’ But they were monogamous, and their post-sex conversations were getting kind of intimate. She hadn’t told him about Jo, but he knew about Nix’s struggle to stay pregnant and the shit inferno that was Sparkling Whine, and he’d talked to her about earning all his money in a dodgy crypto deal after his parents left for the Philippines.
“Holy shit,” she’d said, too shocked to make fun of him. “You’re, like, the only real-life person to make money from cryptocurrency.”
“Hey now,” he’d said, all mock offended. “There are at least four of us. We’re in a group chat called ‘Is This A Crime?’”
It was so nice having someone to talk to and fuck and laugh with. But it was also totally contained to that one area of her life. For his part, Toby hadn’t mentioned ‘where she saw this going’ or brought up the dreaded ‘C-word’ AKA ‘Commitment.’ And since no one knew they were hooking up, it was easy for her to avoid the relationship conversation, too. Personally, she was refusing to think more than five hours ahead about anything. Between Toby turning out to be a sex wizard, Jo sending more flowers addressed just to her, Sam’s fury and Nix desperately trying to contact their mother, any mention of the future gave her heart palpitations.
She’d shelved her plans to move to Cartagena because sleeping with Toby was so much fun, and considering the current state of her life, Tabby felt she deserved a little fun before she ran away forever.
She wasn’t an idiot. She knew it couldn’t last, but she also didn’t see why she should do anything to fix that.
I refuse to be the bigger person, she told herself whenever she felt guilty, as is my right as a half-baked baby woman.
A hollow thump below her window brought her back to the here and now. This time, she knew it was for real. Someone, hopefully Toby, was climbing the tree that led directly to her bedroom. Shivering, she pulled her duvet to her chin as the windowpane slid open, and a man’s weight landed on her carpeted floor. She listened, quivering with anticipation as Toby removed whatever shoes he’d worn.
Something stirred in her memory, and she realised he’d only been here once before. That first time they’d hooked up after the party.
Don’t think about that. No past. No future. Just now.
“Hey, girl.” Heavy hands landed on her body. “Miss me?”
Toby”s breath was hot with whiskey.
“Jesus!” she gasped in a passable impression of surprise. “Toby? What are you doing here?”
“I wanna make those big tits bounce. All I can fucking think about.” He slid his hands under the covers. “Spread your legs for me.”
Tabby parted her thighs, but Toby’s palms found her tits first, massaging them through her silk slip. His fingers were freezing, but it was his casual disdain that made her shiver.
“Nice,” he said, flicking her right nipple. “You wear this for Fuckhead?”
“No,” Tabby whispered.
‘Fuckhead’ was Toby’s name for Conor, who was still very much getting fake-cucked in their minds.
“Course you didn’t.” He shoved the slip’s triangles down, his finger and thumb biting into her nipple. “You wore it for me, didn’t you? Hoping I’d come around and smash you like he can’t?”
God, but did she love fake-cucking Conor… “Toby, you can’t do this! This is our house. He’s in the other room!”
“Fuck him.” One of Toby’s hands moved down her stomach, his cold fingers sliding between her legs. “You’re wet. Been thinking ’bout me?”
Always. “Yes.”
“Then you should be happy I’m here.” He shoved back the covers and lowered his mouth to her pussy, licking her clit sideways. Tabby pressed her pillow to her face to muffle her screams as he lapped at her from the wrong angle. It felt strange, but good strange. The same song remixed by a master. Unlike his hands, Toby’s tongue was warm as blood. The alcohol in his mouth transferred to her soaking lips, making them tingle. Or maybe that was her imagination. Her clit had been swollen and pulsing with eagerness all day, and as Toby’s lips closed around it, sucking lightly, she came, her legs going stiff as she sank her teeth into her pillowcase.
“I’m gonna give you a nickname,” Toby said as she writhed in her sheets. “‘The Fountain.’”
Tabby shoved the pillow off her face and glared at him. “You can’t keep treating me like this!”
He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I can. All fours.”
She turned, presenting her ass to him. This was their favourite position; Toby’s hand in her hair, his cock deep inside her, driving both of them insane.
“Lift your little skirt,” he said. “Show me that pussy.”
She folded the fabric forward, keeping her legs together so all he could see was a narrow almond. A girl had to have some standards. Not that Toby seemed to think that way.
“You’re so fucking desperate,” he said, unzipping his fly. “Gagging. I could have been a stranger, and you’d have bent over just the same.”
“No,” Tabby whimpered.
“Whatever.” His still-freezing hands settled around her ass. “Lucky you’re pretty, or I’d start thinking about sharing you. Letting the boys get a few rounds in after I’m done.”
