I was wrong about love not being peaceful and content.
It is.
I am.
Every morning, Max drops me back at my studio and kisses me goodbye with no future plans set. But then every night, usually quite late, he picks me up and drives me to his house. I never say, ‘I’ll see you tonight’ just in case I jinx it or he feels I’m poking fun at the fact that we’re acting inseparable. It’s been like this for two weeks now. At my house, my bed is always made. At his house, his bed is messy and full of memories and laughter. I’m becoming accustomed to his study and work routine. He’s an early riser even if we’ve been up all night. While I snuggle naked beneath his sheets, he hits the gym. Then we have breakfast and shower together before he drops me home at 8:00 a.m. so I can get to ballet class for 9:00 a.m.
On the third Sunday morning, I pull my favourite skinny jeans up, jumping a little to stretch the denim over my bum. I can feel Max’s eyes lingering on my backside as I grab my white long-sleeve crop top off the floor.
After putting it on, I turn to acknowledge his eyeballing. ‘Yes, Max?’
‘I like you in jeans.’
I try not to beam like a massive dork because I’ve been planning this outfit for days.
In an hour, I’ll be sitting on the bleachers at Preston Retreat University, watching Max play for The Dingoes. Two wingers on his team have dropped out and his coach has begged him to fill in.
I raise a blonde eyebrow at him. ‘I thought you liked me in skirts and dresses?’
‘I do. But. . .your arse in those jeans.’ He bites his fist as he grins, his mouth a slash of mischief that cuts up his beautiful face. ‘I’m gonna be all over that after the game.’
My cheeks pinch with a smile. ‘Stop it.’
Still grinning to himself, Max leans down and starts filling his sports bag with his jersey and shoes. I let my eyes take him all in. A powerful physique wrapped in taut, tattooed skin that’s both a young man about to enjoy a recreational sport and a dangerous heir to an underground empire. He’s so much more right now than most people are in their entire lives.
I wander across his room to the punching bag and lay a few light hits on it. My knuckles ache immediately.
‘Frick. That’s hard.’
He laughs and pulls on a shirt. ‘What did you expect?’
I giggle a little, cupping my fist. ‘Some padding.’
‘No. You’ll have bruised knuckles after a session on the bags.’
‘So do you guys all box?’
He slings his bag over his shoulder. ‘Just for fitness.’
‘But Butch is a professional boxer?’
Max opens the bedroom door, waving me through. ‘Was.’
As we take Romeo to the game, I jiggle in the passenger seat, nervous about sitting on The Dingoes’ side of the bleachers because they’re playing against The Browns – Konnor’s team. I’m not even sure if my brother will be on the field or if he’ll be sitting the whole game on the bench. After taking time off to focus on his abstinence from alcohol, maybe he’s also deferred from rugby. . . I doubt it though. He has a part athletic scholarship, so I imagine that only stands if he’s playing.
My belly churns and Max glances at my leg, watching it vibrate with nervous tension.
‘You nervous?’
I look at him. ‘You know you’re up against Konnor’s team.’
A huge grin spreads across his cheeks, his dimple mocking the world with its irresistibility. ‘Can’t wait.’
‘Max. I love my brother. Play nice.’
‘I will.’ He is still grinning, and it’s cool and confident.
‘Ugh. You’re a menace.’
Once we arrive, Bronson takes over as chaperone – apparently, I need one – and Max disappears into the sports block after demanding a good luck kiss. Bronson and I find a spot on the bleachers, and I buy a hotdog and chips.
Game food is the bomb.
The sky is crystal clear, blue and picturesque, but the wind has a nasty nip to it. I’m relieved my skin is completely covered.
As I search for Konnor or Blesk, I take a big bite out of my hotdog.
Bronson laughs and I tilt my head at him, searching his clear blue eyes. ‘What?’
‘Nothing.’ He chuckles and helps himself to my chips. ‘Who are you looking for?’
I sigh a little. ‘My brother. He’s playing for the opposite team.’
‘Ah. I’m sure he’ll go easy on him. If Maxipad wins this one, he’s gonna be in the best fucking mood tonight. Note that. If you want something, ask tonight.’
‘I have everything I want,’ I say, smiling at the freshly clipped grass. In the corner of my eye, I see Bronson staring at me with the same unapologetic gaze Max has, and then he smiles. ‘You love my brother.’
I grin down at my lap, my cheeks hot. ‘Stop it, Bronson.’
My attention is drawn to the field as a voice introduces the away team. They run on and I scan the faces and numbers, hoping I don’t see. . .
Frick.
But at least Konnor looks stronger than the last time I saw him. Maybe I won’t wince every time Max tackles him. . .
At the introduction of the other team, I uncross my legs and lean forward in anticipation for Max’s entrance. All the players jog onto the field. My Max: number three.
