Breathe for Me

chapter Twenty-One





“Someone’s grumpy.” Logan laughed at him from the other side of the pool table.

“Shut it.”

“You not getting any lately?”

Xander didn’t answer.

“Well, why don’t you find someone else? Plenty of women around here who’d do anything you wanted them to,” Logan said, bitterness rasping.

Xander didn’t want any of them. Damn it. “Shut up.”

“You’re so pissy. Why don’t you take your mood home and spare the rest of us who are ready to party?”

Xander rolled his eyes. The rest of ‘us’ was only Logan. Hunter was away, Rocco was here but technically working. Xander might as well leave. He’d been here for two hours already and not left the table once. Hadn’t bothered to look anyone in the eye. “You’re going to get in real trouble sometime, Logan.”

Logan just laughed and kept assessing the women in the room.

Rocco’s bar was pumping—the place filled with beauties who were up for it. But Xander was sitting in the far corner by the pool table, trying to swallow back the bitter irony. He’d told Chelsea this would end if she developed feelings for him. But more fool him, for he was the one getting all sappy just because they’d been having sex. Often.

And that was his problem tonight, right? She’d gone away and he was missing it. The sex that is. Not her.

Wrong. It was all her. Calling in to see her for five minutes when he had the chance wasn’t for sex. It was to see her. His need to understand and help her out over her nightmares wasn’t because he’d come over all good Samaritan. It was for her. Because he liked her.

But she was so at ease with the deal she was happy to just pack up and go away for who knew how long. She didn’t miss him. Damn it. And she didn’t seem at all troubled by her imminent departure from the city. Sure, it was another month away, but Xander felt it like the bomb was ticking and about to detonate. And the target about to be blown to bits?

His heart.

Exactly what he didn’t want. He’d never wanted it. Hell, he had no clue about relationships—had never seen a decent example in all his life. He’d been all about play.

And Chelsea had liked make-believe. Except now Xander wanted it all to be real.

Yeah. That was the problem.

He knew what he had to do. When she got back, whenever that might be, he was ending it. No more games, no more getting off on the wicked laugh she let out too rarely. No more wishing she’d fully set free her spark of playfulness. Now more wishing she’d open up and talk to him, trust him the way she had that night.

Because he hadn’t said the right thing. He’d only upset her. He wasn’t the guy to help her find that freedom again. He’d tried but he’d failed. He had to walk away because she had him wishing for things he’d always believed he never wanted. Things that were beyond his limited emotional ability.

The good deeds he did merely masked the anger that he felt deep inside. The rage he felt for his father. And the fear that it was all inside him too. That darkness. That ability to brutally hurt. He wanted no risk of that. Chelsea of all people didn’t need to be hurt again. He had to walk away.

But he was f*cking angry about it. Furious with himself for letting things get this far. He was a damned fool, falling for blue eyes and a swimsuit.

He slammed his glass down on the table. “I’m calling it a night.”

“Good.” Logan answered with an evil tone and took an easy swig of his beer. “Go home and be boring there.”

Xander flipped him the bird and left.

As soon as he opened his apartment door his senses went on high alert. His muscles tensed but he kept his hands loose, bending his knees slightly—ready to either attack or defend. His eyes narrowed, he listened. Then he caught the scent. A little basil.

Chelsea.

“You think you’re so great with security?”

The sound of her voice thumped him in the chest—his heart stopped. Then started again—off beat and skittering.

“A little catburgler like me can sneak in so easily.” She appeared at the end of the hall.

What the f*ck was she wearing?

Top to toe she was clad in black. Skin tight, sexier than hell black, with the six-inch heeled, dominatrix boots to finish it off. The only part of her skin visible was her jaw—her pointed chin, her pretty, kissable lips. Right now they were slicked red. Absolute vixen.

“How did you get in?” It hurt to breathe, hurt to move given how hard he was. So he just stayed statue still.

Hands on her hips, she saucily shrugged a shoulder. “I used some contacts.”

Did she now? Xander’s mind whirred.

Logan. He was the only one who could have let her in. Hunter was away. No way in hell would any of the building team let her in. They were too scared of how he’d react. So all the while Logan had been goading him at the bar, he’d known this creature was lying in wait for him?

Damn jerk cousin. And for a moment, mad jealousy rioted through him—that Logan had seen her looking like this? The guy was going down. But Xander had other things to tend to first.

