Stain (Stain #1)(40)

“Hey.”

That one hushed demand has me meeting his gaze. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, a bit more firmly now.

With a shake of my head, I reply, “No.”

“Good,” he says, and then turns his attention to my assailant while still speaking to me. “How long do you think he’ll stay in the air before his body smacks into the ground?”

“Fuck, man! Shit. I’m sorry, all right? Didn’t realize she was your girl!”

“Aylee?”

My eyes fly to his face and though he just said my name, he’s still not looking at me. But from where I’m standing I have a good view of him and he looks completely unfazed by what’s happening. By what he’s doing. He sports the same hard, incisive expression he had when he’d held the sledgehammer to the Infinity driver’s throat last week. “He won’t stay airborne for long.” I find myself replying with an astounding level of coolness that rivals Maddox’s own. “The impact of his body hitting the concrete will be worse.”

“I’m thinking we test that theory. I’m kind of curious now to see just how gravity works. Extra credit toward our astronomy project.” The guy screams in protest when Maddox pushes him a little further over the railing. Sick fascination has me wondering whether he’ll actually do it. When our eyes meet again, I find my answer.

“How about we get extra credit without committing murder? I’ve done it plenty of times before,” I utter.

I see his mouth twitch. “Commit murder?”

I’m not at all surprised he can find humor in this. I’m slowly learning Maddox Moore is a little off that way. “Get extra credit,” I correct. “You should let him go.”

It does something strange to my insides when he actually complies and tugs the guy back from the edge and steadily brings him onto his feet. But he keeps the gun exactly where it is against the guy’s head. “You should apologize for putting your filthy f*cking hands on her.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again. I’m sorry for touching you!”

I know it’s not sincere, I know he’s only doing it because he’s under duress, but I don’t really care. It makes me feel good to see this jerk grovel, it feels amazing to hear him apologize for invading my space. For putting his hands on me without my f*cking permission. Without thinking, without any form of hesitation, I walk up to the perverter, raise my booted foot, and kick him as hard as I can in the balls. His eyes widen as he doubles over in pain. When Maddox releases him, he crumples to floor into a fetal position, cupping a hand between his tightly-clenched thighs. I have no pity for him.

All I can think about is him doing this to some other girl who wouldn’t be so lucky as to have anyone step in to help her. I look down at him and I raise my foot to kick him again. It’s like the haze I fall into when I’m cutting. I forget where I am. Nothing else exist except to see how perfectly I can execute my internal emotions and turn them into something physical. Kicking this man is my anger being executed. The anger feels so good. For once in my entire life, I’m given a small chance to feel powerful. To be in control of something other than my razor blade.

I feel arms wrap around my waist, feel myself being lifted inches from the ground before Maddox sets me back down again, effectively stopping me from inflicting any more damage. The instant his cool hand curves around the left side of my face and he lowers his head close enough for us to share a breath, the haze dissipates.

Huskily, he asks, “Feels good, doesn’t it?” I suddenly have no idea to what he’s referring because the way he’s looking at me now, the soft, gentle caress of his thumb at the corner of my mouth, him teasing my bottom lip open makes me forget I’m ever anything but mindlessly intoxicated by him.

“What?” I’m stupid with lust, it’s a heady pheromone percolating in the air we share.

“The anger? Letting go…” He inclines his dark head, comes within inches of my partially open mouth. My eyes flick up and down between his smoldering gaze and his insanely sensual mouth as my lips tremble for a taste, for a small helping of what I can only imagine to be mind-blowing sustenance. I can feel my heart beating even while I momentarily stop breathing. I’m faint from anticipation.

Kiss me, Maddox. Please…please…press your beautiful mouth to mine.

I think he will.

I pray he does.

I feel myself die a little when he doesn’t. But it’s a short-lived, emotional death. It’s only mere seconds later that he rouses embers of such raw, carnal desires in me. His wicked mouth coasts past my lips, the combination of his hot breath and the slide of his wet lips trailing along my cheek produces an explosion of goose bumps along my skin. I forget that kissing is even a thing. This… This simple, tantalizing play of breath and flesh on flesh is more intimate than if he were to simply kiss me. This is sweet, tortured eroticism.

“Feels…good…?” A gasp escapes from my lips as my eyes widen. His hand on my bare skin falls on the outside of my thighs and then in the space between my skirt and the leggings. He strokes that bit of skin with the backs of his curved fingers. Up and down. Up and down. Slowly, ever so slowly inching upward until his hand disappears beneath the skirt. “I like the way you feel, Ay…lee.” The low, indescribably sexy whisper of his words and the guttural exhalation of my name evokes a body-tingling shudder. I have to lift my hands to grip his shoulders when he gently strokes up the curve of my right butt cheek, and my knees turn to jelly.