The Anti-hero (The Goode Brothers)
The Anti-hero: Part 5 – Chapter 45

The front door of the apartment closes and Roscoe jumps from the bed to greet Adam. I keep my eyes closed on the bed so he thinks I’m asleep, and I feel like shit for it.

I can’t take another moment of his guilt-ridden expression, wishing me better. His comfort and care are all just reminders that I’m not who I’m supposed to be. I’m not the shiny, smiling, happy girl I was when he met me.

My roots are showing because I need to dye my hair. My makeup has sat untouched for weeks. And my clothes have been in a constant cycle between floor to bed and back again. For a girl that lives above a Laundromat, it’s sad how little I’ve been washing them lately.

But the one thing I can’t seem to face with Adam is the fact that after all of this, for the past three weeks, he won’t touch me. I’m lucky if I can get a kiss or a tight hug. I miss his hands on my legs and his weight on my body. I miss the scruff of his beard against my neck or between my thighs. I miss feeling wanted.

I want to scream at him. I’m in a funk, maybe even depressed, but I’m not dead. I think I just need to be royally fucked back to normal.

Obviously, that’s not how it works, but it’s the normalcy I crave, and I can’t help but feel like he may never treat me like me again, and I can’t bear that thought. If I’m not me, and he’s not him, then who the fuck are we and what are we doing?

His movements are quiet as he slips off his shoes and pulls off his rain jacket, hanging it on the stand by the door. The floorboards creak as he steps closer to the bedroom, but just when I think he’s abandoned me here to sleep, I feel his weight as he settles on the mattress next to me.

His hands wind around my waist like they normally do and his lips press softly to my shoulder.

“Where were you?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, so I freeze before turning over. I expected him to just say something like his mom’s house or the store, but the fact that he’s not answering tells me that he has something to hide.

“Adam…” I say in a warning. “Tell me.”

His eyes replace my face and he swallows. “I saw him.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. We never have to see him again.”

My eyes narrow at him. “Please don’t keep secrets from me. Brett did that—”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” he replies across the pillow, taking my hands in his.

“He asked me to take his place. He…offered me the job.”

I sit up on my elbow and stare at him. “What?”

I’m searching his face for answers, desperate to know and terrified to hear his response at the same time. Would he take the job? It’s what he always wanted, but now?

“What did you say?” I ask when he doesn’t respond for a moment. There’s an expression of hesitation on his face, like he’s deep in thought.

“I told him to fuck off,” he whispers, and just like that, I’m flooded with relief.

Should I feel bad for how happy I am that he turned the offer down? The last thing I want is for Adam to follow in his father’s footsteps, but I still want him to have everything he’s ever dreamed of.

Don’t I?

He still looks so uneasy, so I nuzzle closer to him and kiss him once on each cheek. His arms tighten around me.

“How do you feel about that?” I ask, burying myself in his embrace.

“I feel good,” he replies softly. “I never really wanted that job. That was his dream.”

“What is your dream?”

“This,” he says as he covers my body with his. My legs open and he settles himself between them. It feels so good to have him like this, but I sense there’s something holding him back.

“Then touch me, Adam.”

“Are you sure?” he whispers, lifting up and staring at me with empathetic eyes.

I wrap my hands around his waist and I pull him farther down. “I need you to touch me. I need to know you still want to.”

At that, his expression changes into something resembling perplexity. “Are you fucking kidding me? I want you more than anything.”

“My body?” I ask, and it feels like I’m fishing, but I just need to hear him say it.

“Peaches, yes.” His hands drift over my breasts and down to my hips. With a tight squeeze, he looks me in the eye as he declares, “I told you, this body belongs to me. If you tell me you’re ready, I’ll show you exactly what I want to do with it. But only when you’re ready.”

My breath gets caught in my chest. Watching this modest, good man turn feral for me does something to me inside. Warmth creeps down my spine as I melt like candle wax for him.

“I’m ready,” I whisper as I grind my hips up toward him.

For the first time in weeks, I feel alive again. We’re connected, which means I’m not alone. He looks into my eyes like he is right now, his heart beating with mine.

His lips dive toward mine, and I moan into our kiss as my body wraps itself around him. His lips are ravenous and desperate, and so are mine. His touch and taste are so familiar and comforting to me now. I hope I always feel this way in his arms.

In nothing but one of his T-shirts and a pair of panties, he quickly swipes the tee over my head and delicately kisses his way down, placing a soft, loving press of his lips against my throat before moving down to my breasts.

As his mouth ravages each side, biting and licking the tight buds, he glances up at me and mutters darkly, “Mine.”

Then he travels lower, sucking his way down my belly, sending shivers through my body. Reaching the top of my panties, he licks a long slow line across the top of the elastic band, and I tremble with anticipation.

My fingers wind through his hair. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

Hooking his thumbs under the hem of my panties, he slides them down my legs. Positioning himself on his knees, he holds my bare legs against his chest. Then he kisses his way up my legs, staring into my eyes as he does. The closer he gets to my inner thighs, the more I writhe with need.

Locking eyes with me, he growls when he reaches the apex. “This,” he says. “This is mine.”

My body hums with desire. When his tongue slides through me, from bottom to top, as if he’s savoring me, I nearly cry with relief. A low growl vibrates from his mouth all the way up my spine. It awakens me. Brings me back to life.

He’s here. He’s mine.

I’m home.

As he continues to assault me with pleasure, licking, sucking, biting, I shut my eyes and let myself just feel him. He draws the orgasm out of my body like he knows exactly where to replace it. Before I know it, I’m breathless and flying through the euphoria of a blinding climax.

I’m not even down from this high when he’s lying on top of me, pressing his cock into me. My body welcomes him like an extension of myself.

“God, you feel so good,” he mumbles into my neck. “You’re like heaven.”

I feel it too. This warm pleasure that only he can touch and a need that only grows with each thrust. I never want it to end.

And I need more.

“Harder,” I groan, desperate for the impact of his body.

He listens to me, pounding me into the mattress.

When he lifts up, our eyes connecting as his hands intertwine with mine above my head, I feel happier than I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe ever. We are connected physically, mentally, emotionally.

“I want to come inside you,” he says between gasps.

“Yes,” I cry out, barely able to even breathe from the harsh crash of his body.

Only a moment later, I nearly scream with the wave of pleasure that washes over me. At the same time, he stills, holding me tight as he comes, filling me like he promised.

We lie here for a while, just holding each other. Carefully, he pulls out and presses my legs together. My brows wrinkle with confusion.

“Keep me there for a little while longer.”

“Okay,” I reply.

I don’t think much about it as he settles his weight into the mattress behind me. Wrapping me up in his arms, he kisses my head and whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I reply before letting my eyes close and falling into an easy slumber with his body to keep me warm.

Everything feels settled and safe and perfect, so I don’t dream at all. No nightmares or fears to worry me. Just the feel of him near me and his words of affection on repeat in my mind.

When I wake up a couple hours later, he’s gone.

A manila envelope with my name scribbled on the front is on the nightstand.