Tabby bit her lower lip to keep from moaning. This thing with Toby had swerved into such dangerous waters so seamlessly that it was hard to remember she’d once been worried about him holding this kind of power over her. Now, she didn’t feel scared at all. Toby would never dream of talking about her this way in front of anyone. A few nights ago, she told him a dude in a Meatwell truck had yelled ‘nice fat titties’ at her on Barkley Street, and he’d called the company and gotten the driver reprimanded. This was just a game. Just creamy, filthy sex. Two weirdos being weird together with excellent results.
“No,” she told Toby. “Please don’t let anyone else touch me?”
She turned in time to see him grin, his teeth flashing in the semi-darkness. “We’ll see. Want my dick inside you?”
She nodded, aware that mean, roleplaying Toby liked her shy.
“Too fucking bad. Reach around and pull me off.”
Tabby did as she was told, balancing on one hand as she stroked Toby’s cock with the other, but he had to be as wound up as she was because he made her stop after only a few seconds. “I’ve changed my mind. Get on your back. I want it old school.”
She felt a stab of nerves as she rolled over. ‘Old school’ sounded like missionary, and missionary was… tricky. Doggy style didn’t just feel the best, it kept her from having to look Toby in the eyes while he was fucking her, something he seemed increasingly interested in doing. She liked watching him fuck her, but on her terms. Whenever he was on top of her, staring into her face, she got worried he’d see something. What, she had no idea, but experience had revealed that it was easier for her to eat Toby’s ass while he threatened to cum in her hair than anything that resembled ‘lovemaking.’
Yet as Toby pulled his t-shirt over his head, she had to admit missionary had its silver linings. On her back, she had a better view of his body. He’d already been massive and rippling with muscle, but the tattoo she’d put on his right arm gave him a dangerous air that had floored her when she’d first stepped back and said, ‘It’s done.’
She’d always liked guys with tats—she had eyes—but the beauty of an inked Toby Tennant was something else. He was almost unfathomably attractive now. And the stag tattoo had turned out to be one of her best-ever pieces. She’d taken snaps of it when it was first finished, and not showing the world her half-naked Toby pictures was almost killing her.
“Ready?” he growled, braced above her.
“Yes, Toby.” Unable to help herself, she smoothed her hands along his collarbones and down his arms. He shuddered under her touch like a lonely dog being petted.
“Look at me,” he said. “Watch me while I fuck you.”
Tabby had been afraid of that. She kept her eyes focused on the ceiling. “You need to hurry. Conor’s coming to bed soon.”
Toby gripped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “Say that again.”
Terror rushed through her, colder than the hand on her face. She wasn’t scared of the man Toby was pretending to be. Her kingdom to be scared of the man Toby was pretending to be. It was the man he was that scared her as she stared into his pale blue eyes. Not the fake rage and entitlement, but the genuine affection beneath it. The sense that he was trying to tell her something when there was nothing she wanted to hear except exceptionally filthy sex talk.
“Sorry,” she said, desperately trying to pivot back to roleplay. “I won’t say his name again. It’s just, I’m so worried that he’ll?—”
“You say one more word, I’ll choke you out,” Toby snarled. “It’s my name, ‘thank you, God’ or nothing. Got it? And if you’re too ashamed to look at me, then shut your eyes while you take my dick.”
Mission accomplished.
“Got it,” Tabby said happily. She was an agnostic, but she’d happily praise at the altar of Toby Tennant’s God complex. She closed her eyes and waited, legs open.
Toby spat in his palm, then reached between their bodies. She listened to him slick himself down, then felt the broad head of his cock against her pussy.
“Beg.”
“Please, please, pl—uhhhh!”
In one stroke, he seated himself deep. Tabby arched into the mattress, her walls struggling against the sudden invasion. “Toby!”
He surged forward, his hands on either side of her head. “Like it?”
“Yes!”
“Want me to move?”
“Yes.”
“Then fucking look at me.”
Not this shit again… Tabby opened her eyes a fraction and found Toby staring her full in the face. Fear rippled through her, and she clenched hard around Toby’s shaft.
“Fuck,” he grunted. “That fucking grip.”
But he didn’t move. His hips were locked into hers, his cock throbbing deep inside her. They were officially doing soaking, which Tabby had always maintained was the sexual ideology of cunts. It felt stupid and achieved nothing.
“Tabitha,” Toby barked. “I’m not gonna move unless you’re watching me, so open your fucking eyes, or I’ll climb right back out that window.”
