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Chapter Eleven
Raven
I’m jolted awake by the front door. I know there’s no intruder; I have the most state-of-the-art system known to man. The door closed with such a soft click that I just know it’s the guys coming home, hence why there’s no need to worry. Rolling over, I glare at my alarm clock. It’s four a.m.! Where the hell have they been? And why the hell would Baxter and Ace be out together? I may not need to worry, but I sure as hell can be mad.
Creaking floorboards on the landing outside my room have me jumping out of bed and wrenching my door open, wanting to demand answers. It doesn’t occur to me until the landing night light spills into my room that I’m naked.
I smack into a wall of muscle and stumble back with an ‘ooof’. Whoever I’ve hit keeps coming, bumping against my chest until I have no choice but to walk backwards or fall on my ass. When the back of my knees bump against the bed, I fall onto the mattress anyway, and as my intruder tumbles down on top of me, we’re cast in just enough light for me to see that it’s Baxter that’s assaulted me.
“What—”
But I’m cut off from asking what the heck is going on, where the bloody hell he’s been, or what the flying fuck he thinks he’s doing coming in at four in the morning, because his lips crash down against mine even harder than his body just did.
It’s not a kiss, it’s a claiming. He devours me, like he needs to brand his name on my soul. And all I can do is lie there and take it because my brain is still catching up...Baxter. Fuck. Baxter has me pinned to the bed and is kissing me senseless.
The only thing more forceful than his bruising kiss is the sizable erection digging in my belly.
What…
The…
No words.
I can taste the darkness on his lips, like a promise of the fun we could have if I just gave in. Gone is my best friend and confidante. Gone is the steady reliable rock that’s been my anchor for all these years. Gone is the amazing father figure that Phoenix adores. All that’s left is the real Baxter Branson. He tastes like wickedness and sin, pain and pleasure, hope and destruction. And I realise that I love it. Want it. Crave it.
A sharp pain radiates through my bottom lip, making me pull away.
“Fuck!” I hiss, shoving against Baxter’s chest to get some distance between us. I need to think. I need to breathe damn it.
With a modicum of space between us, my hand flies to my lip to inspect for damage. Not only is it swollen from the force of his kiss, but my hand comes away wet too.
“I’m bleeding!”
Fuck. The grin he gives me could melt my panties, if I were wearing any. Instead, it makes my insides combust. No smile that devilish and dangerous should be so arousing. But he’s still an ass for biting me hard enough to draw blood, so I force a scowl onto my face instead.
“Asshole!”
His smile widens so I smack his chest. And then he notices I’m naked and his grin becomes wolfish as he takes in every inch of me with the confidence of a predator that knows he can’t lose. Damn it why didn’t we shut the door? Everything is easier in the dark. He wouldn’t see my flaws. My scars. The battle wounds from bringing Phoenix into the world. I know Baxter has seen me at my worst, my lowest, but he’s never seen me like this.
I close my eyes and pull him closer, returning his kiss with passion this time. Yes, I want him. But I also want him to stop looking at me. He stares like he’s cataloguing every mark, committing it to memory and filing it away to be inspected more closely at a later date. I didn’t miss the white-hot rage flaring in his eyes when he saw the scars Michael and Charlie both gifted me with. He needs a distraction as much as I do because I don’t like to think what he might do if he stares at those particular marks for too long.
I wrap my bare legs around his waist, grinding up against him as he bites my nipple. I gasp at the pain, arching up, before melting back down into the mattress as he soothes the sting with his tongue. I don’t expect to like it. In fact, I’m sure I don’t like it. But my body clearly has other ideas and is scrambling for more.
He presses into me, pinning my arms above my head and the simultaneous stimulation of the rough brush of his clothing against my soft skin, and the gentle way he kisses the tender skin of the inside of my bicep makes me tremble. Of course Baxter’s wearing a three piece tweed suit, barely a crease out of place, while I’m a panting mess below him.
With a final bite to the inside of my arm that really makes me yelp – and causes a rush of heat between my thighs – he releases my arms and begins his descent between my legs. My hands instantly fist his hair, desperate to rumple him a little but to also make sure he doesn’t pull away.
Until his lips caress my scars and suddenly I’m shoving his head away with all the force I can muster and scrambling up the bed, clutching the sheets to my chest.
“What the hell?!” I don’t know which of us says it loudest.
“Don’t touch me there! Those. Don’t...don’t touch them…”
Baxter stares at me in astonished confusion. I wipe my hand over my face to dash away the tears I didn’t ask to fall. It’s when I notice the small dark smear of blood on my hand. Tacky. Virtually dry.
“What is this?” I ask, my fear masked as anger suddenly leaving me as concern replaces the emotions swirling inside of me. “Are you hurt? Have you been bleeding?”
“Fuck...No.” Baxter runs a hand through his hair and inspects his own hand for the same smear that’s on mine.
