He jumps to his feet. "Cassidy, stop this shit now!" He disappears from our room and slams the door. My heart is in my throat. My breathing is shallow and hard to control.
Hot tears run down my temples and onto the pillow. After a few moments, I hear the front door open and then shut. I curl my knees up and cry, tears falling quick like rain.
"I'd never hurt you."
I open my eyes to complete darkness, the sound of the fan clicking as it spins, and those words. The bed dips around me and I soon feel Max's heat on top of me. His hand circles the side of my neck.
His breath hits my cheek. "Don’t be afraid of me."
He presses his lips to mine, and he tastes sweet and poisonous. Like rum. Like Max Butcher. His naked body radiates heat against my skin. His erection pulsates hard against my thigh. Opening for him, I wrap my legs around his hips, feed my fingers up through his dark-brown hair, and deepen our kiss.
Neediness takes him over as he thrusts into me on a groan. His palms slam into the pillow on either side of my face. As he rolls his hips against me, my backside curves up.
I grip his shoulders and neck. There is desperation in his movements as he threads his hand under my backside and lifts me up to meet his powerful thrusts. Focusing on his own orgasm—I can feel it by the way he moves—he begins to pick up pace.
When he takes me hard like this, it's as if I can feel his penis inside my abdomen. He's so large and I'm so small. If I placed my palm on my lower belly, I'm sure I'd feel him knocking on the other side.
My pleasure is mixed with pain again, just like the first time, and I cry out his name. He groans deep and long, drops one elbow onto the mattress, and steals my breath as his weight crushes me. His face dips into the curve of my neck. "Cassidy."
There are moments when it becomes too much. Too intense. But he keeps going. Growing more desperate for his own release.
I come twice. My breath is his name; Max.
He keeps his rhythm up.
Fierce and determined.
His bicep contracts by my face as he gets rougher. Deeper. His fingers massage my backside, manoeuvring me. Suddenly, his teeth bite down on my shoulder as he comes. His hips keep thrusting through his long orgasm, each pump throwing me up towards the headboard.
He finally stills on top of me, breathing heavily.
He presses his forehead to mine, his body hovering just above me. "You're all I want."
My body trembles, and Iama silly little girl because I'd thought love would be warmth in my chest and heart, and peace and contentment in my soul. But it's not contentment. It's not peaceful. It's terrifying. It's so strong that I know it could undo me. It could unravel everything that I am, strip me back until I'm nothing but bare bones and a swollen heart.
As my tears fall, he kisses the corner of each eye. "Don't cry. Did I hurt you?"
I shake my head.
He rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I kiss him desperately. He touches the tears beading by my eyes and then brushes his fingers through my hair, down my back, and up again. "Do you still want this with me?" he says against my lips.
I nod with my heart in my throat. "You're not a bad person, Max," I breathe. "I know you aren't."
He kisses me hard.
This is my town too, Butcher!
I don't takea commercial flight home from Bali. This time, I fly in Jimmy's private jet with the boys and Flick and Stacey. I feel like a celebrity. Not only because of the James Bond style private jet—double O so cool—but also because my phone has been buzzing non-stop with texts from everyone I know. They're asking about the photos of Max and me at the wedding, which are circulating Twitter like a plague.
There is a particularly badly angled photo of me sticking my tongue out and Max sucking on it. I cringe and half cover my face, hoping my parents don't see it. Braving the Twitface platform, I read some of the comments and conclude that people suck.
As always, there are a lot of comments about Max and his never-ending string of conquests, which surprisingly includes me listed as a side piece. At least I'm listed.
There are personal attacks on my character from people I've never met. Apparently, I'm pregnant. A slut. A tart. Too young for him. I have small tits—that one hurts. I'mnot very good at ballet, but I've managed to sleep my way to the top, which is funny because all of my ballet mistresses are just that...mistresses. I'm apparently really dumb and ditzy andJessicahas no idea what Max sees in me. I have also been really busy because there are, like, tons of guys commenting that they'd had me first. And they aredetailed. I'm also the sister of Konnor, so he was mentioned a few times and that makes my blood boil. Toni has replied to some of the nastier comments and he is so witty and cutting, supporting me and deflecting when he can. He's my rock in every way.
I try so hard not to care. I try to remember these comments are coming from bored people who have nothing better to do than live vicariously through me.
I have several missed calls from Konnor and a few voicemails I'm yet to open. That is a can of worms I'm keeping shut until I'm alone. I doubt Max will take kindly to whatever Konnor has to say about us.