He meant it, she could hear it in his voice. Knowing there was nothing else to do, she opened her eyes properly.
She’d thought her room was mostly dark, but she’d been wrong. Looking at Toby was like having a helicopter beam in her face. A Broadway spotlight illuminating her every thought. She felt unbearably exposed, on the verge of either screaming or laughing, but she didn’t look away.
“Please, Toby?” she whispered. “Please?”
“Fine,” he snarled, and began fucking her with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips. Tabby moaned as he slid almost all the way out of her pussy before driving deep.
Every muscle in her body went taut, pressure flowing between her legs like a golden river. Say what you would about Toby’s need for eye contact, the man could put it down like nobody’s business. She gripped his right bicep, clinging to her tattoo as climax reeled ever closer. “Oh my God…”
Toby’s lip curled. “I am your God, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” she breathed. Her cunt was soaked, and the sound of Toby slapping against all that wetness was obscene. “Yes, you are.”
“So, say it.”
“You’re my—ohhhh.” Orgasm caught her before she could even finish the sentence; the feel of him, combined with the look on his face and his arrogant words, made it impossible. She squirmed against Toby’s cock as waves of blackness rolled through her brain.
“That’s it,” Toby muttered. “Show me.”
Show you what?she thought, but he didn’t seem to need her to do anything but watch as he quickened his pace, stroking into her overheated pussy. Tabby shuddered with aftershocks, trying and failing to keep from whimpering his name.
His mouth fell to her ear. “Are you trying to ruin my fucking life?”
She froze. Was this part of the roleplay? What was she supposed to say? No? “Wh-what do you mean?”
“You’re all I can think about,” he snarled. “I’m obsessed. You’re making me obsessed with you.”
Her body flushed, her arousal beginning its third ascent. She wanted to focus, but it was so hard when he did her like this. “I-I’m sorry?”
“You should be. Got me thinking about you all day and all night. Can’t do anything else. It’s all your fucking fault.”
“Sorry,” she moaned, wrapping her thighs around his hips as the pulse, pulse, pulse in her cunt wove through her overwrought tissue, pulling tight around her clit. “Oh my Godddd, sorry!”
“Yeah, you keep saying.” He clasped her left breast, his pubic bone grinding against her. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to keep you.”
“Wh-what?”
“You’re mine. After this, there’s no going back. You belong to me now.”
Tabby wanted to protest and wanted an explanation, but she was also coming. She undulated against him, working wherever her body told her to as her eyes rolled back in her head. “Yesssss. Whatever you want. Whatever you?—”
Tabby squealed, and Toby’s panting grew louder. His thrusts were the single-minded work of someone who was also about to come. He nudged her chin with his, bending low to kiss her as he finished. He’d shaved, Tabby realised, her lips working dumbly against his. His skin was almost as smooth as hers. Toby went slack as he collapsed onto her. “Fucking hell, you’re amazing.”
His hands sought hers, the skin no longer cold but burning. And when he wound his fingers through hers, Tabby felt the strangest urge to cry. Instead, she disconnected as consciously as she’d ever managed to do it, floating up and away into her ceiling.
They lay together for a while, him on top of her, saying nothing. His racing heart seemed to be trying to pull her back into her body, but Tabby wouldn’t let it. It was time to float. Time to imagine better worlds, brighter colours.
When he finally pulled out of her, she felt the gorgeous rush of him flooding out of her pussy and into her sheets. She knew she should clean it up, but it felt too good. Fuck the wet spot. Fuck everything.
“Shit,” Toby mumbled. “That was insane.”
Stop talking, dude. Just enjoy it before it gets shafted like every other good thing that exists.
“How are you, Tabs? Anything cross a line?”
The question had become standard these days. A few hours into their final tattooing session, Tabby had given into her insecurities and mentioned Toby saying she was ‘almost worth the money’ while he was fucking her. She’d tried to be offhanded and funny about it, but Toby freaked out. He’d scrambled out of the massage chair and started pacing the room like a wind-up toy.
“I shouldn’t have fucking said that! I’m a moron; I shouldn’t have fucking said that! I was tryna be a dick, but Jesus! I’m so sorry, Tabs. I’m a moron?—”
“It’s cool,” she’d said, disconcerted by the rash blazing down his neck. “I know you were just trying to cunt-talk me?—”
“I knew something like this would happen!” Toby had sunk his fingers into his hair, pulling hard enough to tear it out. “I let myself say whatever came into my head at the time, and now I’ve fucked everything!”
“Dude!” she’d yelled loud enough to wake Mopsy from her morphine slumber. “It’s all good!”
