Page 66 of His Sinful Need

The door automatically locks itself, so I just wait there like he’s asked me to, even though it’s a special kind of torture. I try telling myself it’s some fatherly instinct that has me wanting to reach for him. Some leftover echo of the friendship I had with his dad. But the truth is, it’s got nothing to do with Fabi.

The feelings I have for Bricker are decidedly non-familial.

And seeing him like this is unsettling. Ithurtsto see him so broken, hurts in a way I’ve never felt before. At last he takes a deep breath and starts walking, his hand on the wall as though he needs it as a guide—or to prop him up—and he makes his way to the living room.

Once there, he collapses onto the couch, head in his hands.

Bricker is the heart of the crew. If he falls apart, they all do. I ease down beside him on the couch, close enough that our thighs press together. He leans into me, just a little, but enough. Enough to tell me he needs this. Needs me.

“Talk to me,” I urge softly.

His laugh is harsh. “The fuck you want me to say? That I failed them? That Rook’s blood is on my hands?”

“Bullshit.” I pull his hands away from his face gently, ducking until I catch his eye. He’s tormented, staring at me like he’s drowning and I’m his only hope of rescue. “You didn’t fail anyone.”

“If I’d planned it better—”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. You can’t control everything.” I cup his cheek, rubbing my thumb over the stubble roughing up his jaw. “You’re only human, kid.”

His eyes flutter closed. “How can you be so calm when everything’s…”

“Lotta practice. Made plenty of mistakes over the years.”

One eye cracks open. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Getting older doesn’t make you wiser, necessarily, but it makes things more familiar. You fuck up, you learn, you fuck up a little less next time—if you’re lucky.”

There’s the shadow of a suggestion of a smile when he says, “Maybe you’ll tell me about these fuck ups sometime.”

My hand still cradles his cheek, the warmth of his skin tempting against my palm. I lick my lips, watching his gaze follow the movement.

“I want to help you,” I tell him. “I want to…”

“Make me feel better?”

“Yes.”

He gives a cynical huff. “You can’t. But maybe…maybe you can help me forget for a while.”

“Bricker—”

Too late. He leans in, our lips meeting in a soft slide of skin on skin. Bricker sighs into my mouth, lips parting. The kiss deepens, tongues tangling together as he shifts closer. By the time we break for air, he’s straddling my lap, hands fisted in my shirt to keep me close.

“Please. Make me forget,” he pants out. “Just for a little while…”

I grip his hips as he grinds down against me. I mean to push him away carefully. To tell him this can’t happen. Instead, I say, “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

He surges in for another searing kiss, and I lose myself in the feel of him, hard and hot in my arms. It’s enough for now. This—him—we…we’re enough for now.

Tomorrow we’ll face the world again, but for now, I can help him forget.

I trail my lips down the side of his neck, tasting salt and faded cologne. He tilts his head to give me better access, fingers digging into my shoulders. I nip a little, make him gasp, hips jerking against me.

“Fuck, Max.” His voice is ragged, edged with pure craving. “I need…”

“I know what you need,” I murmur. “Let me take care of you.”

That’s what I want from him. I want him to let down his guard. Let mein.

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