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"I'm taking you to bed so I can fuck you properly."
He'll get no complaints from me.
* * *
Xander stayedtrue to his word. He fucked me on every single surface in the apartment. He even made a point of fucking me on the brand new TV. I really hope we didn't break it.
Even though we left the party early, we barely finish our night-long fuckfest as the sun starts rising. Instead of going to sleep, we talk for hours, his fingers trailing down my naked body, discovering every inch of me with each word he says. My eyes stay trained on the scar through his eye and the way it twitches with every syllable.
"Does it hurt?" I ask as I trace my finger along the gnarly red mark.
He doesn't try to act clueless or brush it off like I expect. "Sometimes. It throbs when I have a headache, but other than that, it's painless."
“Did Browning do that to you?” I ask, my heart aching for him. Did his father do this when he challenged him?
When we first met, I assumed it was probably a car accident or something like that, but now that I know him, that seems like the least likely cause of a scar such as this.
"Why would you assume it was him?" he asks, but it's like he already knows the answer.
“Davina told me about your sister and…what happened.” I doubt he needs me to tell him what it was. He probably replays the events in his subconscious often.
No wonder he’s so brooding all the time. He has a tortured past–tortured by his father’s hands. I can’t imagine what else he has gone through that I don’t know about. Browning is a real bastard for what he’s done to this poor family. Davina, Xander, his brother and his sister.
Growing up in this life can’t be easy, and that prick is making it worse.
His expression screws up as he avoids my eyes. Still, I don’t remove my hands from him and he doesn’t pull away.
“She told you about that?”
I nod. “I can’t decide whether you’re extremely brave or extremely stupid for what you did—defending her like that. He could’ve killed you.”
“No. If there’s one person he won’t kill, it’s me, but I’m sure he’d love to.” I can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious, but the lack of amusement in his voice leaves me to assume the latter.
“Why?” It’s directed at both statements, but he only answers one.
“Because he wants the leadership of the club to stay in the family and I’m his only living relative, other than my sister and she’s god knows where with god knows who.”
Really? That’s why Xander thinks his father won’t kill him. What kind of man only cares about a stupid outlaw motorcycle club and not his flesh and blood? Xander is his only son, for crying out loud!
“Your father is a real prick,” I say.
Xander laughs, a big smile across his handsome face. “Yes, he is, but that’s enough about my terribly tragic and fucked up family. What about yours?”
I gape at him. “Mine? My family is very basic. Are you sure you want to hear about them?”
“Absolutely. Basic just means less to panic over,” he jokes as he takes my hand off his face and starts running delectable kisses down each finger, painstakingly slow.
“Well, my mom was a barista at Starbucks—”
“That explains it.” He chuckles and shakes his head like somehow I’ve amused him.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Darling, you’re obsessed with coffee.”
A scowl pulls at my face. “You listen here, Sunshine. Just because I can make a decent cup of coffee and you can’t doesn’t mean I’m obsessed.”
He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the look on my face, judging by the amusement across his. “Oh, really? You think my coffee is that terrible?”
