Callum
Paroxysm (n) a sudden attack or violent expression of a particular emotion or activity
I watch Maeve as she works on Liam. This isn’t what I’d been expecting. She doesn’t hesitate like I thought she would. Each slice is done with smooth, calculated effort. It has me more concerned than anything. I walk around the edge of the ring of light, hoping that she’d see me, that she’d hesitate. I know better than anyone how the thrill of violence and revenge can intoxicate, how it can get away from you, how things can go too far. But she’s too locked in. It isn’t until I hear Liam say the one thing he shouldn’t have said. The one thing that everyone, and I meaneveryone, has kept from her.
The truth behind her mother's death.
We are walking back to the room, but Maeve is robotic, absent. She pauses, only once, when she doesn’t know which direction to turn at the top of the stairs. I take the lead and open the bedroom door for her. She doesn’t look at me as she walks past. My chest aches. I shouldn’t have let her go down there.
I stand behind her as she gazes at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’s covered in blood from head to toe. My concern grows the longershe stands there, and I can’t take it anymore. I walk up to her and slowly begin to peel the blood-soaked clothes from her body. She looks fragile right now. She only touches me when she places a hand on my shoulder for balance as I slide her leggings and socks off. I turn the shower on, making sure it’s at the perfect temperature. She’s still staring at herself blankly. Now that the clothes are gone, there are distinct lines from where the hem of her clothes sat. Her skin is stained a light red from where the clothes stuck to her. I gently place my hands on her shoulders and walk into the shower with her, not bothering to remove my own clothes.
She stands under the water, motionless. I put soap on a loofah hanging on the door and gently wash her, the water soaking my jeans and t-shirt. She’s facing me, and I use the soap on my hands to wash her face. I shampoo her hair, then condition it before using the actual face wash to clean her face. A crimson river is flowing over the shower floor, into the drain. Once her face is clean, she opens her eyes and looks into mine, wordlessly searching. I run my hands through her hair, palm her face, and hold her gaze. Her eyes shift back and forth between mine, but her face remains expressionless.
I turn the water off and reach for the towels, drying her off as much as I can. She sits on a stool by the counter while I brush her hair. I watch her watching me, wishing she’d tell me what is going through her mind, but not wanting to push her. I gather her clothes from one of our bags and place them on the bed, then I strip out of my wet jeans and t-shirt, and put on dry ones. I walk back into the bathroom. She’s still sitting there on the stool, staring at herself in the mirror blankly. With my hand on her back, I guide her up and into the bedroom. I dress her and lay her in bed.
“I’m going to go get you some water, okay?” I whisper, but as I stand, she catches my arm.
“Stay,” she murmurs, hardly a whisper. “Please.”
How can I say no?
“Always,” I tell her. I slide beneath the covers and pull her against me. Her hands and feet feel like ice, as if the warmth of the shower didn’t seep into her skin at all.
Her breathing is even, but she isn’t asleep. The occasional sniffle escapes her, and I can feel the tears that have slipped silently from her eyes. I rub my thumbs across her skin in soothing circles. I don’t know what to say right now to help her. I feel lost.
Suddenly, she begins to slide my hand down her torso. My heart starts to pound in my throat. I don’t know what to do when she pauses at the hem of her shorts. I don’t move.
“Touch me,” she says, her voice so soft I almost miss it.
“Maeve,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Please,” a breathy whisper this time. “I need to feel something.” She pushes my hand under the waistband of her shorts, and I press my forehead into the back of her head and groan.
“Are you sure?” I ask once more, but her only reply is pushing my fingers between her lips, wet and wanting. She moans softly as my fingers roam around her clit. Her free hand moves to hold the back of my neck, pulling me closer. She exposes her neck to me, and I plant a kiss, biting gently before kissing along her collarbone. She opens herlegs more, moving one to hang over my hip. My cock is pressed firmly against her ass, and she slowly grinds against me as if her hips are matching the movements of my fingers working her up.
Her moans are soft and sweet, but when I slide two fingers into her wet entrance, she gasps. Her nails dig into my skin as I slowly work her higher and higher. Breathing ragged, chest heaving, she’s so close to the edge, but I stop. A broken cry leaves her, but not one of pleasure, more anger than anything. I don’t say anything. I kiss down her side, biting her hip, and a hiss escapes her. I place her leg over my shoulder, kissing the inside of her thigh. The closer I get to the place she aches for me to touch, the more I feel her back arching.
The moment my mouth makes contact with her pussy, I devour her like a starving man. As if this were my last meal. I give it everything I’ve got. Her hands grip my hair like her life depends on it.
“Fuck, Cal,” she says in a broken moan, but I need more. I hook two fingers inside her, and she gasps. I can feel her walls tighten around my fingers, and I apply more pressure. She’s so close, I can feel it. I slide my fingers in and out with a steady rhythm, my tongue lapping up her desire, sucking on her clit until she falls over the edge. I don’t stop until her body is shuddering, and I’ve made sure all of her desire is on my tongue. Finally, she goes limp, panting heavily, and her grip on my hair slackens. I kiss up her stomach, breasts, throat, and finally, her lips. She reaches for my boxer briefs.
“We don’t have to,” I say, breath heavy with desire.
“I need… I need you inside me,” she says, her eyes on mine, heavy and lust-filled. “Now.” She starts to slide my boxers off my hips, and I take over, discarding them at the foot of the bed. I hover over her, giving her time to change her mind. She grabs my cock in her hand and lines me up with her entrance, and I can’t stop the groan that rips from my chest when she grabs my hips, pulling me to her.
“Cal, please, just do it,” she begs, tears filling her eyes. “P… please.” And I lose all self-control. I can’t take it. I can’t stand to see her like this any longer.
I thrust, filling her within a second, and she lets out a guttural cry, nails digging into my back as she pulls my chest to hers, and her legs wrap around my waist. I get on my elbows and place one hand behind her head, holding her close to me as I thrust slowly and deeply.
It isn’t until I feel her walls tightening that I pull my head up, looking at her. Her eyes are closed, and she’s lost, but I need her here. I need her to know that I will always find her.
“Look at me, Maeve,” I growl, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Look. At. Me,” I demand, and this time her eyes fly open, locking with mine. “See me. Hear me. No matter how far you think you’ve gone, I will be right there to bring you back, Maeve. Always.”
I thrust deeper, keeping the slow pace. She starts to pant, broken pleas leaving her lips before she finally falls again, but I continue my thrusts until I find my release. I come so hard stars fill my vision, fisting the sheets beside her head, and I lean down to kiss her hard and deep. I need her to feel the truth.
“I love you,” she says against my lips in another broken whisper.
“And I you,mo agra. Always,” I tell her, kissing her before I roll onto my back and bring her with me. She lays her head in the middle of my chest. Her breathing evens out, and this time she does fall asleep.