Toby had whirled on her with what could only be called ‘crazy eyes.’ “It’s not. I made you feel like… I made you think…”
His tortured expression was all the evidence Tabby would ever need that Toby Tennant, former dork and actual human man, didn’t believe a shred of the filthy shit he said to her. Which, in and of itself, made the conversation worth it.
“I mean it, it’s all good,” she’d said. “Just tell me you like my vagina, and it’s worth more than a dress and some champagne, fuckssake?”
Toby dropped to his knees like a stack of bricks. “Tabs, you’ve got the best pussy in the world. It wrecks my head; it’s so fucking good. You know how they say that talc is the softest substance in the world? Science needs to find out about your pussy.”
“That’s… the dorkiest thing I’ve ever heard, Toby.”
“I don’t care. It’s true. I’d pay a million bucks to look at it?—”
“Let’s not go that far,” she’d said, but she’d smiled like Miss America. “Get back in the chair and?—”
Toby had grabbed her hand and pressed it to his shirtless chest. “It’s A plus. Honestly, it’s the best I’ve ever seen. I thought maybe it was so incredible that first time because it was the only pussy I’d ever seen, but now I’ve seen way more I?—”
“Losing traction here, buddy.”
“Christ,” Toby moaned, driving a fist into his forehead. “I’m such an idiot. Tabby, if you gave me a choice between eating you out and giving up all my money, I’ll sign over everything tonight.”
“Don’t make cringey, unenforceable promises,” she’d said, but she’d still been smiling. “Get back in the chair, you dragon dildo.”
He had, but ever since, he’d checked in after sex, running over all his meanest lines and most aggressive moves to make sure she wasn’t harbouring actual worries about her attractiveness or ability to refuse him. It was nice. Or it had been when it didn’t feel like an imposition on her right to mentally leave the earth like a mylar balloon.
“I’m fine,” she told Toby. “Just spaced out.”
Sensing he was going to ask another question, she pre-empted him. “Are you actually drunk? If so, congrats on your smooth climb, Romeo.”
Toby chuckled. “No way. I didn’t trust myself going up the tree pissed. I just swished some Laphroaig around my mouth.”
She smiled at the thought of Toby gargling whiskey so he could appear lecherously drunk. “Good call.”
“You still not drinking?”
“No. It’s been nice to have a break. I’m sleeping better. Or I would be if some dude would leave it alone.”
They smiled at each other, and she noticed Toby had a freckle beside his left eye. It was so cute, so boyish, and she felt that crying sensation again. She looked away, linking her fingers and stretching her arms above her head.
“Fuck,” Toby said mildly. “It’s half-three in the morning. Hope the cops don’t pull me over and mistake roleplay whiskey for actual whiskey.”
Tabby couldn’t help herself. “Do you… want to stay the night?”
There was a beat as both of them looked at the window Toby had come through as if it might stop him.
“I… yeah… Do you want me to?”
Tabby opened her mouth and found she couldn’t say anything more. Even after all the time they’d spent at Toby’s house, it still felt more like a sound stage than a home. A set on which he was temporarily acting. But this was her room. Her house. Silver Daughters Ink. The realest, safest place in the world.
Stay, she thought. Tell me you want to stay here?
“Next time,” Toby said, heaving himself to his feet. “See you tomorrow?”
“Definitely.”
She watched him stoop for his t-shirt and hated herself a little. It could have been nice waking up in Toby’s arms. Sneaking out to get them both cups of coffee and biscuits. Whispering to each other in the dark…
Instead, she watched him scramble out her open window like a burglar. And because she was a moron, it was only when he slowly slid the pane into place she called him back.
“Toby! Why don’t you just stay?”
But of course, he didn’t hear her, and she was left sitting alone in the wet spot. At that moment, she understood: She was totally fucking dick-struck. If Toby ended things… God knew what she’d do. There wasn’t a place in the world she could go to feel better. The thought drove her to her feet and toward the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Anything not to be alone with the truth.
Halfway down the hall, she froze, sniffing the air. Unless she was having a stroke or going utterly bananas, someone was making toast… and with a rush of anxiety, she knew exactly who that was.
“Hey,” Noah called. “Tabs?”
Her stomach cramped. Oh fuck. Oh, Christ above.
“Hiiiiiiii,” she called back like an absolute idiot, before remembering she was utterly naked beneath a sex negligee. “Hang on!”
She dove back into her room, pulling on sweatpants and her boar t-shirt like that might erase whatever sex noises had been pouring out of her room like the world’s most inappropriate PA announcements. Gritting her teeth, she walked to the kitchen to find Noah, huge and tatted to the hilt, eating Vegemite toast at the table.
