Stain (15 page)

Chapter 17

Aylee

“Am I taking you home?” he asks, with visible tension in his clenched jaw. There’s a dark expression on his face that goes beyond simple brooding. Silently, I wonder if I did or said anything wrong.

“No,” the answer comes too quick. I hate how desperate I am right now for even the smallest sliver of his time and attention. “I’m supposed to be sleeping over at Mallory’s tonight.”

Nothing and then, “He let you off your chain?” The question drips with so much disdain, it burns like acid. There’s no reading his expression when he briefly turns to me. He’s completely closed off.

I don’t pretend not to know who he’s talking about. He saw the bruise on my cheek. He may not be the school type, but that certainly doesn’t mean he is stupid. He knows what’s happening. He knows Tim hurt me. Except he has no idea to what extent. And I want to keep it that way.

I hesitate for a small fraction of a second before throwing caution to the wind and setting my hand on his thigh. He visibly jerks, his thigh muscle tensing beneath my hand like my touch hurt him. When I make to pull back, his hand falls on mine like an anvil. His grip is so tight I’m afraid he might break my fingers.

“Maddox.” The whimper of his name instantly loosens his grip.

Taking his eyes momentarily off the road, he looks at me with sincerity. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. He keeps my hand buried beneath the warm weight of his own.

We drive in silence going to a destination only he knows. It doesn’t matter where he’s taking me or where we end up. As long as I’m not going home. I’m content being in his truck. I’m content having my hand sandwiched between his palm and thigh. I’m content simply orbiting around him, basking in the lure of his presence. Bliss I’ve seldom known is in this moment.

Roughly forty-five minutes later, we pull up to an old, misshapen wire fence. Just beyond the fence are rows upon rows of massive steel, rectangular containers that stand maybe about forty to fifty feet high. It’s the sort of cargo containers you’d find attached to the back of semitrucks on the interstate.

Looking away from the lot, I ask, “What are we doing here?” He cuts the engine and pulls the key out of the ignition.

Wordlessly, he opens the driver’s side door and hops out. “Getting you a good grade.”

Ignoring that little voice in my head telling me this probably isn’t a good idea, I jump out of the truck, close the door behind me, and run to join him a few feet away from the eight-foot high fence. “You’re not actually thinking of going over that…right?”

He’s running before I even get the last word out. Jumping onto the fence, it squeaks and trembles when he lands on it. He straddles it at the top for a second before swinging both legs on one side and leaping off without the slightest hesitation. He lands on the other side effortlessly.

“It’s your turn,” he casually says, like jumping a fence is a common, leisure activity.

Trepidation twists my insides as I shake my head. “There’s no way I’m jumping this fence.”

“You’re going to have to if you’re going to see what I want to show you.”

Curiosity mixed with a good dose of skepticism prompts me to ask, “What is it?”

He laughs. “Get your ass over here and you’ll see it.”

I bite on my lower lip, completely uneasy now. “I don’t think…”

“Stop thinking,” he snaps, but then a little gentler he says, “I won’t let you fall.” I catch his eyes peering at me through the holes of the fence. It’s that pointed, magnifying stare that seems able to observe me down to the molecular level. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” he utters with such unshakable certainty I’d be stupid not to believe him.

Even with all the trust I choose to put in him, the panicked, adventure-less part of me is still screaming,
“What the hell are you doing?”
as I begin to scale the fence. I ignore it as best as I can, focusing solely on Maddox waiting for me on the other side. It’s no easy task making it to the top especially with the skirt and the partially-heeled bootees I’m wearing.

At the top, I look down at him. “Ready?”

He nods, planting his feet firmly. “Jump.”

Eyes clenched shut, and with a small choked scream on my lips, I jump. He catches me in a princess-carry hold as I land in his arms with an ‘oomph’ sound. My skirt folds upward revealing far too much of my thighs and my hair is in disarray around my face. I’m sure I look terrible as I quickly reach out a hand to smooth down my skirt.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks with that patented half smirk that weakens my knees and sends the butterflies in my stomach fluttering.

