I pull up to Cleo’s shitty apartment building. It’s evening again, same douchebags hanging at the bottom of her stairs as before, and her car is not in the parking lot. It’s growing dark, and I wonder just where in the fuck she is.
Pulling my bike around to the hiding place I stowed it last time, I make my way up the stairs and then to her front door. It takes me about thirty seconds to jimmy her lock and walk inside of her apartment.
“Fucking hell,” I curse as I lock the door behind me.
Her locks are shit, the door is as thin as the walls, and since I can hear her neighbors fuckin’, that means they’re pretty goddamn thin. She lives in a complete fucking shithole. The Cartel could come in here, completely undetected, in seconds. She wouldn’t even know what the fuck happened.
I sit down on her sofa and face the door, waiting for her. I wonder if I’ll feel the same way about her, seeing her again—if the initial shock will have worn off, or if she’ll still be the most magnificent thing I’ve laid eyes on. Maybe it was just a fluke. Just a shock at seeing her after so many years?
Less than five minutes later, the door opens, she flips the light switch, and I know that it wasn’t a fluke. She’s absolutely, hands down, the prettiest thing that’s ever filled my vision. Eighteen or thirty years old, still a goddamn knock out.
“Your locks are shit,” I murmur, watching as she snaps her head up. She lets out a scream that lasts about two seconds, until she realizes just who I am.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment? Trying to give me a heart attack?” she asks, crossing her arms just below her plentiful tits.
“Your locks are shit, the door is shit, and your neighbors are shit,” I announce.
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” she snorts.
“You can’t stay here, Clee.”
“Pretty sure it’s not your call where I live,” she says, like a smart ass. I want nothing more than to shove my dick between those smart lips—show her how I tolerate smart ass women.
“I’m not fucking with you, Cleo. This shit that I’m dealing with is not a fucking joke. I’m about five minutes from carrying you outta here, putting you on the back of my bike, and taking you to my place to keep you safe,” I grind out.
“So you’d kidnap me. And how is that safer than some unknown thing that probably isn’t even going to affect me?” she asks, arching a brow.
I stand up and walk toward her, wrapping one hand around the side of her neck and the other at her waist, tugging her against my chest before I dip my chin slightly to look into her pretty, light brown eyes. Goddamn, she smells so fucking good. I can’t even fight my cock from going completely hard. Her smell, her softness pressed against me, it’s impossible.
“If I gotta kidnap your smartass mouth to keep you safe, I will. These fucks will do a lot worse than kidnap you, Clee. They’ll take you, keep you, fuck you, and sell you. That something you want to leave to chance?” I ask, squeezing the side of her neck gently. I watch as her eyes widen, surprise marring her features.
“What on earth are you involved in, Pax?” she whispers. It’s like a goddamn punch to my gut.
Pax.
I haven’t been called that in years—eleven years—not since the day I left her.
“Not me bein’ involved with them, sweetheart. They want control over my club, and they’re willing to try to take that in ways that are… unsavory,” I murmur, my thumb tracing her big, full lips.
“Pax, baby,” she whispers.
Fuck, my cock goes rock hard as her eyes search mine. I lean down slightly and press my lips to hers. Inhaling her sweet scent, feeling her warm lips against mine as I press my hand against her back a little harder, bringing her even closer to me.
“Not lettin’ a fuckin’ thing touch you, Cleo,” I murmur after I pull my lips away from hers slightly.
We stay silent for a beat, and then her body stiffens. That’s when I know that she’s putting her defenses back up. I don’t blame her a bit, but having her sweetness in my arms again, fuck it was better than I remembered. She takes a step back, and I let her, allowing my hands to fall away from her.
“You need to go,” she grinds out.
“I’m not fuckin’ with you, Cleo. This shit is dangerous, and I’m worried they’ll come after you,” I inform her. She’s not listening. I can tell by the pissed off look in her eyes.
“I’ve been just fine for eleven years. I’ll be fine for eleven more without you,” she says, lifting her chin slightly as she delivers her blow. A blow I wholeheartedly deserve.
“Know you’re pissed, sweetheart, and you have every fuckin’ right—but you have to put that shit to the side and listen to what I’m telling you. This is no fuckin’ joke,” I practically plead to her.
“If I have any problems, I’ll call Lisandro,” she says.
My eyes narrow as I ask, “Who the fuck is Lisandro?”
“None of your business,” she says, adding a little grin.
“Cleo,” I snap.
“Seriously, none of your business, Paxton. I’ll keep an eye out, like you said. I’ll watch out for suspicious things, and I’ll call Lisandro if I need help,” she retorts, a little too brightly.