“Catburgler, huh?” He cleared the rock from his throat. “What is it you’re planning on stealing?”

She slowly walked towards him, her spiky heels punctuating her carefully spoken words. “Something very, very precious.”

Hell, he was in trouble. He waited, refusing to risk moving, as she strolled right up to him.

“Cats love to play with their prey…” she said softly. “We love to torment them. We like to let them think they’ve escaped…”

“But they haven’t.”

“No.” She ran a fingernail down his chest. He felt its edge through his shirt. “They can never get away.”

The only sign of nerves was in the slight wobble of her fingers.

“What else you cats like?” he asked, hoarse. Barely containing the urge to grab her. But he was determined to let her lead—she was playing. He ached for her to follow all the way through.

“We like to lick.”

Yeah, he was screwed. His control slipped with every brazen word she uttered. But he summoned enough strength mutter a reply. “Oh you do?”

“Every… last… drop.” That fingernail tapped sharply—staccato to her smooth purred words.

His innards burned, muscles seized—wanting to burst free from the confines of his skin. “And then?”

“We devour.”

He closed his eyes, refusing to come on the spot. Refusing to grab and take in a ferocious frenzy.

“Chelsea.” He all but begged for mercy. “I can’t be…” he huffed out a breath and tried again. “It’s been too long since I saw you. I’m like… a bullet here.”

He wanted her. Wanted, wanted, wanted. Her beneath him. Savage and raw and rough. He wanted to ram into her so hard, to have her all and his. He wanted it so much and so instantly, he didn’t think it could be any good for her.

“You want me to lose control?” His voice cracked and he shook his head. “You’d better tie me up.” He warned. “I’ve missed you too much to be gentle.”

Her eyes were on fire. He didn’t miss the way her hips did a little rotate—a small circle, the heat inside was making her dance already.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You won’t hurt me.”

But he couldn’t help noticing she backed up a pace.

“I might,” he said. Honest.

Shaking her head she laughed. “I’m strong. So strong. And so are you,” she murmured, taking another step back. “Besides…” Her eyes glittered. “You’d have to catch me first.”

He froze for one moment, stunned as she laughed—really laughed right at him. And then she ran.

A heartbeat later he was running too—thundering quickly around the apartment. Hunting her.

She was playing with him. Really playing. Heart thumping, he wanted to roar with satisfaction. But adrenalin had him, and basic instinct. He wanted to win. He caught sight of her darting into the kitchen.

Cat and mouse? Right now he didn’t know who was who.

He got into the kitchen a split second after she’d gone out the other door to the dining room. He listened, hearing her heels tap unevenly on the wood as she skipped as quickly as she could given her weaker leg. The corridor.

He retraced his steps, got to the door just as she was opening it. He reached above her and slammed it shut but she ducked out from under his arm.

Sneaky and surprisingly fast.

“Run all you like,” he called out to her, his heat growing. “You’re not getting away.”

Never again.

He heard her laughter coming from his room. Clearly she’d gotten acquainted with his apartment in the hour or so she’d had it to herself. He grinned at the sound of her amusement, the sheer delight. Yeah, the chase turned him on more. Her laughter tormented him. All he could see was her. A slim thing in black, a few paces in front towards the lounge, half-running ridiculously fast in those shoes.

And it was time to put an end to it. He closed doors as he went, aiming to narrow down her options. Then he got her cornered in the lounge.

For a moment they both stopped still. Her chin was high, her eyes alight with amusement and excitement. It only took an extra burst of speed, there really wasn’t anywhere for her to go. He swooped, taking her to the floor, grunting in raw satisfaction.

“Oh,” she sighed. “You got me.”

But before he could do anything, she twisted, flipping up onto her knees and pushing him to his knees at the same time. His heart seized with how quickly she undid his zipper. With the rough way she yanked his jeans open, and freed him from his boxers. She laughed—that sexy-as-f*ck throaty laugh as she bent. A split-second later her reddened lips sucked him in.

He couldn’t help it. He thrust, too hard. And nearly died when she leaned forward for more. “Chelsea…” His voice gave out. “This is…”

Her jaw dropped and she sucked harder. Her hands worked in time cupping his balls, gripping the root of his cock tight and squeezing while her tongue circled over his tip. He trembled, pre-cum spurting.

No.

