Page 34 of The Vagabond

SAXON

T he water is scalding. It hisses around us like it’s trying to drown the sounds we’re making—the panting, the gasps, the low curses dragging from my throat as Maxine folds against me, trembling, bare, soaked.

I’m still not done with her. I will never be done with her.

My hands are on her hips, dragging her to me, lifting her like she weighs nothing. Her back hits the cold tile with a wet slap, and she gasps—more surprise than pain—but she doesn’t pull away.

She knows I need to touch her like this. Take her like this. Like she’s the only thing I’ll ever claim and the only thing that ever matters.

My mouth finds her collarbone first, then her throat, then her jaw.

I kiss her like I’m starved and she’s made of something holy.

I lick the rain from her lips, the soap from her skin, the sleep from her eyes.

I taste every inch of her because I have to.

Because every second that passes is wasted if I’m not touching her in some way.

“You can’t keep doing this,” she breathes, trembling as my tongue circles her nipple, my hand sliding between her thighs where it belongs.

“Doing what?” I mutter, voice thick with longing.

“Ravaging me this way. I can barely walk.”

I lift my head and stare at her. Something dark flickers behind her eyes—but I’m darker.

“And I won’t stop until you can’t walk,” I say. No hesitation. No apology. And then I drop to my knees.

The steam curls around us, thick and blinding. Water cascades over my shoulders, slicking my hair back, soaking me to the bone. I press my mouth to her inner thigh and kiss it like I’m kissing the edge of damnation. Because I am.

Because this? She ? Is my salvation and my punishment, and I’ll kneel for her every time. I grip her thighs and spread them wide, dragging one over my shoulder. Her breath stutters.

“Saxon—”

Her voice is a whisper. My tongue is the answer. Long, slow licks up her slit, tongue flattening against her clit in measured, merciless drags. I hum against her like she’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Because she is.

She gasps. Curses. Her hips rock forward and I let her grind against my face—encourage it. My hands grip her ass, keeping her open for me, anchored, while my fingers slip inside her and curl deep. Just right. Just enough.

“Gonna come like this?” I rasp, voice guttural, mouth pressed right against her. “You wanna fall apart on my tongue while I’m on my knees for you?”

She sobs my name. One hand gripping the tile behind her, the other digging into my hair like she’s trying to anchor herself to me. And I fucking love it.

She unravels like a goddamn prayer. Her thighs tremble. Her hips stutter. Her cunt pulses around my tongue and my fingers, soaking me as she shatters hard and fast against the tile .

I catch her when she nearly slips. Stand. Turn her. Press her chest to the wall, hand splayed between her shoulder blades to hold her in place.

My cock’s already lined up—thick, hard, twitching against her dripping folds.

I drag it through the mess I just made of her and feel her shiver.

“Still hate me?” I breathe, voice wrecked.

“Always,” she whispers, and it’s not anger. It’s not even resistance. It’s foreplay.

“Good.”

I slam into her with a growl. The slap of our bodies colliding is thunderous, primal. My hands grip her hips, teeth grit, every thrust punishing—perfect. She moans like she can’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore, and fuck, neither can I.

I lean over her, one arm curling around her waist, the other fisting her hair to turn her face back toward me. I kiss her jaw. Her cheek. Her mouth. I thrust into her like I’m trying to fuck the guilt out of me, the years out of me, the loss out of me.

“You feel this?” I snarl into her skin. “Every time I sink into you? That’s what I’ve been missing. You . ”

She whimpers, voice broken. “Don’t stop?—”

“I can’t stop.”

My rhythm turns brutal. My hips crash into hers with feral precision. Her hands slap against the tile for leverage. Our bodies steam and collide and tangle in the echo of every unsaid thing.

She comes again, biting my name through clenched teeth. And I follow—spilling inside her with a groan, forehead against her shoulder, hips twitching with the last shreds of restraint.

We stay like that. Breathing. Shaking. Burned clean. And I wonder—briefly, stupidly—if this is what peace feels like. But we both know better. Peace doesn’t last in our world.

And the knock on the door, when it comes, will remind us why.

The water's still dripping from her skin when the knock comes.

Sharp. Repetitive. Impatient.

Three times in a row—like whoever’s on the other side of that door thinks the walls here are theirs to rattle.

Maxine freezes. I do not.

I’m by the kitchenette in two strides, naked except for the towel slung low on my hips, hands clenched into fists and every nerve in my body screaming to end someone.

I already know who it is. It can only be my persistent colleagues this early in the morning.

