The Cage (Book 2)

Raw

Mature content warning! 

Raw

He didn't speak when I approached. Just leaned on the axe like it was the only thing keeping him upright, eyes narrowed against the sun, jaw tight enough to crack.

I slowed as I neared, unsure of the reception I'd gotten so far. There was a rawness in the air that hadn't been there before -an undercurrent of something bristling just beneath the surface. It wasn't anger exactly.

"I didn't mean to sneak up on you," I said, my voice quiet, and it suddenly occurred to me for the first time that Schneider had wanted some time alone. He wouldn't be here all by himself otherwise.

But that wasn't easy for me to give him -not yet, when I'd only just gotten him back. We'd already lost so much time. The thought of being apart from him, even for a moment, suffocated me. Perhaps it was selfish of me to deny Schneider his privacy, but a part of me trusted he felt the same way.

Schneider didn't move, didn't soften. "You should've stayed in bed."

"I'm tired of beds," I replied, trying for lightness, though it came out thin.

His eyes flicked over me then -slow, assessing. He was checking for signs of frailty or injury.

A tremor passed through me under his gaze, not from pain, but from the weight of being seen like that.

"You look like shit," he said after a beat, but there was no venom in it, only something close to fear, well-hidden.

I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him, the scent of sweat and smoke and earth clinging to his skin. "Well, so do you," I said.

That got a huff of breath -half amusement, half disbelief. He dropped the axe and turned fully to face me, and something in the way he stood made my chest twist. Defensive, but not from me. From whatever storm he was holding inside.

"You don't get it," he said quietly, voice strained. "Watching you go down like that—bleeding out..."

He didn't finish.

I nearly sighed. And here I thought we'd already settled this. But it seemed he needed more convincing.

I reached for him, fingertips brushing the edge of a scar that ran jagged over his ribcage. It was a new scar; one I hadn't seen before. "Then tell me so I can get it. Don't shut me out, Schneider."

His hands were suddenly on me, rough and demanding. I surrendered to him immediately, like a flower opening to the sun. And then he kissed me, hard, like he was trying to erase the memory of almost losing me. Like he needed to remind himself that I was real.

I kissed him just as hard, wanting to eradicate all the pain and torture from his memory.

His hands gripped my face like he was afraid I might vanish. The kiss turned desperate, teeth grazing, breath uneven, like he didn't know whether to pull me closer or shove me away for daring to be vulnerable, for being his weakness, as much as he was mine.

I let him take what he needed. I gave him the anchor he didn't know how to ask for.

Finally, he broke the kiss with a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against mine. His cheeks were unusually flushed, and the unfamiliar sight made liquid heat pool in my gut. We held each other's gazes for a long while, seemingly content to stare into the other's eyes without speaking. We let our eyes do the talking.

I slid my hands down to his waist and felt the tension beneath my fingers.

A muscle jumped in his jaw, and I watched with satisfaction a war waging behind his eyes -wanting me close, terrified of it at the same time. He looked exhausted from carrying the weight of everything on his own.

"Please let me protect you too," I murmured.

He shuddered, and that was all it took to crack him open. He kissed me again, less violent this time, but no less hungry. His hands slid under my shirt and over my bandages, calloused palms dragging over the curve of my spine like he needed the contact to stay grounded.

I gasped into his mouth as he pulled me flush against him, our bodies aligning like we'd been sculpted to fit just so.

We stumbled backward until my shoulders hit the siding of the house. The wood was warm against my back, sun-baked, but he was warmer still -feverish where his skin met mine. His lips traced a path down my throat, open-mouthed and reverent, and I felt him mutter something low against my pulse.

"What was that?" I asked, voice shaky.

He didn't answer. Just looked up at me with eyes that held too much.

My breath caught.

And then there was no space left between us. Clothes became a problem we quickly solved together -tugging, fumbling, impatient. He turned me gently, one hand braced against the wall beside my head, the other gripping my hip, holding me steady like he was afraid I might break if he wasn't careful.

But I didn't want careful. I wanted raw.

"Don't hold back," I begged, looking over my shoulder.

His voice came rough, almost guttural. "You sure?"

"Yes."

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

The lovers finally reunited! 

The Cage (Book 2 in the Cross Brothers Series) has concluded on my Patreon, and soon, I'll be launching Book 3! If you would like to catch up with the story, consider joining my Patreon for early access, exclusive NSFW content and much more! https://www.patreon.com/c/feastofnoise

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