He pulled out, a loud smack sounding as he left her suction. Her growl of disappointment was fierce. Her hands tightened almost painfully on him. He grasped her wrists and dragged her arms wide before releasing them. He didn’t give a damn about any kind of control anymore.

“Hands and knees, puss.” He demanded, shoving down between her shoulder blades, pushing her down to all fours, pushing harder still so her ass was high in the air. He knelt behind her.

She turned her head over one shoulder to watch him. Wearing that tormenting smile on her lips. Frustrating him as he gazed at her black-clad body.

“How do I get you out of this f*cking suit?” he growled.

“You don’t need to,” she said slyly. “It is a f*cking suit.” She lifted a hand from the floor, sliding it between her parted thighs. Xander’s heart seized as she touched herself, pointing out the smallest of slits in the clinging black fabric. In that opening he could see her—pink, glistening.

He nearly came on the spot. He dragged in a pained breath and then swiped her fingers away. He leaned forward to touch her with his tongue. More than glistening, she was wet. He heard her groan, felt the ripple through her body. She planted both hands, fingers wide, on the wooden floor to brace herself. She was as close as he. He all but snarled, then let his tongue learn just how big the slit in that fabric was. Hell, she tasted so damn good, he couldn’t get enough.

She shook violently and he grabbed her to stop her moving too much. He wanted to screw her with his tongue first so he was sure she’d come. Because once he shoved his cock in, it’d be over too damn quick. He lapped at her, loving how she groaned, how she tasted, how she tensed. He pulled back for a second to finger her well—teasing, shallow plunges designed to send her insane.

It worked. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her ass up high in the air and screamed.

“Now Xander!” She howled for him—telling him oh so bluntly what she wanted. He heard her fury, her want. Her desperation. Her total loss of control. He felt her pulsing around his tongue—her tight body trying to grip onto him. Hungry for more. For all of him.

Damn. Now she was free and he didn’t know if he was going to be able to keep up with her after all. But he sure as hell couldn’t take anymore of this. There was nothing else he could do—he was bare and her wet sex was right there.

He gripped her hips with a hold that had to hurt. But he didn’t care—and nor did she. Not when she was screaming ‘yes’ at him so loudly over and over and over.

He thrust deep. Instantly rocking back to thrust again—deeper, harder. Vicious. Frantic.

Still she screamed for him. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Rabid lust rolled over him, snapping the last remnants of his control. He reached forward and ripped her mask off. Her head jerked with the force as he tore the little elastic strap that had gone under her chin. Her hair shook out and he gripped a swathe of it—forcing her head back. Her mouth parted, he could see her eyes glazed with passion. Her breathing ragged.

With one hand on her hip and the other in her hair he held her still—so she could never escape. He shouted her name as he thrust into her again and again. Pounding more wildly than he’d ever done in his life.

No more words came from her hot mouth, just a raw scream. And all he could see was red. A cloud of passion drowned him in an orgasm so intense he lost all sense of his surroundings. There was nothing but her.

Nothing but him owning her.

She fell forward and so did he—landing right over her. Pinning her. It shouldn’t feel so satisfying. He forced himself to roll to the side so she could breathe. He was having trouble enough filling his own lungs.

He looked at her. Her lips were still slick and red—her cheeks red now too. His body shook. He didn’t know how he was going to survive this.

He leaned forward, instinct driving him. He kissed her. Swirling his tongue around the warmth of her mouth. She gasped deep and opened for him—he loved the way she opened for him. He wanted back inside her tight, wet heat. Memory of that sensation seized him—that heat, that wet?

Shit. He hadn’t stopped to use a condom. He hadn’t even thought of it. How out of control was that? How irresponsible? How freaking insane? Cold panic flooded him. He was going to have to confess. “Did I hurt you?” he asked carefully.

“No.” She stretched, just like a little cat.

He smoothed his hands down her body. Petting her. Touching her helped settle his frantic pulse. So did the sweet smile on her lips.

“I didn’t use protection then,” he quietly admitted, watching close for her reaction. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry.”

Her blue eyes widened slightly. “I wasn’t thinking either.”

She licked her lips, a gleam lighting her eyes—it couldn’t be satisfaction?

“We don’t need to worry about contraception,” she said. “I’m covered for that. And I’m clean otherwise.”

The cold lump in his chest eased. He nodded. “Me too. First time I’ve gone without a jacket in a decade.”

