15. Maddox

FIFTEEN

MADDOX

My shoulder still aches, even several days later, but the wound no longer looks worse for wear and the stitches hold well. I doubt I'd have gotten better care at a hospital.

I wouldn't have gotten a better nurse maid, that's for sure. Knives has been hovering the entire time, helping me with everything and deflecting the steady stream of local gossips who keep stopping by "just to check in."

He closes the door on our rented room at the only B&B in town and sighs heavily, bringing the tray of coffee and muffins inside.

"Rebecca invited us to another event tonight," Knives says as he sets the tray down on the desk.

"I heard," I answer. "And I know you're just dying to go." He glares at me. I smirk at him. "Bet you'll be happy to see the last of this place."

I should be ready to go, too, but I keep thinking about going back to New Bristol after failing so miserably. I had one job, and I'd fucked it up. Silvano is going to demote me for sure—and probably demote Knives as well. Maybe we deserve it.

But the more I think about it, the more it feels like we really were set up to fail.

"When we were out there," I say before he can reply, "you mentioned something about Silvano setting us up or whatever. Do you really think that's what happened?"

Knives stops midway through pouring the coffee into a mug. He stares at me, finishes pouring, then comes to hand the mug to me.

"I don't know. It doesn't seem like Silvano—or maybe it does. I haven't been with the Crescis as long as you have. Silvano comes off as reasonable, but I guess that's just his mask."

I take the coffee and lean back against the headboard. "I don't think he'd risk two loyal men on a whim," I say slowly, but I'm no longer as sure as I had been. "He really did want that shipment back. But…" I fidget with the mug, staring down into it. "I don't know. He was always good to me. He's the one who promoted me to begin with." My shoulders slump. "I guess I disappointed him, though."

It's hard not to dwell on that. I've disappointed people so many times in my life, and I guess I have a complex about it. If Silvano really was so upset with me that he sent me off to fucking die, well. That'd just be the cherry on top.

"I thought I was doing well, too," Knives mutters. He serves himself coffee and takes a muffin before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Evan trusted me to guard Silvano on my own. Well, while Kyran was also there." Knives makes a sour face. "I'd believe that Kyran hates us. Maybe Silvano got rid of us because Kyran told him to."

"He hasn't gotten rid of us yet," I argue. "And he couldn't have seen this coming. Not the swamp bits, anyway." I shake my head. "If they'd wanted to get rid of us, there would've been easier ways."

Knives laughs bitterly. "Yeah, Silvano probably hasn't set foot on any surface that isn't thoroughly asphalted. Can you imagine his fucking fancy shoes in the swamp?"

I snicker at the thought. "One mosquito bite, and he'd be done for." I instantly feel bad for it, though, and I sigh. "I can't say I blame him, though. I'm ready to get back to the city."

Am I, though?

A break from the violence has been surprisingly nice.

A break from having to look over my shoulder at every turn, a break from terrorizing people.

Knives munches on his muffin, chewing quietly. "Yeah. There's nothing to do here. As soon as your arm is more mobile, we'll head back to NewVa, get some funds, and go home. I'll fucking fly home. I don't give a fuck about the car."

"Do you really want to go back?" I ask abruptly, unable to hold the question back. When he turns his incredulous look on me, I hurry to clarify, "I don't mean staying here or anything like that, but fuck. It's sort of nice not constantly watching my back."

The silence between us is heavy.

"What's the alternative?" Knives asks, half whispered. "If Silvano or Cristiano found out we just ditched everything…"

"We pretend we got killed by those guys," I say, the plan already forming. "We rent a car with that fucker's credit card and drive all the way to Mexico." It's not like the guy we'd killed will miss it.

"We illegally cross the border? How's your Spanish?" Knives shakes his head. "We'd have no paperwork, so the kind of work we could find in Mexico is basically… well, the same shit we do here."

I deflate. He's right. There's no easy path to the straight and narrow, not from here. Not without somehow getting Silvano's blessing, and that wouldn't even sit right with me if I got it. It's a catch-22. "Oh well," I say, slowly letting out a breath. "I just wonder sometimes what things would've been like, you know? Maybe we would've found a place like this, been bored out of our minds while we did… whatever it is they do here when they aren't having potlucks and going fishing."

