Page 34 of The Trust
Except, something hard slams up into my ribs and I hiss.
Cracking my tired eyes open, I look down to find Mac’s head wedged between my side and the mattress like he’s attempting to burrow beneath me.
“What the hell, Vida,” I whisper, and thread my fingers into his hair.
I scratch at his scalp until he finally stills, finally stops shoving into me, and slumps along my side.
His unshaven jaw pricks my skin, surely leaving marks, and I smile at the thought.
There’s been a time or two I’ve worn his bitemark—toted around a pretty dark hickey that his brother razzed me about because it was on my bicep of all places—like a badge of honor and a part of me hopes that he’ll leave beard burn behind.
Even if it means that the wrong person sees.
I wish I’d done more than broke that fucker’s nose.
Slipping my arms around Mac, I hold him close.
I didn’t tell him the whole truth, the exact words that’d been said once his back was turned yesterday, but he knew.
And that made me so fucking sad.
Angry.
That my drummer, my Vida, had dealt with enough shit like that to know without being told what had happened in a place where he was supposed to be safe.
I know I won’t always be able to protect him.
But in the places we call home?
The everyday places that are supposed to be safe for him, forus, to exist?
They’d better kill me dead if they think they can get away with it.
“Baby,” Mac half whimpers, half moans into my ribs. His breath tickles my skin, raising goosebumps, and I curl a light fist in his hair.
“Right here, Vida.”
“My arm’sasleep,” he moans and flops over, his head smashing into my bicep.
“Okay, chaos, lemme see.”
He flops it across my sternum with a hiss I can’t help but chuckle at.
“Not funny.”
I dig my fingertips into the meat of his muscles, circling them to help bring back the blood flow.
“It is because you were laying directly on it, willingly.”
His huff morphs into a contented sigh, and I let the ease of it soothe me. The familiarity of it settle me.
“You know what else is asleep?” he rasps out with a sleep-deep voice that makes my stomach clench.
“Hm?”
“My cock.”
The laugh that bubbles up bursts out of me when he raises his hips into the air and shakes his junk back and forth. It slides behind the thin shorts, half-filled and begging for my attention.