I hold my breath as Konnor stares in Max’s direction. When he turns to search the bleachers, I breathe out slowly. His eyes land on me. I wave at him and smile. The one he returns is tight, but still visible even from a distance.
The players move to the sideline. The crowd quiets. Then the whistle blows and the two teams are slamming against each other in the scrum. The ball is fed through the centre.
And it’s game on.
I absolutely love rugby, always have. It’s the perfect combination of agility, speed, and strength. It’s fast-paced and unpredictable. Of course, I’m rooting for Max and Konnor and not a specific team. When Konnor lands a try, I jump up to applaud. When the people around me glare, I let out a nervous laugh and sit back down.
I watch intently when Max is passed the ball. My breath catches in my throat. He runs, clutching the leather to his chest and moving with an agility that leaves me in awe. When he gets to a tight blockage in the line, he passes to someone else, who quickly scores a try. Max is then tossed the ball at the sideline and he kicks it through the goal. We all go wild.
Bronson stands up and claps. ‘Fucking yeah!’
The girls in front of us call out Max’s name between whistles and cheers. Max’s teammates mob him, bounding around and patting his back. The huge easy grin on his face makes my heart flutter.
There really are two Max Butchers.
As the game progresses, I watch with pride. Max is powerful and tackles person after person as they attempt to break through the line. He’s an aggressive player. My pulse races. Watching him out there has me in physical discomfort – needy in a way I’ve never felt before. I shuffle in my seat as I imagine letting him use my body for whatever deviant act he desires.
It’s third quarter. The score is forty to thirty-three in favour of Konnor’s team. Konnor has the ball, but he is heading straight for Max and a tight barricade of big bodies. Max lowers his shoulder and darts to the side, preparing to tackle Konnor as he tries to weave through the defence. One of the other players aims for Konnor. It’s all happening so fast. I want to close my eyes, but I don’t, despite expecting to see Konnor brutally tackled.
Just as he is about to reach him, Max trips. Falling to the grass, he takes out his own player. Konnor leaps over them as they tumble to the dirt, then sprints to the try line and grounds the ball.
I blink at the field.
Did that just happen?
Did Max just pretend to fall and take out his own player?
My proud, arrogant Max?
No, my beautiful, family-orientated Max.
‘Let me guess, number ten is your brother?’ Bronson says, amusement in his voice.
I catch him smirking and shake my head in disbelief. ‘Did he do that on purpose?’
Bronson’s expression says yes. ‘I’ve never seen him take a fall like that. I’m gonna give him so much shit.’
Max is up and watching the commotion. Konnor glares at Max from the try line as his mates jump around him and celebrate. Max raises his fist in the air and then points in my direction, his eyes still trained on Konnor. I breathe out fast as Max jogs back into position as if nothing had happened. And it reminds me of the first time I saw him. . .
The Dingoes win fifty to forty-seven.
Konnor finds me as Bronson and I wait for Max to leave the shower block. Konnor eyeballs Bronson, his closeness to me, the licks of ink crawling up his neck and down his hands, his staunch stance. There is a confidence to The Butcher Boys that can’t be described. It is in their faces, their posture, their eyes. Bronson’s confidence is accompanied by mischief, while Max’s is by warning.
‘Did you hire a bodyguard?’ Konnor asks, wiping sweat off his brow.
I rush to him and we embrace. He lifts my feet off the ground and spins me. ‘How’s my beautiful sister?’
‘How’s my beautiful brother? I’ve missed you.’
He places me on the ground. ‘Well, for once I’m the one at home. You’re the one who is always away.’
Feeling Bronson behind me, I get a tingle of shame. ‘Sorry. This is Bronson. Have you two met?’
With a cool grin on his face, Bronson leans in and offers Konnor his hand. ‘No. I haven’t had the honour. You must be the brother. Slater, am I right?’
Konnor looks at Bronson’s hand and then takes it. Their shake is firm. ‘Yeah.’
My breathing becomes a little shallow as I observe their interaction. I glance from one man to the other. Konnor’s clearly wary, but Bronson’s grin is charismatic and easy going.
Konnor looks back at me, his gaze going down to the slither of skin peeking out between my jeans and shirt. ‘You look all grown up.’
My hands fumble with the hem before pulling it down. ‘I’ve been all grown up for a while.’
He sighs. ‘You just look. . . different.’
‘I’m not,’ I assure him.
Konnor reaches for the corner of my mouth and wipes something off. He shows me his finger, which has a bit of tomato sauce on it. ‘At least you still eat like you.’
My face radiates heat. ‘Oh my God! Bronson, why didn’t you tell me I had sauce on my face?’
Bronson laughs. ‘I thought you were saving it for Max.’
Konnor cringes at Bronson’s words, but doesn’t comment. Two pretty girls approach Bronson and he gives them his attention while I catch up with my big brother.
‘You were so good,’ I say, gazing up into his lovely emerald-green eyes. ‘You look so good. So strong.’
