Melancholy

“Aren’t you?” he snarls, lifting the bottle to his mouth and taking a long draw from it. “Far as I can see, you’re blamin’ this shit entirely on me. Not once have you stopped and seen that I fuckin’ worked my ass off for you. I didn’t have to pick you up off that street; I didn’t have to support you all these years, I didn’t have to work to find your sister. I fucked up, but you’re equally as selfish as me.”

“Really?” I say, my voice low. “You’re going to throw this back in my face because you’re guilty.”

He snorts. “Fuckin’ yeah.”

“You know what? If you want to sit here and drink yourself into oblivion . . . go right ahead. I don’t have time for your bullshit games.”

I turn to leave, but he’s behind me before I reach the door. His hand lashes out, curling around my arm and spinning me so hard I stumble, falling into his chest. With an oomph, I gather my footing and push back, but his arm is firmly around my waist.

“Let me go,” I grumble against him.

“Here’s how this is goin’ to go. You can either forgive me, Santana, or you can’t. I ain’t gonna sit around and play fuckin’ games. It’s never been the way I roll. You decide what I mean to you, or you walk the fuck outta here and this ends now.”

“Don’t threaten me into deciding right now,” I growl, trying to step back, but he’s holding me too firmly.

“It ain’t a threat, it’s a choice. You need to make it.”

“You hurt me, you lied, you let me fall—”

I stop talking. I can’t say it. Not when we’re like this.

“What?” he growls. “Go on and say it.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“Won’t it?”

“No.”

We’re silent for a minute or two before he mutters, “For what it’s worth, I fuckin’ love you too, Santana.”

Jesus. Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to break every restraint inside me? I squirm furiously, angry, hurt, and confused. He lets me go, and I step back, shoving at his chest over and over. He doesn’t stop me, but lets me go until my wrists burn from the impact.

“How dare you?” I cry, tangling my fingers into his shirt. “How fucking dare you drop that on me? You broke my heart. You lied to me. You let me believe the only person I loved was dead.”

“How long are you gonna hate me for that?” he barks, curling his fingers around my wrists. “I fucked up, but I did it because I care, not because I wanted to hurt you. Do you have any fuckin’ idea how hard it’s been on me to keep this from you? I knew, I just knew I’d lose you when you found out. Do you know what that did to me? Do you know how much it killed me inside to know I was goin’ to lose the only fuckin’ thing I fought for?”

“Maddox,” I croak. “Don’t.”

“You’ve been my life for a little over five years, and I’ve fought with everything I am for you. I fucked up, I lied because I wanted to protect the broken girl that stumbled into my life. I didn’t do it for pain. I’ve spent every fuckin’ day tryin’ to find that girl, because you’re every fuckin’ thing to me, and leaving you without was never an option.”

“Maddox.”

“So go ahead and fuckin’ hate me. Make me suffer for what I did. But know this, Santana: I’m gonna love you for every minute, every hour, every day, every month and every year for the rest of your life, because you’re the only person in my life that’s worth fightin’ for.”

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I stare at the man who has caused so much emotion in me. From love to hate, he’s had it all, but the thing that stands out the most about all of it is that he’s not once left my side. In all my years of pain, heartache, loss and growth, Maddox has stood by me, helping me through it, protecting me. He made a mistake, a huge one, but he did it because he loves me.

How can I hate him for that?

“I—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence, because he tugs me closer to him, growling a fierce, “No more,” before crushing his lips down over mine. His scent surrounds me, alcohol mixed with a smell that belongs to Maddox and Maddox alone. I open my mouth on a moan, tilting my head back to let him take me deeper.

My back hits the wall a second later, and then Maddox’s hand is going down the top of my pants. His warm fingers find my clit while my hands fumble madly at his jeans, needing him out of them and inside me. He growls when I slip my hand in, wrapping it around his cock.

“Hurry,” I plead.

My pants are gone a second later, and his jeans are jerked down, his cock freed. He growls, low and deep, as he lifts my leg up around his waist and plunges inside me with little warning. God, yes. I cry out his name as I push my hips forward. I don’t care about the pain, or the burning sensation spreading through my limbs. All I care about is how good it feels to have him inside me.

“Harder, God, fucking harder,” I scream.

He fucks me harder. He thrusts until our skin slaps together so fiercely it burns. My fingers claw at his back, tearing into his skin. I come so God damned hard my vision blurs and for a moment, I don’t hear my own screaming. Maddox growls his appreciation and then suddenly he’s pulling out of me, fingers tangling into my hair to force me to my knees.

“Taste it,” he orders. “Taste your cum on my cock. Taste. It.”