"Yeah." Knives scoffs and scratches the back of his head. "My dad wanted me to take over the family business. Because apparently, ‘shady locksmith' is such a step up from what I'm doing now. The only real difference is that his scams didn't make him nearly as much money as working for Silvano does."

I laugh even though it's not funny. "I don't even know what I would've done," I say, considering. "Something boring, probably." I stare at him, then say quietly, "But I guess I never would've met you."

And that's not a thought I can easily bear.

Knives stretches out on the bed and lays his hand on my jaw. "What's this really about? You love this shit. I've seen how you slobber after Silvano, trying to imitate his methods."

I look at him, wondering how the fuck I went without him for so long. It makes it difficult to focus on the conversation, but after a moment, I tell him, "Sometimes I wonder if I'm cut out for this life." I smile sardonically. "You're right. I am a puppy chasing Silvano's heels. Maybe I don't really like that."

"You're good enough that Silvano trusts you with this crap." Knives sighs loudly. "I mean, if anything, he's probably just annoyed at me for being so fucking immature about everything."

I lean into his touch. "I wasn't exactly acting mature, either," I say, thinking about how I'd tried to get Knives ousted from this particular mission. "He's not stupid. He probably sent us to do this knowing we'd either get it done and work together or kill each other trying."

"And he didn't care which it was." Knives drops his arm over my chest. "We can sleep on it. Let him think we're dead for now, until we're ready to head back." He grimaces. "I don't really want to tell him about our failure just yet."

I grab Knives's hand, linking my fingers in his. "I don't either," I tell him. "Good thing we don't have phones, wallets, computers, or anything else we could use to get in touch with him." I snort. "Valid excuses, right?"

"Sure," Knives says. "I don't think anyone would buy those excuses, but sure."

He rubs my hand with his thumb, going a little harder, until he untwines his fingers so he can give my hand a proper massage.

I let out a pleased sound, leaning back in the bed. "You can do that all night," I tell him, closing my eyes. "After all of this is over, you can give me an all-over massage, too."

"I can do it now," Knives agrees. "But you might want to change out of your pjs first, because you won't want to get changed once I get started."

"Or I can just get completely undressed now," I say helpfully. "I think there's some lotion in the bathroom."

Not that I'm really thinking of massages anymore, not now that I've thought about being undressed for him.

Knives stills his hands and looks me in the eyes. "We're not doing anything vigorous. Your wound still needs to heal."

I'd pout if I thought I could pull it off, but I'm no twink. It would only look ridiculous. "It doesn't have to be vigorous," I tell him. "It could be gentle." Oh, who am I trying to fool? I can't even keep a straight face when I try to say that. I end up snickering instead.

Knives slaps my thigh lightly. "You didn't even want gentle when you were a complete virgin."

I grin at him. "Guilty." I lift the hand he's been massaging so I can kiss his knuckles. "You could still fuck me hard. Just…" Okay, I have no idea how he'd manage that without jostling my shoulder too much, but it's been feeling better. At least any of the infection that had started to spread has halted, and I don't feel as much like an invalid. "You aren't going to break me."

Not physically, anyway.

Knives groans and leans down to kiss me. At first it's simple, our lips pressing together and his beard catching against my jaw, but I wrap my good arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. I open my mouth for him, but he doesn't take the bait.

That's fine. Kissing like this is nice too, especially when he places more of his weight on me, boxing me in. It's reminiscent of bondage, and I can feel my cock stir.

"Please," I whisper against his lips.

Knives smiles and shakes his head minutely. "I'm supposed to be the responsible one. The one who takes care of you."

"You have been," I protest. "You've been taking care of me so well. But right now, I want you to take care of me in a different way." I take his hand and slide it down so he can feel my burgeoning erection.

His smile drops. "I haven't. Not really." He sighs and buries his head against my good shoulder while moving his hand away from my erection and to my side. "I used you and let out my frustrations on you and treated you like shit."