He grins, his boyish double dimples on display. ‘Thanks, Pipsqueak. I feel pretty good.’
‘Cassidy feels good too,’ Max taunts, walking towards us. He stops just shy of Konnor and looks down his nose.
I frown up at him. ‘Menace, stop it.’
‘With that, I’m out of here.’ Konnor wraps me in his big arms and squeezes. He speaks into my hair. ‘I love you, sis. Come home soon and spend some time with us.’
As Konnor walks away, I turn to face a cocky looking Max. ‘Why? Why do that?’
‘I can’t help it. He’s so easy to wind-up.’ Max pulls me to him and presses his lips to mine. My mouth opens for him, allowing his tongue entry. I never can stay mad at him. He’s playful. I consider for a moment whether he’s being playful with Konnor, treating him like he does his own brothers. Taunting harmlessly. I wonder whether he knows any other way to interact. . . I’m not sure. . . because now I’m being dragged back to Max’s tongue. And my legs buckle. And he lifts me to straddle his waist. ‘Excuse us,’ he says against my lips as he walks us towards the toilet block.
We move into the disabled bathroom and he locks the door behind us. He’s impatient, rushed – as if lust has been building through him for hours and is now ready to erupt. He unbuttons my jeans while I run my fingernails down the taut muscles of his abdomen.
‘Did you like watching me play?’ he says against my lips.
I’m already moaning and rubbing myself against him. ‘Yes.’
He spins me to face the mirror. I grip the cold ceramic sink with both hands as he yanks my jeans and knickers down. They bunch around my ankles. He pulls me towards him and kneels behind me, his tongue licking my lips from behind.
‘Beg me, Cassidy.’
‘Max, please.’ I push back into his face, inviting him to take what he wants. I can’t believe how shameless I am with him.
He massages my bum cheeks, then spreads them. My face goes bright red when I feel his fingers replace his tongue so he can fervently lick my bum hole.
He works my body well, jaw rough against my skin, tongue greedy, fingers curling to massage the muscles inside me.
Oh my God.
‘Max.’
My legs tremble and shake. My bum flexes against his tongue. My thighs tighten around his hand as I come hard over his fingers.
His mouth moves away and his fingers slip from inside me. Standing quickly, he tugs down his pants. He fists his penis and not wasting anymore time, he thrusts his thick hard ridge into me.
I cry out.
‘Good girl. Now watch me fuck you.’
He studies me in the mirror, his eyes near black with arousal. He buries himself deep, draws himself out, and drives into me again and again. I gasp and then moan with each slap of his pelvis. I can feel him everywhere. My cheeks are blotchy and pink. My body is thrown forward and then pulled back. I grasp the vanity with all my strength, my hands growing numb. Max’s grip on my hips tightens as he pumps into me fiercely. It’s near impossible to stay up right. My eyes flutter shut, the sight of him overwhelming my every sense. The pleasure is so intense. A destructive force thrashes through me with every thrust of his hips.
‘Open your eyes,’ he growls.
My eyes flicker open. He wraps my hair around his fist and pulls until my back bows and my chin rises, revealing my neck and the pulse that runs rampant through it.
‘Fuck.’ He grunts. ‘Take me, little one. Take all I have to give you.’
I watch his gorgeous face. It’s tight and intense. His eyes are a wicked storm of danger and ecstasy – brows drawn in, teeth bared and pressed together. ‘Good girl. You’re doing so good.’
I brace myself against the sink, mewling his name. ‘Max.’
Grunting, he pumps me with more force. And then he lets out a deep, long, almost excruciating groan as his cock pulses with his orgasm.
His head dips back, mouth open and panting. I try not to collapse into an overwhelmed puddle at his feet.
He finally finds my eyes in the mirror. ‘Are you okay?’
I swallow and nod. It’s all I can manage. As he looks down to where he fills me, he watches his cock slip from between my thighs. I straighten and slowly turn to face him, my ankles tied together by my jeans.
His mouth is still open. His breathing is still laboured. He stares at me with those lovely, wild ocean-blue eyes of his and strokes both hands through my hair before cupping my cheeks. ‘Was I too rough?’
Moving into his gentle touch, I shake my head. ‘No.’
His eyes narrow. ‘If I’m ever too rough, you have to tell me to stop.’
I nod. ‘I will.’
He grins, and I love that I’m the only woman who gets to see this side of him. ‘That was unreal,’ he says.
We clean up, Max taking care of me like he always does. As we exit the room, he entwines our fingers. Several people stare at us. My eyes dart to the grass and I don’t look up. My cheeks feel hot with embarrassment. I was loud. Max was loud too, but his head is held high, completely unaffected by the attention we have.
‘I’m so embarrassed,’ I murmur as we walk to the car.
Max just laughs. ‘Don’t be. You sound beautiful when I fuck you.’
