In silence we wait for the police, standing apart, each leaning on a pillar, as if supporting the dark sky.
When they arrive, it’s John himself who climbs out of the unmarked car, together with another cop, looking tired and unhappy. They greet us and come up the steps to examine the cleaver, while Octavia goes back inside to check on the kids.
The cops put on rubber gloves and pull out the cleaver, bag it, bag the piece of paper, and after asking all the usual questions, go away with the promise to let me know if anything comes up.
Yeah. Right. I won’t be holding my breath, that’s for sure. Whoever this prankster is, they know how to cover their ass.
Invisible. Silent. Leaving no tracks.
The sun has gone down, and the night is pressing in around me. I’m getting a bad feeling about this, so bad it reminds me of a hospital that smelled of death, a white room where my wife lay on a narrow bed and a doctor’s harrowed face when he gave the diagnosis.
The security company is coming tomorrow to install cameras, and knowing that is not enough to settle my heartbeat.
Octavia has taken the kids upstairs for an early night, and the night smells of something bitter, like poison.
I head back inside the house, into the dark kitchen, and locate the whiskey bottle under the kitchen sink. Unscrewing the lid, I take a few long gulps, the booze burning a path down my throat to my chest.
It’s a damn relief, to feel something other than anger and fear. And yet it’s not enough. So I drink more. Slam the bottle into the sink. Scratch at my cheeks. Clench and unclench my hands, rub at my scar.
Punch a dent into a cupboard. And again, until blood smears the wood from my knuckles, already busted from punching Ross earlier.
Needing to feel more.
By the time she comes down the stairs, the sound of her steps ringing too loud through my brain, I’m straining on my tether, my control barely hanging by a thread.
She stops at the kitchen door, a shadow framed by the light, and I lick my lips, leaning back against the counter, taking her figure in.
I’d blame the adrenaline, the frustration, the fucking nightmares for the way my cock’s hardening, but they have nothing to do with this.
This goddamn lust that’s coursing through me every single time I see her, every time she’s near. I just can’t stop it, can’t rein it in.
Not anymore.
“You should go,” I rasp.
“Matt…” She takes a step inside, and I throw a hand up, to stop her.
“Stay away from me,” I say, my voice strained. My pulse thuds in my ears. My body is taut with arousal, my stomach clenched, my dick aching.
“I can’t,” she whispers, stepping closer, lifting a hand to cup my face. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I just can’t.”
Chapter Twenty
Octavia
I can’t pull my hand away, can’t stop touching him. His beard bristles under my palm, tickling, and my fingertips touch his cheekbones, moving over soft, warm skin, and his eyelashes, dark spikes.
He’s staring down at me, a hungry look in his eyes. I trail my fingers lower, over his mouth. It’s sinfully soft. God, he’s so frigging tall and broad and strong. So warm and alive.
So sexy.
A low growl leaves his throat, and in the half-light, he looks like some mythical creature, a dangerous creature lurking in wait for me.
I whimper, aching between my legs, and deep inside.
His body is tense, his arms trembling. When I trail my hands down his corded neck and forearms, his biceps are bulging, his hands fisted. I can hear his breathing in the quiet of the house, and it’s fast and ragged.
The spice of his sweat is making my mouth water. Pepper and musk and a hint of pine, shooting straight to where I’m aching to feel him. The need is so strong it’s a physical ache.
“You didn’t listen to me. You’re still here.” His voice is gravelly, hoarse. “You should go, girl.”
And maybe that’s what pushes me over the edge, undoing my last inhibition, my last fear, because I slide my arms up his strong chest, feeling his taut muscles under the thin fabric of his T-shirt, distantly aware I’m moaning softly at the sensation of those hard planes and ridges, that broad, powerful chest, rising and falling under my hands.
Of him so close to me, visibly struggling to keep from touching me, his strength barely contained—visibly aroused, his hot, hard length caught in his jeans, brushing against me as I shift closer.
It’s like petting a wolf or a panther, knowing he might snap his chain at any moment, that he might just stop purring and attack, bite you, hold you down…
Oh God, this is crazy, I can’t pull away, though I know I should. I’m dizzy with desire like I’ve never felt before in my life.
“Fucking hell, you’re still here, and I can’t…” His whole body is shaking now, and I feel every tremor going through his powerful frame. His eyes are hooded, those long lashes hiding his gaze. “I can’t do this anymore. Fuck.”
“Please,” I whisper, not sure what I’m doing, only sure I can’t walk away from this.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, the growl back in his voice, making my knees weak. “Fuck, you have no idea…”
“Show me,” I breathe.
“Shit.” His hands are suddenly on me, grabbing my hips. In one swift movement, he swings me around and pushes me against the counter. “You want me to fuck you? Say it.”
A gasp leaves my lips.
“Because I will. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for days.” He lifts me up on the counter, presses between my legs, his cock a steel bar between us. Feeling it makes my breath catch. “Hot damn, girl,” he whispers, his voice dropping to a groan.
And he kisses me.
It’s nothing like I imagined it would be. Nothing gentle and soft about it. His mouth crashes on mine, his beard chafes my chin, his tongue pushes between my lips, stroking my tongue, the roof of my mouth, and I’m on fire.
He tastes of blood and smoke and fire. My hands slide up his powerful shoulders to his face, tangle in his silky hair. I kiss him back, my mouth opening for him, my tongue sliding against his, and need pulses deep in my belly. It’s a strange ache, deeper than anything I’ve ever felt before.
I want him inside me.
The thought startles me, but he swallows my gasp, devouring my mouth, his hands moving down my body to grip my waist.
Never fooled around with a guy before—my frigging braces saw to that, plus the bullying by Ross and his nasty gang of friends—and I never thought my first time would be like this.
Against a kitchen counter. With a man who looks more beast than man in the twilight. Whose grip on my body is bruising, his kiss rough and unrestrained, going on and on, sucking all the air from my lungs.
Lighting up my body from the inside like a runaway spark, racing through my veins like liquid flame, waking up every part of me.