sighed, and his chest rattled. Breathing – a simple act, something that is second nature to humans – he struggled with it. “Remember the last time you walked out of my office. I had warned you not to hurt Lila… because you’d hurt yourself. I said you were on the path of self-destruction because I knew. I knew about the Carmichaels. I knew you were keeping it secret, and I… warned… you.”
My back shot up straight, and I glared down at my father. “How did you know?”
His lips crooked on the side, a grin that reminded me of my own. A signature Coulter’s smirk. “You were digging into her past, and you weren’t as careful as you thought you were. Maddox, you forget, I have eyes and ears everywhere. Of course, I knew.”
Goddamn it.
His eyes closed, and he sighed again. “I’m sorry I never said I was proud of you.” His voice grew weaker, until he was whispering those words.
“Too late,” I said. But this time, there was less anger, less heat.
There had been too much toxicity between us. Too much hatred, too much frustration and a whole lot of negativity. Our misunderstandings grew every year, and it pulled us apart, further and further away from each other.
It took my father to be on his deathbed for us to try and fix this, whatever was left of this father and son relationship. And trust me, there wasn’t much left.
After making sure he was tucked in comfortably, I turned off the lights. “Good night.”
He mumbled something incorrigible in return.
Numb and mentally exhausted, I stumbled into my bedroom. Turning my neck left and right, I tried to release the tension there. My skin prickled with something fierce, too many emotions, rattling inside of me.
I tugged my shirt over my head and discarded the rest of my clothes on my bathroom’s floor, before stepping into the shower.
I stood under the spray for a long minute, and with my forehead against the shower wall, I squeezed my eyes shut. What the hell was I really doing? Here, in this sterile place, that reminded me of nothing but how ugly my relationship with my parents was.
They have been trying, slowly opening up to me. We’ve had all meals together, had a movie night every night – fuck – my mother even baked my favorite carrot cake. The last time I had my mother’s carrot cake was on my seventh birthday.
Shit. Fixing our relationship wasn’t an easy task, when we had a time limit. If only Lila was here…
No. No. Fuck, NO!
My hand landed beside my head, and I slapped the wall. She was the last person I wanted to think about, right now, but damn it, she was everywhere. In my head, in my every thought, in my dreams.
I tried burning that stupid dreamcatcher, but it felt like I had torn out a piece of my heart. My left hand was still sore from the burn it took, when I saved that damn necklace from the fire.
The mere thought of her drove me crazy, an insane desperation for her. I quickly soaped up my body, angrily rubbing my skin, until it itched and burned. Now that Lila had made her way back into my head, I couldn’t stop thinking of her.
Her voice.
Her brown eyes.
Her sweet fucking smile. Her mischievous smirk.
Her slim throat. Her scars…
Her juicy ass. Damn it. And now, I was hard.
My hand drifted down to my dick. I gripped the base and squeezed my length, before stroking myself once, twice, and then my cock jerked, as I added more pressure. My hand glided around my dick, easily, and I hissed, as the pressure grew, my hardness growing thicker in my palm. I fisted my cock tightly.
I was assaulted with every image of Lila. Her sexy grin, as she laid on the bed, legs spread open, her pussy, red and wet for me. I imagined Lila on all fours, ass in the air. That was the thing about imagination. You could turn it into anything you wanted.
In my head, I cupped her ass and squeezed. Slid my thumb between those two pale, juicy globes and caressed her tight, little hole. My balls grew tight and heavier between my legs. I pumped my throbbing dick harder, as I conjured up the filthiest scene in my head.
She fights me.
Because she knows I want it.
She moans, louder. Her hips jerking, as I pinch her clit between my thumb and forefinger. She whimpers, as I drag her wetness