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We both ignore the light laughs from the shitheads downstairs as we make our way up.
When he reaches my bed, he spins releasing my legs so I can land on my feet.
I lean forward, whispering in his ear, “Thanks, big man.”
His shoulders tense beneath my touch and I grin.
He can’t escape quick enough and I laugh at his retreating body, knowing as well as he does when he makes his way back in here tonight, our hands won’t keep to themselves.
I make quick work of putting on some sleep shorts and a tank, then throw myself back on my mattress. I lay there listening as the other two make their way to bed maybe a half hour later.
I pull my knife from under my pillow and spin it around, careful not to flip open the switchblade when I’m still a little tipsy. I read the engraving again, understanding the notion a little more than I should for the very first time: family runs deeper than blood.
As if written specifically for them, it defines what the boys have with each other, a bond so deep they are brothers, even though they share none of the same genes.
Family runs deeper than blood, such a powerful statement when true.
I drop the knife beside me and plug in my earbuds, bobbing around to the girl song about revenge and redemption, but then the music shuffles and Ariana Grande comes on, singing to me about how dangerous her man makes her feel and my body grows hot again.
I kick off my blankets, flipping my pillow to the cool side, but it doesn’t work, and the look in Maddoc’s eye from earlier tonight flashes in my mind.
The unhinged look in his eyes, wild and wanting.
I half expected him to bend me over the knee so he could smack my ass in punishment and play, but that’s not his style.
No, he’s a words man, an observant bastard with a fighter’s instinct. He digs in deep and forces you to face yourself, demands strength and craves fearlessness.
Pretty sure he craves me.
The possibility has my body tingling.
My eyes open and I sit up in bed considering my options.
Two perfectly good hands or a brooding boy with jade eyes and a six-pack. Not to mention, the serious girth he teases me with when wearing basketball shorts.
Yeah ... easy decision.
His door is cracked when I reach it, so I sneak inside, quietly closing it behind me.
“What do you want?”
I jump and look around but don’t spot him, so I push off the frame and walk farther into the room.
He’s got his forearm leaning against the wall, staring out his window at the empty night like I had been the other day.
Only he’s ... I follow his other arm, finding his hand hiding behind the thin layer of fabric at his waist.
My eyes snap to his and he turns, leaning his shoulders against the wall.
His hand stays where it’s at.
“What are you doing?” I breathe and he arches a brow.
“What are you doing?”
Fuck the scratchiness in his voice has my toes curling into the carpet.
“Whatever I want.”
His tongue slides out to lick his lips, his teeth scraping across the bottom one as it disappears back into his mouth. “Imma need you to break it down for me.”
I lower my gaze, making sure my eyes touch every inch of his chest and stomach on their way down.
If I was standing against him and looked down, I might get a glimpse of what he’s holding onto.
“Raven.”
My eyes dart up.
Right.
I push forward until I’m a foot in front of him. “If there’s ever a night where I get to do something that might be real stupid, it’s tonight.”
“How do you figure?”
“’Cause tomorrow, I can pretend I was too drunk to remember ... if I wanna forget.”
“What’d I tell you about using me to forget?”
“This is so different and you know it.”
The muscles in his bicep, the one leading to the hand on his junk, flexes and my core tightens.
“What are you trying to say, Raven?” he rasps, lazily tipping his head to the side, he stares and a chill runs over me.
Which makes no sense because I’m hot all over.
His hand starts moving, up down, up down, the only sound heard in the room the silk of his boxers as it scratches against the roughness of his knuckles.
My hands find my thighs and plant there.
“You wanna forget whatever it is you came in here for?”
“I don’t know yet,” I breathe, pushing up on my toes, trying to get a better look.
He groans lightly, squeezing himself in his palm. “Not good enough.”
“It’s all I got. It’s honest.” I pull my shirt over my head and drop my bottoms to my ankles, kicking them somewhere on the carpet. Stepping into him, I place my naked chest against his.