He's not wrong, and it would be a lie to tell him that.

"I let you," I say, stroking his hair. "I could've walked away. I could've told you no."

I hadn't, and that had partially been due to my own self-hatred and plan for utter self-destruction. But I'd wanted him, too.

"You're the only person who's ever known how to handle me," I tell him quietly. "Others have tried, but they've never even come close to you."

"That can't be true," Knives says. He kisses my jaw. "I don't even know what you like. I just forced you to take whatever I wanted."

"If I'd told you I liked it that way, you'd have stopped," I say wryly. "So I just never told you."

Knives laughs and rolls his hips, dragging his cock against mine. I only wish we weren't still wearing our pants.

"Fuck. I kept telling myself it was just teenage nostalgia. That what we had couldn't have been that good, because…" Knives squeezes his eyes shut. "Never mind."

"No," I say, kissing him again, a little more urgently this time. "Don't do that. Don't block me out. Nayeem…"

"I can't promise I won't get resentful again." Knives squeezes my side. "But I'm going to try, all right? So let's… let's try gentle."

I want to insist, but he's probably not wrong—and I'd rather not need the painkillers again. I don't like how hazy they make me feel, and for all my talk about being relaxed and sure no one can find us here, I'm not a hundred percent positive that's true.

Boar is still out there.

We stole his fucking boat.

There's no way he's not looking for us.

I don't want to be in a headspace where I can't react if I need to.

"Okay," I tell him, nodding. I offer him a rueful smile. "It'll be something new and different for us."

Knives kisses me again, and it's still slow, but the quality of the kiss has changed. Knives nips my lower lip gently, coaxes my mouth open, and teases me with a suggestion of roughness that never comes.

It's both disappointing and titillating all at once. The idea that this is what we could've had together is a strange one, but it doesn't seem fitting. Our lives are full of violence, and there doesn't seem to be a place for romantic lovemaking in it.

But this is what he wants, and regardless, my cock is still up for it.

My cock will always be up for Knives, even when that's felt treasonous at best.

Knives leaves my shirt on, and I hiss out a breath when he pulls my sweats down just enough to expose my cock.

I lift my hips to encourage him to remove them entirely. "I'm fine!" I say quickly when he looks at me. "Fuck, don't stop now. It's just a twinge! If you stop, I'll shoot you ."

"With what weapon?" he retorts.

I scowl down at him. "The one in my pants." I try to sound deadpan, but I end up laughing instead. "Fuck, sorry. I couldn't help myself."

Knives shakes his head in amusement, then takes hold of my cock. I swallow hard, especially when he squeezes—and keeps squeezing, tight enough that it stops being pleasurable and shifts over to painful.

My erection doesn't wane. How could it, with him touching me?

I grunt, though, and I settle back against the pillows when he slides down. "Wait, what?" I protest when I realize he's planning on blowing me instead of fucking me. "Nayeem!"

"What?" he asks, glancing up at me. "You have a problem with how I'm running this show?"

"Yes," I say, reaching down to grab him by the hair. "Get back up here. I want you to fuck me, not tease me."

I'm not against getting head, but a blowjob would have him entirely focused on me.

I don't feel like I deserve it, and that thought is a bit of a buzzkill.

"We're going gentle, remember?" Knives says. He licks the head of my cock, then blows across it, the contrast of temperatures making me shiver. I whine, but he keeps his hands on my thighs to force me to stay in place.

"This might be too gentle," I say, my voice unsteady. I think I need more. I think that to keep myself from falling back into some fucked-up cycle of self-hatred, I have to have more. "I'm still thinking." I manage a half-smile. "You may need to step it up a little."

Knives scrapes his teeth against the sensitive head of my cock. I hiss, and if he weren't holding me down, I would have bucked up into his mouth.

"Like that?" Knives asks, smirking at me.

"That—" I swallow hard, my thoughts getting messy as the pleasure and discomfort sweep through my mind. "That's a good start."

