Page 56 of Never To Suffer (The Hollywoodland #4)

His hips jerk against nothing, thrusting into the air.

My eyes drop in time to see ropes of white decorating the cabinet doors as his body goes limp and his legs shake.

The knot inside me lets go and I fill him like the animal I’ve become, still sucking on his neck and holding him up.

Still rutting against him like I’m trying to breed him—taking him like an animal until I’ve had my fill.

“Oh! Oh shit!” Another wave of cum spills down his legs and onto the floor.

He lets out a strangled whimper when I pull out, like defeated prey giving one last yell before he collapses into my arms. As I shift his limp body, he struggles to wrap his arm around my neck.

I lift him off the floor and he nuzzles against my neck.

“Sorry about the mess,” he pants. “I’ll clean it up later.”

I admire the destruction of my kitchen, watching his cum dripping and smeared over the door of the fridge and the lower cabinets. We’ve turned the room into a passionate Jackson Pollock art installation, and I don’t regret a damn thing.

“I’ll take care of it, baby. And you.” I carry him back to the bedroom and lay him down on the bed. He reaches for me with shaking arms when I leave to run him a bath.

“Wait, where are you?—?”

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” I leave soft kisses on his bruised lips. I fill the bathtub, and he winces when I lower him into the warm, soapy water. I use a soft cloth and wipe his chest and face, and make sure he can reach the cold bottle of water I’ve set on the edge of the tub.

“You alright?” I ask, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he lays his head against the side of the tub, his nod almost imperceptible.

I lean over the edge, using a washcloth to clean his body before I have him sit up to wash his hair.

When I’m done, and he looks as though he’s about to fall asleep, I kiss his head and stand.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Yell if you need anything, okay? ”

In the kitchen, I get out everything I need while listening for any noise coming from the bedroom.

I have four things cooking at once: eggs, toast, bacon, and waffles.

A few minutes later, I push the door of the bathroom open and set the tray down across the tub.

He’s asleep. Peaceful and angelic, I could sit here and count the freckles across his shoulders for the rest of the day if I didn’t need him to eat something.

“Hey,” my gravelly voice echoes off the walls even in a whisper. “Come on, you gotta eat, Xander.”

His eyelids flutter open but can’t pull themselves all the way open. “Nooo. Just…sleep.”

His blank, vacant stare concerns me, and I question if I went too far. But he manages a sleepy, crooked smile and I breathe again. I dip a hand into the water and grumble at the cold.

“I don’t think I can stand.” His wink gives me small comfort in knowing we’re okay, or at least hoping we are.

I pull off my shirt and lift him out of the tub like a child, wrapping a robe around him and carrying him to bed before I bring the tray in for him.

I brush his hair with my fingers as I feed him, and when he’s done, I clear the food away.

He falls asleep in my arms, and I never want to let go.

It’s only the second time in my life I’ve ever felt this way about someone else, a connection, a pull stronger than lust or magnetism.

It tells me to hold on to this person and never let them go, all I’ve ever wanted.

The last time I felt this, I was eighteen and in my second year in France.

Even when they lowered her into the ground five years later, I tried like hell to join her, to hold her one more time and make it last forever.

Feeling it again scares the absolute hell out of me.

Knowing that I could lose him—lose all of them—in a heartbeat only amplifies the fear.

My phone rings in the other room, and I slide out of the bed, careful not to disturb Xander.

He needed sleep after that. Padding to the charger in the living room, Baggy tries to trip me as I get to the phone.

Maybe she tried to warn me, because I’m not prepared for the name that comes up on my screen.

Incoming Call From: Pixie

“Hello, err, Bonjour? Sylvie?” I spit it all out like it’s one word, in case she hangs up on me.

“Allo, Papa. I got your message about my birthday.”

“Pixie, that was…that was months ago.”

“I needed to take my time and think about what you said. I’ve been fighting with Pépé, and it’s made life troublesome. Do you think we could still meet sometime soon? At the cafe again?”

“Yes! Yeah. I need to book a flight and a room.” My mind races like a locomotive with no breaks. “I’ll call you back as soon as I book the flight. Next week? I’m sure I can find something.”

“Okay. I will see you soon.”

“Pixie?” I wait, listening to see if she’s hung up. “I uhm. You can bring him, if you’d like. Luca. Marie told me about him and, I uhm, I’d love to meet him.”

“I would like that. Shit, my taxi has arrived. We’ll talk later. Goodnight, Papa.”

When the phone clicks, my legs give out and I miss the couch by inches, bouncing off the cushion and to the floor.

Xander stumbles out of the room like Bambi and finds me on the ground, phone still in hand.

His mouth moves, but it sounds like the aftermath of a bomb exploding, noises muffled and far away, that loud ringing the only constant.

“I need to go to Paris.”