“We ain’t done talking,” I say, pointing at her.
“No, I do want to talk, but we can do that when I have divorce papers drawn up that you can sign.”
I feel my stomach drop and my eyes widen slightly at her words. Divorce papers. I hadn’t thought about that.
Divorce.
The word is ugly, though it’s not as if I hadn’t thought of it over the past decade. I have. However, right now, it doesn’t feel right. There’s something here between us, and no way in fuck am I going to walk away just yet. Once The Cartel is handled, then maybe it’s something we can discuss; but for some reason, it definitely doesn’t feel right.
“No divorce, Cleo,” I growl. Her eyes widen.
“Paxton, you can’t be serious. Why not?” she practically screeches, her voice hitching up higher.
“’Cause,” I shrug, taking another step toward her.
Cleo backs up with each step I take until her back hits the wall. I cage her in, one hand wrapped around the side of her small waist, the other at the side of her head, my fingers buried in her soft as fuck red hair. She breathes heavily, and I can’t help the smile that tips my lips. I know it’s me, my proximity to her, that makes her that way.
He’s so close to me, I can smell him. He doesn’t smell like he did all those years ago. I can still remember how he smelled like dirt, spice, and just him. Now, there are hints of oil and leather mixed with his scent, and I wouldn’t have ever thought it was possible, but he smells better than he ever has.
I’m trying to stay still, caged in his arms as I tell myself to breathe, his eyes stormy blue and looking right at mine. Dammit, he’s still so gorgeous that he renders me speechless and stupid. Nothing has changed. I’m still this shy girl when I’m near him. He’s always owned me and had control over me, just with one look.
“You need to leave,” I whisper.
“Sweetheart, my innocent girl,” he rasps. It makes my knees shake.
Sweetheart. I’d almost forgotten the way he would whisper that to me, when he was deep inside of me—the week I had him, that is. I should have cherished it more, knowing he was going to take it all away in a heartbeat. I should have committed it to memory better, instead of the haziness I’m stuck with now.
“I’m not,” I whisper.
“Yeah, baby, you are. My Clee, so shy, so innocent, my sweetheart,” he mutters pressing his hard length against my stomach.
“I’m thirty years old, Paxton,” I say lamely.
“Yeah, baby, I know how old you are. Doesn’t make you less innocent; less shy,” he chuckles. I grind my teeth together in annoyance. “You can’t deny it, so don’t even try.”
Paxton’s lips touch mine again and for whatever asinine reason, I don’t push him away. Rather, I stupidly open for him. When his tongue touches my lips, then swipes inside of my mouth, I can’t stop myself from grabbing his t-shirt with my fingers and holding onto him with a moan.
He tastes better than he smells, and he’s so good at this, kissing, making me feel absolutely beautiful in his arms. I’d forgotten it all. I thought I’d remembered how he felt. I was wrong. Nothing prepared me for the wave of emotions the second his tongue slid inside of my mouth.
Pulling away from me slightly, he rests his forehead against mine, and we both breathe heavily, our chests rising and falling a few times before he speaks, his voice soft and gentle.
“Sweetheart, I missed you,” he whispers.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to keep my tears at bay. These words, I’ve wanted them, I’ve wished for them, and I’ve prayed for them. They’re here now, mine for the taking, but they aren’t as sweet as I’d hoped they’d be. Instead, they’re marred by the years of pain between us. It’s been too long. Eleven years too long.
“Leave, now,” I urge softly.
“You don’t mean that, baby,” he says, his voice still gentle.
“I do. You need to leave, now,” I state a little firmer. He takes a step back from me, and I force myself to release my hold on his shirt. His eyes scan my face and he nods.
“Not gonna be gone for long, Clee; and I ain’t far. You feel uncomfortable at all, call me. You want to talk to me, call me. You need me for whatever reason, call me,” his last words end on an urging type tone, but I can do nothing but nod.
I step aside from the door and watch him walk away from me. I lock the door and then I bring my fingertips up to my lips and touch them. They’re slightly swollen from his kiss, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the door.
Paxton Hill is going to obliterate me.
I can’t let that happen, not again.
True, I’m not the sweet eighteen-year-old I once was, the overly trusting innocent child. But that doesn’t mean that I’ve changed all that much.
I’m still, as he pegged me, very innocent in a lot of ways. I haven’t been in a lot of relationships. I have one best friend, and Paxton was the great love of my life.
I haven’t lived a lot, nor have I loved a lot. He knows how to talk to me, how to play me, and I refuse to allow that this time. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to stop it. Deep down, I want it, and I want him.
I still want my husband.