“It was, actually,” I begin, wanting to protest and wrap my arms around his neck when he sets me down on my feet. “But you made it easy.”

He only takes my hand in response and pulls me after him as he trudges across the dimly lit lot. When we stop in the towering shadow of one of the steel containers, he lets my hand go and reaches for the chipped, yellow rung of the container’s ladder.

With a groan, I ask, “More climbing?”

He chuckles. “It’s the last of it.”

He goes up first and I follow behind. When he reaches the top, he holds a hand down to help me up the rest of the way. On the roof of the container, our footsteps echo against the steel as he leads and I trail after him. It’s cooler up here as the night air whistles past our ears; it skims along my bare skin and leaves behind goose bumps. When he comes to a stop at the center edge of the container, I stand next to him with my arms tightly folded across my chest.

Turning my head at his sudden movement, I see him pull his sweater over his head. The white shirt he has on beneath rolls up a bit revealing an enticing glimpse of his tattoo-covered washboard abs and the top of his jeans riding low on his hips. Warmth floods my cheeks when I look up to find his left eyebrow cocked up and a smug grin on his face. “Still not looking, huh? Come here.” We each take a step forward at the same time. I duck my head as he smoothly sweeps the sweater on me. 

Scrunching my nose at the laughter in his voice, I slip one arm and then the other inside the sleeves as he holds out each for me. “It’s not nice to tease,” I say, quietly drowning in his sweater. Still hot from his body, it’s like having his arms around me, and the scent of his cologne becomes the only fragrance in the world I want to smell.
All
the time.

Sweeping a tendril of hair near my mouth behind my ear, he reaches for the front of his sweater to tug me forward. He lowers his head down slightly and whispers, “But I’m so good at it.”

Licking my lips and blinking up at him, I add, “I don’t know what to do when you say things like that to me.” It’s terrible how I can’t seem to stop blurting out stupid and embarrassing things like this when he’s so close to me. His nearness is my kryptonite.

“Lick your lips for me.” It’s an unexpected request that my body instantly follows. My tongue flicks across my lips, subconsciously biting at the inside flesh when his eyes fixate on my mouth.

He takes my face in his hands and tilts my head up. “Do it again. Slower.”

“Maddox…”

“Shhh,” he soothes, before he commands, “do it.”

I feel so silly tracing my tongue slowly across my top and bottom lip. But I do as he says. “Happy?”

His eyes are darker now, his breaths a little sharper, labored, and I blink fast and silently gasp at the straining bulge pressing into me. The thought of being disgusted or afraid doesn’t even cross my mind once. In fact, it’s all I can do to keep myself from leaning a little closer, desperate to feel just a little more of that impressive length. Heat boils my blood and warms my entire body, the evidence of my own desire blooming in my cheeks and panting breath.

“Not nearly,” he answers. With a sharp exhale that fans against my face, he abruptly releases me like
I’ve
repulsed him.

He swaggers to the edge of the container and drops down to his haunches before taking a seat, his long legs dangling over the edge.

With cooling passion, I stand there for a long while after going back and forth on whether I should follow him. But with everything in my body pulling me to him like a magnet, there’s really no other choice for me.

With as much ladylike grace as I can muster, I come to knees-first beside him, then settle down to a sitting position making sure to tuck my skirt around my thighs before following his lead in letting my legs dangle over the edge. “Why are you so angry? Did
I
make you angry?”

He shrugs. “I’m always angry. Can’t remember a day I haven’t felt like destroying something. Or someone. It’s always there, just beneath the surface. Sometimes I can control it. Other times…I don’t want to.” I take in his softly-worded confession and let it permeate my bones. Silently, I listen to him, both enjoying the gruffness of his voice and the idea of being someone he trusts enough to talk to. I feel so incredibly touched right now. More than words can even say.

