Page 112 of Mace

While I work at the kitchen table, Riot plays on Toby’s console in the living room. Mace sends a couple messages, normal routine things, which tells me Riot hasn’t told him what happened with Bernie. I’m grateful for that because I need to be the one to tell him.

When Toby gets home, Riot orders pizza, and we all settle down to watch a movie.

I’m just drifting off when I hear keys in the lock. It jolts me fully awake, and I try to contain my excitement, but when he appears in the doorframe looking hotter than hell, I forget my resolve.

I shove up from the sofa and rush him, throwing my arms around his neck as I kiss him like he’s the breath in my lungs. Fuck, I missed him so much. He smells of outside and his aftershave, and the familiarity of him washes through me.

“If I knew I was gonna get this kind of welcome, I’d go away more often.” He tightens his hold on me as I shake my head.

“I missed you,” I admit.

“I missed you too,” he says, kissing me with a quiet desperation that tells me he’s not lying.

If we were alone, I’d already be shoving his shirt off, but I’m hyperaware of the eyes boring into my back. It takes all my strength to pull away, and I don’t miss the heat behind his exhaustion.

“There’s pizza left in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” Riot says.

He’s positioned himself at the end of the couch, Toby on his other side, and I’m sure that was a strategic decision considering our earlier conversation. My sister isn’t the most subtle and keeps shooting him covert looks when she thinks he’s distracted.

“Thanks.”

Mace takes my hand, leading me into the kitchen, but he doesn’t go to the pizza box. Instead, he presses me against the wall, one hand resting on my hip, the other on the back of my neck. Surrounded by him like this, my body feels alive and alert, every part of me craving him like a drug.

I cling to his kutte, the leather soft beneath my fingers. “I need you.”

“You have me,” he says, his eyes soft as he takes me in. His hand slips between us, rubbing me through my clothes. Instantly, wetness floods my pussy. “I’ve missed this sweet cunt,” he says, pulling a full body shiver from me.

I let out a wanton groan before I manage to find my senses. I can’t let him touch me like this without giving him the truth. I don’t want him to feel like I’ve used him or hidden things, even though I have.

It takes monumental effort to refuse what he’s offering, but I grip his wrist, stopping his motion. “I need to talk to you,” I say, and his hand stills.

Concern flickers across his face as he scans me, as if searching for a gaping wound. “Is everything okay? Nate never mentioned anything?—”

“I asked him not to say anything because I wanted to talk to you myself.”

His brows come together in consternation, and mymouth is suddenly dry as he leans into my space. The wall at my back is as unmovable as him. “About what?”

“About my landlord.” This is not going to go well, so I brace as I deliver the news. “I got behind on my payments. That’s why I wanted to dance.”

“Maylie,” he growls my name, his jaw clenching, “what the fuck?”

“I know, I know. This was before we were together. Anyway, I owed quite a lot, and he was understandably pissed. He came to the flat to talk about a… payment plan.”

His hand braces against the wall next to my head as he dips his chin towards me. “How much do you need?”

The fact he offers straight away makes warmth spread through my chest. No questions asked, just what do I need. This man is something else. He also doesn’t realise what I mean by a payment plan.

“I don’t need money. I settled the bill already, and that’s not why I’m telling you this. There are a few reasons, but I don’t want there to be lies between us or half-truths. I thought Bernie was out of the picture, but now, he’s punishing me for refusing to play his games.”

“What games?”

I lick my lips, but there is zero moisture in my mouth right now. “Well, when he first came here, I didn’t have the money to pay him. I gave him what I had, but I was still short, so he suggested I could pay him with a different kind of currency.” I wince even as I say it. It sounds so ridiculous.

“What kind of currency?” The granite tone to his voice is matched by rage lashing in his eyes. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it from my mouth.

I tighten my fingers in his kutte, scared if I let him go, he might decide to do something rash. His fury is a palpable thing.

“I need you to stay calm, okay?”

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