Locke
Page 40
Her breathing accelerates. I study her face, noticing with great satisfaction that her pulse is going insane. The vein in her neck is pulsing faster with each passing second.
“It’s not that I’m giving up on you—or us—Maddox. I just think that we need to talk about things before we jump into bed with each other.”
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I say. Her eyes narrow at that, and I could kick my own ass for blurting that out. “Yeah, clearly I’m not good at this shit, Em. Cut me some slack. Bottom line, I don’t want you away from me. I need you near me. I need to feel your warm skin, smell your intoxicating scent, and hear your sass even when you’re silent. I get that we need to hash shit out, but right now, I need to feel that you’re still here more than I need to waste time with some pleasantries of separate bedrooms. I need you, Em. Maybe even more than you need me at the moment, and that’s a whole fucking lot.” I kiss her lightly, breathing her scent in deeply, before taking off to the bathroom to shower.
(EMMY)
“Okay, okay. Get your wits about you, girlfriend,” I mumble to myself.
I can hear him moving around in the bathroom, the door cracked I’m sure so he can hear me if I need him. He’s humming to himself, the almost upbeat tune so unlike him. I’ve witnessed the closed-off, hard-around-the-edges, vibrating-with-anger Maddox slowly start to fade away since our time at the cabin. It’s hard to pinpoint when I noticed it happen first. But I do remember the exact moment he flipped a switch and the old Maddox came back.
So, yeah—I’m a little hesitant to believe that this is real. I would be stupid not to have my doubts. I also want nothing more than to knock all this stress off my shoulders and believe. I was so ready to just give it all up. To give him up.
If you don’t take this opportunity, this second chance, you’ll regret it forever. Just put one foot in front of the other. Baby steps… We all have to learn to walk somewhere, right? And then—then, when you get steady on your feet—that’s when you gallop with everything you have. The beauty of it all will be that the man by your side has already learned how to walk again once, so he’ll be there—ready— to hold your hand the whole way.
I repeat that over and over. Clearly lost in my head, I missed Maddox walking back into the room. He’s standing next to his ridiculously huge bed, a towel hanging low on his hips and water drops still rolling down his chest. I watch as one drops from his chin and lands between his pecs. My hand twitches in my lap as I watch it slowly—so erotically slowly—travel through the dusting of black hair, between the two perfectly sculpted rows of his abs, and then continue its path right between the deep V disappearing between his white towel.
I gulp, the sound so loud that it’s like a gunshot blast. At the risk of making myself look like some leacher, I move my eyes back up his torso, shifting the best I can to relieve some of the uncomfortable pressure building between my legs. His tattoos are so vibrant, the red dancing with the black from his wrist to the base of his neck. His chest is bare of ink, but I can see some more red shading on his left side. God, he is delicious.
“You done yet?”
My head snaps up, meeting his laughing eyes. His face completely relaxed and I gasp at his beauty.
Then I stupidly tell him, “You’re so beautiful.” My cheeks heat instantly.
His lips move, a small twitch, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes, however, are bright. The normal hardness has been replaced with contentment.
He’s happy.
“I’m not sure that’s going to do much for my ego,” he laughs.
“You’re happy?”
Cue the verbal vomit. It has to be my medication.
“I’m getting there, angel.”
I nod and his lips twitch again. I watch, stunned, as he turns and drops his towel before walking into the closet.
Well, fuck me.
Chapter 26—Emmy
Maddox continued to stick close to me as the day faded into night. I slept off and on, the pain and general uncomfortableness of my two broken limbs making it challenging to fall asleep completely. So, naturally, I woke up in a pissy mood. He takes it in stride. And by in stride, I mean he ignores it completely, choosing instead to decide when I need to do certain things.
He forces me to eat dinner by sitting on the side of the bed and holding the fork of chicken to my mouth until I finally give in. Then he decides that I need to use the bathroom, so he carefully carries me into the bathroom, past the huge bathtub and shower area, and into a smaller room just with the toilet. He is kind enough to leave the room for me to have some privacy, but he still leaves the door open.
I lift up on my ass and pull the hem of my shirt so I’m not sitting on it. The embarrassment of my situation makes me cringe. I know he can hear me relieving myself and I hate being this…weak and out of control.
After wiping, I use the wall to stand and then weakly call out, “I’m done.”
He comes in scowling because I’m standing. Then he bends to lift me in his arms.
“Is my weight too much?” I ask, worried about his leg.
I admit that I’ve known about his amputation for years, known it happened long before I came into the picture, but I know nothing else. The outsider would never know. He doesn’t limp. He stands tall and proud. He is always wearing pants; I’ve never seen him with anything other than pants. Even when he goes to the gym I know that he wears long sweats then too.
“You weigh next to nothing, Em. But even if you didn’t, I’m good. I’ve had a long time to get my body to where it is now. Most days, I don’t even notice it.”
“Really?” I ask when he gently places me down on the mattress. I use my good arm and my hips to shift my body until I get comfortable.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there and helps me when I need it, placing a pillow back under my leg, rolling the covers back up to my waist, and setting my book back at my side. I let him fuss. It seems to be helping whatever residual issues he’s dealing with from yesterday—the attack.