"Maybe if you hold very still, I'll be rougher," Knives says. He digs a nail into the base of my shaft. "But if you wiggle around and struggle, I'll have to go extra gentle."

"You're such an asshole," I say, the words coming out more as a whine than anything else. Ugh. "You wouldn't really do that."

From the smirk still lingering on his lips, I can tell he would, and I scowl down at him.

I'm about to tell him to go fuck himself when I realize he might take it the wrong way—or maybe he'd take it as the grumbling it's meant to be and touch me even more lightly, teasing me even more. Fuck.

Knives leans down and wraps his lips around my cock, taking me in deep. I groan and automatically lift my hips—but as soon as I do, Knives pulls off and shakes his head at me. "No moving."

I groan. This is going to be torture. Hell, this is already torture. "Can you at least tie me up with a fucking bathrobe or something?" I complain.

I haven't had vanilla sex in years.

"And risk jostling your wound? No." Knives glares at me. "Just fucking lay back and keep still, Maddox. You'll take what I give you."

Only the dominant tone of his voice has me—reluctantly—settling back into the bed and trying to stay still. It's not what I want. It's not what either of us want. But if he's going to use that voice on me, I guess I can try to do things this way.

Just this once.

"Fine," I mumble. "But only because you're hot when you're ordering me around."

"You're not the dom here," Knives mutters, giving my cock another squeeze that makes a shudder run down my spine. "I can stop entirely if you're going to be a brat."

"No," I say quickly. "You don't have to stop. I don't want you to stop."

"Then be good." Knives settles his weight more heavily across my thighs. He licks my cock again, and it's all I can do to lie perfectly still and not jerk into the sensation.

His mouth is so fucking warm though, and he knows how to get that perfect pressure that's just shy of too much. I moan and clench the sheets so I don't move accidentally, and knowing that I'm doing that for him has my face heating up more too.

The hairs of his beard scratch against my balls, and I like that sensation too, a little rough, a little more Knives .

I let myself fall into the pleasure, focusing on just enjoying myself and following his orders, when he pulls back.

"I was close," I complain.

Knives grins at me. "I know."

I move my arm over my face, biting into it to keep myself from whining and sounding like a total brat even though that's what I feel like right now. Only when I've gathered myself do I pull it down, staring down at Knives. "You can't seriously be planning on edging me all morning."

"All morning?" Knives glances at the bedside alarm clock. "I've only just started. You can't handle even five minutes of edging?"

"I want you to be fucking me," I grumble. "Not torturing me."

Knives shrugs. "If I'm going to fuck you, I have to prep you."

"Prepping me isn't the same as edging me," I point out.

He sits up, taking his warmth with him, and reaches for the plastic bag sitting on the floor next to the bed. He pulls out a small bottle of lube. I scrunch up my nose when I see the brand, and Knives laughs. "Yeah, I know. They didn't have anything else at the store though. You think they carry the expensive lubes out here?"

"I'm sure you got side-eyed just for buying it." I pause, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat when I ask carefully, "Did you get condoms?"

Maybe that's why he doesn't want to fuck me. Maybe he wasn't able to get condoms. I assume a small town like this has to have them—it's not like they aren't fucking around either—but maybe they didn't have his size.

Knives reaches into the bag and pulls out a box of extra large condoms. "I definitely got side-eyed. One of the men there told me to stay away from his daughter."

I snort at that, though I half wish he hadn't been able to find any, so his only choice would be to take me raw. "I don't know if it's better or worse that he thought you're some kind of womanizer," I remark.

"Considering he also added a few choice racist remarks…" Knives slides his sweats down.

"Fuck them," I mutter, but I'm distracted by him pulling his boxers down too, revealing the cock that definitely requires those extra-large condoms. "Or really, fuck me. " I make the joke a little cautiously, not sure of where his mood will be.

"Maybe," Knives teases. He kneels between my legs and pushes my thighs up. I grunt and try to remove the sweats, but he swats my hand away.

"Leave it," he growls as he pulls the fabric tight, like makeshift bondage. "Your legs don't go wider than this. Your hole isn't open to the public anymore."

