Page 64 of Mischief Mayhem

“Oh, shit”—he groaned and curled into himself, slowing his pace—“don’t say things like that.”

“Hmm, don’t tell me what to do,” I said, fucking him faster, finding that magic zone and curling my hips into it so I hit it with every rut.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He stroked himself faster, twisting his features into euphoria. He tightened his muscles around me, curling his toes, arching his back. He threw his head down on the pillow, the veins in his neck protruding while he reached his climax. “I love you, V. Fuck, yes, I love you. I love you.” He repeated those three words while he spurted all over me and himself, and I memorized every last moment: the bead of sweat sliding down the side of his head, the tension in his body as he released, the way he gasped for air like I’d literally stolen the oxygen out of his lungs.

It mesmerized me.

And then, I realized what he’d been confessing.

He loved me?

Of course he loved me. I’d recognized it earlier. And I loved him, too. I did. I had loved him my entire life, and now, I was fairly certain I was in love with him. I sat there with my dildo in his ass while he panted and stared up at me with adoration radiating out of his eyes—like I was in living color and he’d only ever seen black and white.

It was intoxicating, having a powerful man stare at me like this, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was subspace taking him over.

Except, I did know better, and it was real.

“I love you, too,” I said, leaning over him to plant a kiss on his perfect mouth.

“I want to move in,” he mumbled, his speech slightly slurred as he fought off the comedown.

I laughed and gave him another kiss, easing myself out of him before grabbing the towel on the nightstand to wipe him clean. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I’m here almost every night anyway.” Hollywood bit his bottom lip. “Wheels can move out and get on with his life.”

“Wheels is happy to get out of his mother’s house, I assure you.” I made a half-hearted chuckle. “Besides, I like it just being you and me for right now.”

His features dropped, and he licked his lips like he had something terrible on his mind, and not in a good way.

“Bear found out about us,” Hollywood said, and suddenly, everything warm and gushy about this moment came to a screeching halt. “I admitted it to him.”

“What?” My chest tightened and my stomach churned. It wasn’t like I was worried about Bear’s reaction, especially if Hollywood had made it out of the conversation alive. No, something more sinister and shameful brewed deep in my gut. I didn’t want people to know because, despite how much I loved Hollywood, despite how much fun I was having, I still didn’t trust that this wouldn’t implode around me one day . . . that I’d wake up and find him gone for good.

“He already knew,” Hollywood said, pushing up on his elbows to look down his body at me. “Ru suspects, too. After the Viper, everyone’s got an idea. We wouldn’t have been able to keep it quiet for much longer.”

I pushed off the bed and clenched my hands into fists, trying to swallow down the rising tide of my temper. “I didn’t know we were at a place where we were telling people.”

“They already knew. Honestly, we haven’t been that great about being discreet, or have you forgotten how you got up in Chelsea’s face at the clubhouse?” He furrowed his brows and narrowed his eyes, gripping his hand over the padlock on his chest. “What’s the big deal? I thought . . . I thought you were in this with me.”

“I am,” I said, wincing as I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. Hollywood climbed off the bed to follow me.

“I love you. You love me, too.” He sounded more wounded than frustrated, like I’d reached inside his chest and clamped my fingers around his heart. He only waited for me to yank it out and eat it in front of him.

“I do, Hollywood.” I turned to face him and brushed my hair out of my face, trying to figure out how to best explain the sudden tightness inside my body. It wasn’t that I didn’t care for him, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt him (not like this), but I had a hard time admitting to myself that this would last, that he was in it for the long haul. He held my emotions so tenderly in his hands, and he could squash me like a bug. I feared that if he did, if I put too much emphasis on him and this only for it to blow up in my face, I could relapse into a deep depression again. Hollywood had the power to ruin me in ways he likely didn’t realize. “It’s just . . . I’m not sure where this is going, and until I am . . .”

He dropped his jaw and took a step back, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You do have a history of leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you,” I said, grimacing as it came out more demeaning than I’d meant it. “And I don’t trust anyone. I don’t like people knowing my private life. Anyone who gets close to me either destroys me or ends up in a grave.”

“Oh, and you suppose I’ll either leave you or die, is that it?” His voice grew louder, and it was the first time in all the years I’d known him that I’d ever seen Hollywood so upset. Normally, he faced everything with a smile. He had a laugh and a joke on his lips for every situation. To see his eyes redden with tears, to hear the sudden heartache and disappointment in his voice, it plucked at my self-loathing and made me feel worse.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” I said, the scar on my chest burning to life as he backed away from me and grabbed his boxers from the floor, shoving his legs into them before yanking them up his hips. It was like seeing a train wreck happening in front of me and knowing someone had to pump the brakes, but my foot was lodged on the gas.

“I thought we treated each other the way we deserved,” he said, his voice breaking. “I thought you wanted me. Or was that all just horseshit?”

“No, it wasn’t,” I said, trying to smooth this over. “But Christ, we’ve only been doing this for a few weeks.”

“Fine.” He nodded his head and grabbed his jeans off the floor, sliding them on. Then he slipped his shirt over his arms and head. “Look, I have to go do a run for the club. I’ll be gone most of the day tomorrow. Think about what you want . . . what you really want . . . and we’ll talk when I get back.”