Thinking that, once he gets me settled, he will answer me, I’m shocked stupid when he walks out of the room.
“It’s not that I’m giving up on you—or us—Maddox. I just think that we need to talk about things before we jump into bed with each other.”
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I say. Her eyes narrow at that, and I could kick my own ass for blurting that out. “Yeah, clearly I’m not good at this shit, Em. Cut me some slack. Bottom line, I don’t want you away from me. I need you near me. I need to feel your warm skin, smell your intoxicating scent, and hear your sass even when you’re silent. I get that we need to hash shit out, but right now, I need to feel that you’re still here more than I need to waste time with some pleasantries of separate bedrooms. I need you, Em. Maybe even more than you need me at the moment, and that’s a whole fucking lot.” I kiss her lightly, breathing her scent in deeply, before taking off to the bathroom to shower.
(EMMY)
“Okay, okay. Get your wits about you, girlfriend,” I mumble to myself.
I can hear him moving around in the bathroom, the door cracked I’m sure so he can hear me if I need him. He’s humming to himself, the almost upbeat tune so unlike him. I’ve witnessed the closed-off, hard-around-the-edges, vibrating-with-anger Maddox slowly start to fade away since our time at the cabin. It’s hard to pinpoint when I noticed it happen first. But I do remember the exact moment he flipped a switch and the old Maddox came back.
So, yeah—I’m a little hesitant to believe that this is real. I would be stupid not to have my doubts. I also want nothing more than to knock all this stress off my shoulders and believe. I was so ready to just give it all up. To give him up.
If you don’t take this opportunity, this second chance, you’ll regret it forever. Just put one foot in front of the other. Baby steps… We all have to learn to walk somewhere, right? And then—then, when you get steady on your feet—that’s when you gallop with everything you have. The beauty of it all will be that the man by your side has already learned how to walk again once, so he’ll be there—ready— to hold your hand the whole way.
I repeat that over and over. Clearly lost in my head, I missed Maddox walking back into the room. He’s standing next to his ridiculously huge bed, a towel hanging low on his hips and water drops still rolling down his chest. I watch as one drops from his chin and lands between his pecs. My hand twitches in my lap as I watch it slowly—so erotically slowly—travel through the dusting of black hair, between the two perfectly sculpted rows of his abs, and then continue its path right between the deep V disappearing between his white towel.
I gulp, the sound so loud that it’s like a gunshot blast. At the risk of making myself look like some leacher, I move my eyes back up his torso, shifting the best I can to relieve some of the uncomfortable pressure building between my legs. His tattoos are so vibrant, the red dancing with the black from his wrist to the base of his neck. His chest is bare of ink, but I can see some more red shading on his left side. God, he is delicious.
“You done yet?”
My head snaps up, meeting his laughing eyes. His face completely relaxed and I gasp at his beauty.
Then I stupidly tell him, “You’re so beautiful.” My cheeks heat instantly.
His lips move, a small twitch, but he doesn’t smile. His eyes, however, are bright. The normal hardness has been replaced with contentment.
He’s happy.
“I’m not sure that’s going to do much for my ego,” he laughs.
“You’re happy?”
Cue the verbal vomit. It has to be my medication.
“I’m getting there, angel.”
I nod and his lips twitch again. I watch, stunned, as he turns and drops his towel before walking into the closet.
Well, fuck me.
Chapter 26—Emmy
Maddox continued to stick close to me as the day faded into night. I slept off and on, the pain and general uncomfortableness of my two broken limbs making it challenging to fall asleep completely. So, naturally, I woke up in a pissy mood. He takes it in stride. And by in stride, I mean he ignores it completely, choosing instead to decide when I need to do certain things.
He forces me to eat dinner by sitting on the side of the bed and holding the fork of chicken to my mouth until I finally give in. Then he decides that I need to use the bathroom, so he carefully carries me into the bathroom, past the huge bathtub and shower area, and into a smaller room just with the toilet. He is kind enough to leave the room for me to have some privacy, but he still leaves the door open.
I lift up on my ass and pull the hem of my shirt so I’m not sitting on it. The embarrassment of my situation makes me cringe. I know he can hear me relieving myself and I hate being this…weak and out of control.
After wiping, I use the wall to stand and then weakly call out, “I’m done.”
He comes in scowling because I’m standing. Then he bends to lift me in his arms.
“Is my weight too much?” I ask, worried about his leg.
I admit that I’ve known about his amputation for years, known it happened long before I came into the picture, but I know nothing else. The outsider would never know. He doesn’t limp. He stands tall and proud. He is always wearing pants; I’ve never seen him with anything other than pants. Even when he goes to the gym I know that he wears long sweats then too.
“You weigh next to nothing, Em. But even if you didn’t, I’m good. I’ve had a long time to get my body to where it is now. Most days, I don’t even notice it.”
“Really?” I ask when he gently places me down on the mattress. I use my good arm and my hips to shift my body until I get comfortable.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there and helps me when I need it, placing a pillow back under my leg, rolling the covers back up to my waist, and setting my book back at my side. I let him fuss. It seems to be helping whatever residual issues he’s dealing with from yesterday—the attack.
Thinking that, once he gets me settled, he will answer me, I’m shocked stupid when he walks out of the room.