I don't like the jab. "Nayeem," I say, letting a touch of warning seep into my voice. "I'm not some used-up whore, all right? And your cock isn't open to the public anymore, either, or I'll fucking cut it off."

Am I allowed to be that possessive now? Have things changed that much?

Knives stops and meets my gaze, looking apologetic. "Sorry. That was… I was trying for sexy. Dominant."

It's my turn to look apologetic, and I wince. "Sorry. Just… sensitive, I guess." Before I can start to beat myself up over it, he grips my cock, and I groan. "Fuck. All right. You own this hole, and this cock," I prompt him.

Knives pushes my legs up farther, and it's fucking awkward while still wearing the sweats, but they do keep me from spreading wide. "Keep those there," he says, dripping some of the low-quality lube onto my hole.

It's cold in comparison to how heated my body feels, and Knives doesn't give me any time to adjust before he thrusts one of his thick fingers inside. I moan loudly to encourage him, and get a swat on the inside of my thigh in response.

"Shh. You don't want the whole town to hear what we're doing."

"They can fuck right off," I mutter, but I do quiet down even though I don't fucking want to. I'm tired of trying to be silent when we fuck. "I can't wait until we can both be as loud as we want."

I don't think we ever have.

Either we were young and trying to hide what we were doing from the gang, or it had been hate-fucking in closets or quickies where no one could hear us.

"Just watch. It'll turn out you've got a kink for closets." Knives adds a second finger before he starts massaging my insides, seeking out my prostate.

I groan and tremble, remembering his order to hold still. It's hard to keep a conversation going when he's distracting me like this.

Especially once he wraps his other hand around my cock, and he's pumping me from both sides.

I close my eyes, throwing my head back. It feels so fucking good, and I don't think I'm going to be able to last very long. "Doubt… Doubt that," I mumble. It had never really felt hot when there had been so much at stake. "Fuck."

"There have to be a few we haven't tried in Silvano's manor," Knives says with amusement. "His bedroom closet, for one." I start to laugh, but he tightens his hand around my cock at the same time he drills his fingers against my prostate.

Keeping my legs out of the way is causing me strain and making my shoulder twinge, but I'm not complaining. The pleasure is too good, and I should warn Knives that I'm about to come.

He pulls his fingers out and pinches the base of my cock before I can. "Did I say you could come yet?"

Shit.

I'm torn between thinking it's hot and wanting to complain that he got in the way of my orgasm for the second time. "No," I say, "but unless you're planning on fucking me senseless…"

"I'm going to wring you out and leave you an incoherent mess," Knives growls. "If you can still complain, we've got a long way to go."

"I'm a mess!" I protest, the need threatening to overwhelm me as I try to thrust up against him—only to be caught again as he stops me with a look. "Sorry, sorry," I mumble.

I'm not, not really.

As long as he doesn't stop, anyway.

He wasn't kidding, though. He alternates between using his hands, fingers, and tongue to drive me absolutely wild. Pleasure floods in to me, and right as I think I'll finally get to come, he pulls away and pinches or bites me. I try keeping my sounds to myself, I try holding perfectly still, but I'm doing something to give myself away every time.

The constant denial is making me sweat and tremble. After the fifth or sixth time, I barely have the strength to hold my legs up.

"Please," I beg. "Please, Nayeem, please."

Knives kisses the inside of my thigh. "Shh. You're doing great. Once more."

"Nayeem," I protest, not even caring that I'm whining anymore. "Fuck me. Come on. Just fuck me, and let me come on your cock, and—" He bites down, and I jerk, words failing me as I can do nothing but groan.

"I'll fuck you," Knives says.

I want to cheer, but the most I can do is a tired smile.

"But only if you don't come at all," Knives concludes. "Or I let you come, and I'll mark up your face. You don't get to touch my cock at all."

Another little sound of protest escapes me, and I shake my head. "That's just evil." I'm not sure I can keep from coming, not with the way he keeps playing me like I'm a fucking instrument.

Knives lets go of me and sits back, grinning at me. "What'll it be? I don't care which you choose. And don't worry, I'll make sure you don't come if I've got my cock inside you."

