Page 34 of Mr. Irrelevant (Rock City Renegades #1)

TWENTY-SIX

LIVVY

I check my phone for the five-hundredth time, hoping for a reply from Maddox. The screen is devoid of notifications, other than from the sports apps I have downloaded—all of them with breaking news about the fight at the Renegades game.

I wanted to rush down to the locker room immediately, but I knew I couldn’t.

My credentials give me full access to the stadium.

However, with security and cameras everywhere, there’s no way it wouldn’t have raised red flags if I’d been seen consoling Maddox after getting thrown out of the game.

So, instead, I paced around the owner’s suite like a caged animal, getting into my car and leaving as soon as the clock ran out.

Normally, I’d meet with my dad and Tony for a quick post-game recap, especially since we’re still trying to figure out what the team needs—but today, I didn’t even say goodbye.

I couldn’t focus on a single thing after the fight anyway, so I wouldn’t have had much to offer to the discussion .

I’m sure whatever caused Maddox to go off on Deacon the way he did wasn’t completely unwarranted, because I know what an asshole he is.

Add in the fact that he knows something is going on from what he saw last night, and he had all the ammunition he needed to get under Maddox’s skin.

I’ll admit I was shocked that it got physical, but I need the facts before I decide how mad I should be.

Which is why I’ve been sitting on his front steps for the last two hours.

I just want to see that he’s okay and hear the whole thing from his mouth.

Chewing my thumbnail nervously, I try to stop my foot from bouncing against the stone staircase, but I feel like I’m ready to climb a goddamn wall as I wait from Maddox to pull down the driveway.

I’m sure Coach Hendricks lit him up after the game, and depending on whether or not my dad wanted to speak with him before the commissioner hands out the league’s inevitable punishment, I could be here by myself for a while.

Just as I’m about to give up and go home, a set of bright headlights illuminates the tree-covered path.

My heart flips in my chest, then drops like a million pounds of bricks when I see the look on his face through the windshield.

I can tell that he’s been through it. The normal happy-go-lucky expression I’m used to seeing is nowhere to be found, even after he notices me sitting here.

An ache begins to form in my throat, only intensifying as he exits the truck, walking toward the front door without even giving me a second glance.

“Hey,” I say quietly, standing to greet him.

He says nothing, flicking his eyes to mine for a split second before passing by, disengaging the lock, and stepping inside.

Sadness and worry swirl inside my chest, tightening it almost to the point of pain as I look back, finding that he left the door wide open and taking it as an invitation to follow.

I certainly can’t leave things like this.

I need to know what happened, so we can get through it together.

I enter the quiet house, watching as he heads up the stairs without turning on a single light.

I’ve been here enough times to get around, so I quietly trail him as he reaches the second floor and turns toward his bedroom.

By the time I pass through the door, he’s already turning on the shower in his en suite.

I hate this—the silence that hangs in the air between us as he undresses, acting like I’m not even here.

I’m sure he’s still angry, and I have a sneaking suspicion that Deacon put a bunch of erroneous ideas in his head, but unless he tells me what they are, I can’t shut them down.

He looks back at me, his brows pulled tight as though he has a million things to say, but doesn’t utter a single word before he disappears through the glass door.

He closes it behind him and ducks under the large showerhead, pressing a hand to the wall in front of him as he hangs his head.

My stomach twists with anxiety, unable to stand the space between us—both physical and emotional—as I quickly pull my clothes off, letting them drop to the floor in a heap.

If he isn’t ready to talk yet, that’s fine.

But I want to be there for him, offering the comfort I’m guessing he needs right now, even if the only thing I can do is stand next to him under the warm spray .

Opening the door, I step up behind him, closing us in together.

His head lifts, but he doesn’t turn, making me second-guess whether or not I should’ve come in here at all.

But when I raise a shaky hand, placing it between his shoulder blades, he stands up straight, reaching around and yanking me so I’m pressed with my back against the wall in front of him.

My heart hammers in my chest as he towers over me, the look of sadness and dejection that was painted across his face moments ago long gone—only to be replaced with something that eerily resembles animalistic, primal rage.