She smiled that sly smile. “It felt good.”

Hell, he was hard again. He wanted again. Which should be impossible—he’d been almost unconscious a couple minutes ago. And right now he should be freaking out about making such a rookie mistake. But the insanity was sliding over him again, a hot haze clouding his rational mind. Sliding straight back into fantasy.

Her fantasy.

“Burglars. When they’re caught. Have to be punished.” Her voice was so husky.

“Good point,” he answered. He watched the color of her eyes get swallowed her black pupils. “What’s the usual punishment?”

“They’re usually incarcerated.”

His heart stopped pumping. “Locked up?”

“Restrained.”

F*ck freaking out. He was having this moment while it was here. Good thing he knew how to improvise.

He manacled both her wrists in one hand—gripping them tight enough to leave a faint mark while he hauled her to her feet and marched his sexy prisoner to his room. He yanked aside clothes hangers in his wardrobe.

Neckties. He loathed wearing them at work but it seemed they did come in useful on occasion. He had a collection—variants of blue. He grabbed a few of the most navy to match her darkened eyes. He dangled them in front of her, silently asking the question.

She bent her head and coyly looked up at him like she was some saucy penitent. “Xander.” She answered in that way he’d told her that first time.

Consent.

He walked her to his bed and then, jerking his arm quickly, released her so she fell onto the mattress. She rolled with a little shimmy so she was on her back in the middle of his bed.

“You’d better tie me up tight,” she said in a kittenish voice. “I might try to escape.”

Satisfaction streamed through him—a torrent of hot, male pleasure. She’d asked. And he was more than happy to give her everything she wanted.

Chelsea couldn’t stop the tremors shaking her body in regular bursts. She’d never been tied up before. Never thought she’d be into it. But she’d never felt as sexy when he took her arm and stretched it up, tying the material around her wrist and then securing the other end to his headboard. He did the same to her other arm. Then he did one leg—spreading her so she was like a star in the centre of his bed.

She’d creamed up in excitement already. The trust she had in him. She’d dared him and he rose to her challenge.

She loved that.

She circled her hips even as he tied the last of the restraints carefully around her ankle.

“Tug for me,” he instructed.

She strained to pull her legs together. No way could she achieve it. Oh man, he really had her tied tight. Open.

“Hurt?”

She shook her head. It was tight but not painful. And so thrilling.

“If you don’t like it, say the word, anytime.” He looked at her. “That word would be no.”

“Xander.” She said her yes-word instead. Because she wanted this so damn much. She couldn’t wait for him to touch her. She was on the edge of an orgasm already—just from the anticipation. From the dominance he had over her. But it was at her instigation. She knew, ultimately, she had the control in this.

He ran a hand down her body, eyes following how her black suit clung to her. “I’ll get you another of these, he promised. “In fact. I’m getting in a bulk order.”

He turned and walked out of the room. She swallowed, wondering what he’d gone for.

A minute later he reappeared—large shears in his hand. The steel blades glittered. She shivered, doubly excited by the frisson of danger. She knew he’d never really hurt her—she knew he planned to cut her free later.

His eyes were cool, his gaze firm. His brows flickered at the ripple of desire that trammelled through her body. “This turning you on, p-ssycat?”

She licked her lips.

“You gonna purr for me?”

She tilted her chin at him—about the only movement she could make. “Make me.”

His grin flashed but his jaw hardened. “I do like to make my prisoners scream.”

Her nipples were so hard it was a wonder they hadn’t poked through the material already. He pinched the tip of one with his thumb and forefinger. The tiny pain made her jump. Heat and tension made her sex clench.

Then he let her nipple slip from his fingers so it was only the fabric he still held. He pulled it further from her body and snipping that pinch of black away. He released it and the fabric snapped to cling back to her skin. He tweaked where it lay, so her nipple then poked through the circular hole he’d just cut.

He looked at it for a moment, satisfaction in his gaze. “Nice,” he nodded.

Chelsea melted in the heat. How had she thought she could compete with him in any kind of game?

He bent, holding the shears against her tight breast. Pressing the cold, closed blades against her soft flesh, pushing her nipple higher. He opened his mouth and sucked the very tip into his mouth, his tongue pushing the sensitive bud to the roof of his mouth.

She cried out—couldn’t help it. It was too sensitive.