I stare at him. "The fuck? I'd come the second you…" I squirm, trying to focus but only able to think about his touch, about his cock.

Knives glances down at my painfully hard erection. "You think I can't make you go soft first?"

"Let's… let's not…" I start, but I forget what I was saying halfway through. "Fuck, I just want to come. Please, I'll beg."

I'm already begging, but who cares? I'll beg as much as he wants if he only lets me come.

"That's your answer?" Knives takes my balls into one of his large, warm hands and starts massaging. "I won't need that condom after all?"

"Don't need a condom anyway," I mumble. I don't know how he'll react to that, but I don't particularly care.

Knives freezes, and his expression softens. "Maddox… that's not something you should offer right now. Even though I really, really want to take you up on that."

I look at him, fighting through the haze to reply, "I'm not just…" I let out a frustrated sound, torn because I want him to keep touching me as much as I want him to fuck me—and I want him to fuck me bare. I'm tired of the condoms, tired of the barrier between us.

Tired of the distrust.

But he's right. This isn't the time to try to negotiate anything, not when my brain is so overrun with pleasure. I groan, not sure what to say. Not sure what I want.

That's not true. I want everything. I just can't make a fucking decision to save my life.

Knives bends forward awkwardly, his bulk pressing against the stretched fabric of the sweats, and kisses me. I kiss back the best I can, although that mostly means opening my mouth for him and moaning when he runs his tongue over mine.

"Okay," Knives says breathlessly. "Okay. You can come now." He sits back to wrap his hand around my cock and strokes it expertly. The brief interlude did nothing to calm my need, and it doesn't take long for the pleasure to overwhelm me.

I spill over his hand, and I sob, both out of relief and disappointment.

As soon as I start going soft, Knives helps me lower my legs. Then he straddles my chest, and I watch as he strokes himself with his cum-stained hand.

"I wanna suck you," I tell him, my words slurred. Not that a blowjob from me would be anything special right now, not when I'm stuck in such a daze.

Knives laughs and runs his free hand through his hair. "You want to suck on the cock I just smeared your cum all over? Yeah, okay." He scoots closer, careful of my wounded shoulder, and rubs the tip of his cock across my lips.

I don't even care that I can taste myself on his cock. All I care about is taking him into my mouth as I lean forward. It's sloppy and messy, but he doesn't seem to give a fuck. I take more and more of him, until I'm gagging, and I grab his ass to pull him closer before he can get it in his thick skull to try to pull back.

He must have been edging himself as much as me, because it doesn't take long for him to spill inside my mouth. I suck and swallow, desperate to get as much of him as I can.

After a while, I notice that he's stroking my hair.

"Enough, Mads. My cock can't take more," he says gently.

I'd argue, but my post-orgasmic bliss has turned to exhaustion, and I reluctantly pull off of him. I lean into his touch, then I let out a breathless laugh because he called me Mads . I've never been more grateful to hear that nickname in my life.

He gets off the bed, and my heart tightens. My eyes prickle, the endorphins threatening to leave my body instantly.

But Knives is only getting a towel from the en-suite, and he comes back to clean us both up. He's as gentle as he's been these last few days, taking care of me and ensuring I can heal properly.

"Let's not tell Sheryl about this rigorous bit of exercise," Knives mumbles as he peers at my wound.

"My lips are sealed." I snort. "Unless you want to fuck my mouth, obviously."

" Obviously ," Knives mimics. He sets the towel aside and pulls the light sheet over us, never mind how hot and humid the room is.

I nestle closely against him anyway.

"When things are… settled, we can revisit the condom thing," Knives mutters. "But it isn't safe."

I tense, wanting to protest that I haven't been carelessly sleeping around.

"For you, I mean," Knives says before I can. "Prison… well, they don't hand out condoms with our meals. And I've been reckless."

I don't like the idea of Knives being reckless with other men in prison, but it's not like I expected him to be celibate. "We'll figure it out," I tell him. "When we're home."

He nods. "Yeah. Home."

Maybe there is something to look forward to after all.