The look he gave her said yes, he had heard the fucking, and no, he wasn’t going to pretend he hadn’t.
“Whatcha doing?” Tabby said weakly.
“Early client. Crashing in Nikki’s room.” Her brother-in-law tilted his head at the hallway. “You have someone over?”
There seemed little sense in denying it. “Yup.”
Noah’s nostrils flared. “What did he do? Climb in through the window?”
“Pretty much.”
His green eyes scanned her like the Terminator, and Tabby resisted the urge to throw her hands over her chest. Her nipples were still hard as stones, and she’d stupidly forgotten to put on a bra. But that turned out to be the least of her worries.
“Bruises,” Noah growled.
“What?”
“You got bruises all over you. You start cage fighting or something?”
She looked down. The purple blotches weren’t super obvious against all her ink, but Noah had grown up around tattoos and bruises, and apparently, he still knew the difference.
“It’s all good,” she said. “It’s for fun.”
He grunted.
“Recreational. Kink stuff, y’know?” she said, hoping to gross him out enough to drop it. It didn’t work.
“Who’s the bloke?”
“Why does it matter?” Tabby said, painfully aware of how nervous she sounded.
He shrugged. “Know what you’re doing?”
“I always do.” Determined to at least try to play it cool, she sauntered to the fridge and pulled out the milk. She felt Noah watching her. He’d never been one to judge, but there was something strange about the way he was talking and staring. She whirled around. “I’m allowed to have dudes over; I’m not sixteen. Actually, I was allowed to have dudes over when I was sixteen. Dad thought the Swedish model of sexual acceptance prevented safety issues.”
Noah’s nostrils flared. God help him if he and Nix had a daughter. Speaking of which...
“How’s the baby?” she asked as chirpily as possible. “Still healthy?”
The instant she said it, she knew she’d fucked up. Noah’s face went blank, and in the strained seconds that followed, he picked up his plate and slammed it hard on the table. It shattered, spraying porcelain and crumbs everywhere.
Tabby felt a cold thrill of terror. “No. She didn’t…? Tell me the baby’s okay?”
Noah stood so fast his chair fell over, his massive chest heaving like a storm. “I recognised the voice.”
“What?”
“The guy,” he said, pointing to the hall. “You fucking Toby?”
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
“No,” she lied. “Yes. Does it matter? How’s Nix? What happened?”
“You already know what happened,” Noah said, and his flat tone was more frightening than anger.
“I’m so sorry,” Tabby gasped, and found she was already crying, tears dripping down her face onto her boar t-shirt.
“It’s your fucking mother,” Noah said in that same chilling voice. “Coming around, stirring up drama. It’s the fucking stress.”
“I’m so sorry. Noah, I’m so fucking?—”
“Stay where you are! There’s shit on the floor!”
Tabby hadn’t even realised she was moving toward him. She backed away so fast she bumped the back of her head on the fridge door. She let out a cry, and Noah’s face crumpled. “Tabs…”
“It’s fine,” she gasped, still gushing tears like an asshole. “How’s Nix? Does she need company? Or should I call or?—”
Noah rushed toward her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her so hard he knocked the breath from her. He smelled of cigarettes and aftershave—like beer and like home.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, and she realised, to her utter shock, that he was crying too. They stood there together, crying and hugging and hugging and crying, and all Tabby could think was that this was the fourth miscarriage Nix had had in two years—four sons or daughters or whoever that Noah would never meet.
Digging her fingers into her brother’s shoulders, Tabby let out a howl that was more wolf than human—a wail of grief that shook her to her bones. If Jo had appeared before her just then, Tabby would have hit her. Who was she to have left? To have been so reckless with the love Nix was dying to experience?
“I’m so fucking angry,” she sobbed. “I could fucking kill. I’m so angry.”
“I know,” Noah said, refusing to let go of her. “I’m so sorry for being a cunt, Tabs. I love you.”
And despite everything that had happened, warmth blazed in her chest because he’d never said that before. And because she loved him too, with her whole heart, as a friend and brother. He was the first man to ever make Nix happy. The second man Tabby trusted—and loved—after her dad. But at that moment, as clear as anything, was the knowledge that she loved a third man.
Toby fucking Tennant, crypto cunt and owner of a Lamborghini. A guy who was content to fuck her, then climb out a window and go home.
“I am so screwed,” she muttered to herself. “Jesus…”
“What?”
“Never mind,” she told Noah. “I love you, too. Can we please go call Nix together?”