He released her and grinned. Leaned to the other side to pinch her other breast. To cut away the fabric covering that nipple. Then kissed and squeezed the nub he’d exposed.

Chelsea writhed as much as she could, desperate for him to touch her everywhere—oh who was she kidding? She just wanted him to eat her.

And he knew it. He laughed.

“What treasures have we got underneath here?” He patted her p-ssy with downward strokes just like she was a little cat who didn’t like her hair being rubbed the wrong way. She shimmied under his touch—wanting him to go lower, to bare her. To make her come. She wanted to come so badly.

Very carefully he snipped the slit wider—taking inches of material away. She could feel the air against her skin. Then she could feel his breath.

The scissors clattered to the floor and her eyes all but rolled back into her head as she went delirious. The guy could do wicked things with his tongue.

“Please, please, please.”

Finally he found the scissors again, running them the length of her legs to cut the fabric—she gasped as cooler air hit her skin. She needed it.

Needed him more.

“Xander.”

He thrust home, arched up on his hands to driving deeper, deeper still. She cried out, calling to him, revelling in his possession. The most unrestrained she’d ever been with him. And he called right back—his eyes, his movements as wild, as passionate. As complete.

There was nothing between them. She arched her neck, smiling though her eyes were closed. The catsuit lay in ribbons around them. Their skin stuck in the sweaty heat they’d built.

She felt replete. So consumed. So content.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” he murmured.

“Letting go with me.”

He didn’t answer. But he lifted away from her to kneel on the bed beside her and looking down the length of her body.

“You going to untie me?” She had a mind to tell him not to, to tell him to keep her there for the afternoon and do it all again.

“No.” His answer was uncompromising and exactly what she’d wanted. “You went away without telling me where. Left me not knowing when or if you were ever coming back. I’m not letting you go again.”

“Ever?” she teased, her toes curling in anticipation. “I’m tied to your bed for good?” She laughed. “Next time I’m tying you up. You’ve no idea how liberating it is.”

He stared at her for a long moment. To her surprise the amusement in his eyes faded.

“Xander?” She lifted her head as she saw him freeze back into ‘bland’.

“It’s okay.” Xander coughed, and turned his back to her. “I guess I’ll set you free.”

He picked up the shears and sliced through the ties, unbinding one of her ankles, then the other. He avoided her gaze as he moved round the bed to release her wrists as well.

Xander felt like a cement truck had just dumped its load of cold wet concrete into his veins. Now it was solidifying—stopping his heart from pumping. From feeling. He didn’t like this game anymore. Because it wasn’t a game.

He wasn’t going to let her go?

Those words echoed. He heard another voice snarling them.

Xander froze. He didn’t want to threaten her that way. He knew what it was like to be so afraid. Terrified of what might happen when his dad caught up with him and his mom.

Only now he feared he understood his father’s madness. He had it in him. He didn’t want to let her go. He’d do anything to stop her leaving him again.

You can’t leave me. You’ll never get away from me.

The words his father hadn’t just shouted at his mother. He’d whispered them to her through a locked and barricaded door, bloodcurdlingly soft as Xander had curled in a ball beside his mom. They’d been so scared they didn’t even breathe, hoping they hadn’t been detected.

Xander never wanted to see Chelsea afraid of him. But he understood his father now. Xander too was possessive to the point of madness. He couldn’t go down this track. He gritted his teeth. He was a stronger man than his father. He wasn’t doing that to Chelsea.

He rummaged in a drawer and tossed a tee-shirt at her. “I need you to go now. I’ve got somewhere else I need to be tonight.”

He saw confusion bloom in her eyes, shock rob her cheeks of that pretty post-orgasm flush. He glanced away. He didn’t want to see it. It was the best thing for her. For them both.

“Pardon?” She sounded stunned.

“I need you to go.” He looked at her again. “I’ve got other plans.”

She blinked but didn’t move.

“I need to spell it out?” Bitter anger surged in him. Mostly with himself. But he had to get away from this nightmare. The horror in his own head. “I don’t want to see you again.”

She got off the bed and stalked towards him. “Xander, we just had the best sex ever. You couldn’t get enough of it. You were—” she broke off.

He knew why she had. He’d been out of control. He had. So caught up in his lust for her, his need to make her his. To own. To control. To keep.

And that was the problem.

“We’re done.” He walked out of his bedroom. “You can keep the tee-shirt.”