Federal agents who don't understand the meaning of “no.”

Maxine grabs her robe from the floor and shrugs it on fast, her fingers fumbling with the tie. She glances back at me, eyes dark with nerves, but she’s not afraid.

“Don’t come out,” she whispers.

“Max—”

“I’ve got this.”

She moves to the door, barefoot and still flushed from the shower, her hair damp and curling against her shoulders. She doesn’t open the door fully—smart girl. Just unlatches the lock, keeps the chain in place, and opens it just enough for a face-to-face with the devil.

“Miss Andrade,” one of them says. I recognize the voice as that of a man on the Aviary taskforce. Cocky prick with too much confidence and not enough conscience. “We need a moment of your time. ”

“It’s not a good time,” she says tightly. “I have class in an hour.”

“Then we’ll make it quick.”

She narrows her eyes through the crack in the door. “If you think I’m going to invite you two into my apartment while I’m half-naked, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Silence. Then a cough. Embarrassed.

“We can wait outside while you get dressed.”

“Then you can wait forever, because I’m not having this conversation again. I told you, I have nothing to say. I’m not interested in being part of your PR campaign, your case, your numbers, your?—”

“Is someone in there with you?” one of them interrupts.

My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the counter.

She laughs. One of those low, dangerous sounds that warns of an eruption of epic proportions.

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is our business if you’re harboring a person of interest.”

“Oh, you mean a human being I might be sleeping with?” she snaps. “You don’t get to ask who I let into my apartment. You don’t get to knock like you live here and interrogate me like I owe you my body, my time, or my fucking allegiance.”

I’m smiling now. Slow. Sharp. God, she’s something.

“Ma’am, we’re just trying to?—”

“Don’t call me ma’am. And don’t show up here again unless you’ve got a warrant and an army. Now go away.”

She slams the door in their faces. The chain rattles, and I hear her breathing hard for a beat. Then she flips the lock shut and leans against the door, exhaling all the venom she didn’t get to use.

I don’t wait. I cross the room and pull her away from the wood, cupping her jaw and pressing my forehead to hers. Her eyes are wild, pulse racing under my thumb .

“Jesus,” I whisper. “You wanna kill me?”

“Why? Because I didn’t let them in?”

“Because you answering the door like that—” I glance down at the robe, the thin satin clinging to the outline of her hips, her nipples pebbling against the fabric. “—isn’t fucking fair.”

Her mouth curves. “I didn’t want you going out there instead.”

“I should’ve.”

“Then it’s good you didn’t,” she whispers, brushing her mouth against mine. “Because this isn’t about you, Saxon. This is my life. My decision. And I won’t be strongarmed into anything—not by them. Or anyone else.”

God, I could devour her for that. But we don’t have time.

“They’ll be watching,” I say instead, brushing my knuckles along her cheek. “They’re not stupid. Just persistent. If I walk out of here right after you, we both know what happens next.”

“So I go first.”

I nod. “You leave like normal. Backpack, phone, coffee, uni girl act. And I wait. I’ll follow ten minutes behind. I’ll double back three times. We won’t meet again until I know you’re clear.”

She swallows. “You really think they’ll come back again?”

I don’t say it. I just pull her closer. Kiss her forehead. Her cheek. Her lips. Then I press her into the wall, hand sliding up her thigh beneath the robe.

“Saxon—”

“Shh,” I whisper, dragging my mouth down her throat. “I just need a second. Just a taste.”

My hand finds her heat, slick and ready.

“You’re insatiable,” she breathes, hips arching into my touch.

I bite her shoulder gently, sliding a finger inside her, slow and deep. “Let me feel your heat, Maxine.”

She moans softly, forehead pressed to mine, hands gripping my shoulders .

I don’t fuck her. I just make her come standing against the wall, with my mouth on her neck and my fingers inside her, slow and filthy, until she’s gasping my name and clinging to me like she’s the one about to break. And when she’s done? I kiss her. Deep. Possessive. Final.

I watch as she gets dressed, then grabs her bag. She straightens the collar of her coat, then opens the door and looks back at me hesitantly.

“Go,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”

She hesitates for half a breath—like she might stay, say something endearing—but she only nods, presses one last kiss to my lips, and walks out the door.

I don’t breathe until the door clicks shut behind her. I wait. I count every second like a prayer. Like penance. Because keeping her safe isn’t a mission anymore. It’s all I have left to offer her. And maybe—just maybe—it’ll be enough.