We fall quiet for a beat before he looks over at me and continues. “Me and you? We’re not that different.” He sighs. “And it freaks me the fuck out. I feel like I have to protect you. There’s something about you being fucked with that pisses me off. Just like it does with my brother. He used to get picked on a lot. Especially by this one kid. As you’ve probably been able to tell, Noah isn’t very confrontational so he really wouldn’t do much about it. His approach is to ignore it and pray like hell it’ll go away eventually.” The hint of disdain in his voice is offset by his clear exasperation of his brother.

“So what happened with the kid? Did he end up leaving Noah alone?”

He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “I cornered the guy in the bathroom, smashed his face in a few times against the sinks, and because he liked to call Noah a ‘fudge packer,’ I thought it’d be nice if he knew what that actually felt like. So I rammed a plunger handle up his ass.” When he turns to look at me, it’s with a dark, menacing look that instantly chills my blood. “Do you want to know how I felt after I did that?”

“Tell me,” I answer quietly.

“Incredibly satisfied.” I don’t find any hint of regret on his face, and I don’t know why I’m not more unnerved by that. The unexpected caress of his hand curving around to the inside of my upper right thigh squeezes my fluttering heart to my throat. As I stare unblinkingly down at that all-too-masculine, tattooed hand gliding ever so gently over the beginning of my reddish pink scar tissue, my first instinct is to flinch and pull away. “Sort of like how I imagine you feel when you do this?” Everything in me is fighting to stand up and run. Run and hide. Run and cry. Run and cut.

“Aylee.” His voice grounds me. Snatches me from the atmosphere of my floating mind and tethers me to his unmovable force. “You’re shaking.”

I am. The furious tremble in my legs is embarrassing. “I’m sorry.”

“Look at me.” And my eyes drift up to his face. “You need to stop apologizing for shit that’s not your fault.”

Nodding, my eyes drift away. If I open my mouth now, I’m sure I’ll do one of two things: cry uncontrollably or spill my secrets. Neither scenario is allowed. I’m not nearly ready to push him away with all my baggage. The silence that falls between us vibrates with words I cannot say. And we stay like that for a few minutes.

“Look up.”

My body was created to follow his directives. I can’t help it. Looking up, I find a midnight sky speckled with glittering stars. There’s so many of them my eyes bounce around to take them all in. Without the interference of light pollution, they sparkle so brilliantly, stretching as far and wide as the eye could see. “It’s breathtaking.” I look at him. “How did you find this place?”

“Got my ways.” At his flippant reply, my eyes travel back to the sky. From my peripheral I see him recline backward as he raises his arms to pillow his head.

I sigh. “I wish I had our project package and a camera. This would’ve been a great image to capture.”

“It’s not like we can’t come back.”

“We?” I can’t help the dose of happiness. “So, you’re doing the project with me? I thought you said it’s a waste of time?”

He has his phone in front of him so he doesn’t immediately answer as he furiously types away. It’s illogical that I should become jealous of a phone and even more absurd for me to be jealous of whoever it is that has stolen his attention. Looking back up at the stars, it’s difficult finding any sort of beauty there when my thoughts are so preoccupied with such ugly feelings. Silently, I work myself into an unnecessary mess and only notice he’s come to his feet when I feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder. He removes that hand and holds it out for me to take. In one swift move, he pulls me to my feet.

“You haven’t bored me so far.” He reaches out for a tendril of my hair and mindlessly toys with it between his fingers. “So I’m guessing for now you’re worth my time.” 

He’s hot and cold. And I shouldn’t find his arrogance so sexy. I shouldn’t find myself doting on his every word. I shouldn’t be so eager to pant at his feet for a morsel of his affection. I shouldn’t want anything to do with him. And yet, here I am reveling in his attention, while silently, fiendishly waiting, wanting for an opportunity to experience a little bit of his sin.