If I didn’t trust this man with every fiber of my being, I’d be terrified right now, sinking further into the hard, cold tile as he watches me with fire in his eyes.

“Maddox—” His name falls from my lips in a choked plea, but before I can say another word, he cuts me off with a strong hand around my throat.

It’s firm, but not so tight that I can’t breathe, the tips of his fingers pressing into the delicate skin and making me feel like I could levitate right off the floor at any moment.

A shudder works its way through my body, and even though he’s angry and we definitely need to talk about what happened at the game, I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop.

His chest and shoulders rise and fall rapidly, the air around us thick with a mixture of steam and pure tension as he stares down at me like a predator that’s ready to devour his prey.

“Say you’re mine,” he grits, his voice full of desperation. My heart pounds so fast, I feel like it might explode as I inhale a sharp breath, every part of me hungry and aching for him .

“I’m yours, Maddox.”

In an instant, he crashes his mouth to mine with so much force, I can feel bruises forming almost immediately.

His kiss burns into me in the most consuming way, which should raise a million red flags because we’re so far beyond friends right now, it isn’t even funny.

But I can’t find a single fuck to give. I belong to Maddox Dane, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he’s undeniably aware of that.

“Again. Louder,” he demands roughly, his warm breath ricocheting off my open lips. “I want to feel the words, Liv. I need to feel them.”

Bringing my hand up, I cover his and add enough pressure to make his grip even tighter against my throat. My limbs tingle and my head feels fuzzy, but there isn’t a single thing on this planet that could stop me from giving him what he’s asking for right now.

“I’m yours,” I repeat. “Only yours. Always .”

“Mine,” he echoes, devouring me once again.

He steps forward, the unmistakable press of his erection against my stomach making me throb almost to the point of pain between my legs.

Whatever went down at the game can wait.

I want him to take everything he needs from me first, so there isn’t a single doubt in his mind that I’m right where I want to be.

I get lost in the kiss, feeling owned as his tongue tangles with mine, showing me exactly who’s in charge.

His touch is frantic and unbridled, hands roaming wildly as though he can’t decide which part of my body he wants to claim first. And when he slides them around, his fingers roughly curling into the flesh of my ass, I’m in his arms before he can even voice the request. He moans as I rub my center over his long, thick shaft, the hot friction making my eyes roll back as pleasure skitters through every nerve ending in my body.

I’ve never wanted anybody the way I want Maddox, and it only gets stronger every time we’re together.

He’s my perfect match, even with all the cards that remain stacked against us.

His lips coast down my face and neck, sucking and nipping at the heated skin as he reaches to the wall and blindly turns off the water.

We’re both soaked, dripping all the way from the bathroom to the bed, entirely too engrossed in one another to give a shit.

The whole house could fall into a pile of rubble around us, and I doubt we’d even notice.

“I fucking own you, Livvy,” he says, throwing me onto the mattress.

The words are like a jolt to my system, making me want to submit to him in whatever ways he asks me to.

It’s a stark contrast from our nights at the practice field, where he hangs onto my every word.

Here in his bed, I’m his, and that sentiment has never been clearer than it is right now as he towers over me with passionate possession in his eyes.

My clit throbs at the sight, my pussy dripping and begging to be filled.

I nod in response to his statement, because I can’t seem to form any type of coherent sentence, my legs parting on their own accord.

His eyes lock onto the motion, and as soon as he sees how wet I am, his intense expression morphs into something darker and more mischievous.

Before I can even get a read on it, his hands are on my hips, flipping me roughly.

Breath whooshes from my lungs as I’m pulled onto my knees, my ass in the air as he groans behind me.

“Look at this needy cunt,” he says, his fingers ghosting over my slit and making me whimper pathetically.

It’s nowhere near enough, especially with how worked up I am, but he’s in charge here, so I wait patiently for whatever comes next.

“Tell me who it belongs to, Liv. Tell me and I’ll make it come so fucking pretty. ”