Beautifully Broken: If You Leave Part 2

"You taste good," she whispers.

I can't take it. I wish she were wearing a skirt, but she's not. So instead I cup my hand between her legs, moving my thumb in circles against the outside of her pants. She moves against me, moaning.

I thrust my hand into the front of her pants, finding her panties completely soaked.

I slip one finger in.

And then two.

Then I withdraw them both and slowly rake them into my mouth.

Her eyes widen, exhaling a tiny sigh as her fingers clutch me.

"Are you drunk?" I ask her. I don't know why, but it feels like the right thing to do, to make sure that she's not. Please say no, I silently urge her as her fingers spin circles around my nipple.

"No."

Thank Christ. I don't ask again. Instead I lift her onto my lap and rock her against my body. The friction is both satisfying and frustrating.

Her eyes widen as I thrust against her through her clothes and she reaches her hand down to skim it over my throbbing d.i.c.k.

"You're enormous," she breathes, her eyes widening in both apprehension and appreciation.

I grin.

"When we get to my house, I'm going to f.u.c.k you with that," I tell her in her ear. "And you're going to like it."

Her teeth graze my lip, her hips firmly planted against mine. "You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

I smile against her throat before I bite at it.

"Very sure. In fact, let's make a deal. If you don't end up screaming my name within the hour, I'll buy you breakfast in the morning."

She pauses, looking into my eyes. "Sounds like I win either way."

"You do," I manage to say before I plunge my tongue into her mouth again.

In between panting kisses, Madison manages to ask a question.

"I've never done this before. How do I know you're not a crazy person?" she asks in a near whisper.

"You don't," I answer, as I pull up her s.h.i.+rt and suck at her bare nipple, my fingers splayed around her slender rib cage. She arches against me and gasps. "But I won't hurt you." I pause and look up at her. "And somehow, I get the feeling that you need this as much as I do. Am I right?"

Madison catches her breath and nods.

"I do."

I don't answer and I don't ask why. I just wrap my arms around her shoulders and kiss her again.

I'm inhaling her feminine scent, sucking it down, when I'm startled by the squeal of tires. Before I can even see where it's coming from, instinct raises the hair on the back of my neck. I shove Madison onto the floor of the taxi and duck down on top of her.

The impact is shockingly violent.

There is a crunch of shrieking metal as the door next to me is bashed in and our taxi is flung in a spin across the narrow city street, slamming to a stop against the wall of a nearby building. The car rocks to and fro for a moment, then it is still.

We're stunned as we sit for a scant second, trying to wrap our minds around what just happened. Steam and smoke begin to pour out from under the hood of the taxi and the driver stumbles from his seat, opening the door next to Madison.

"Quick, get out," he says in a heavy Indian accent. "Hurry."

I all but shove Madison out ahead of me and then pull her away from the crumpled car. There's a hissing sound coming from the engine, then a strange crackle. I know what it means. I know from the acrid scent of gasoline that's stinging my nose.

"Move," I snap to Madison, and her heels click loudly on the pavement as we rush to the curb on the other side of the street. We turn when we reach the sidewalk, just in time to see the cabbie duck for cover as the front end of the cab bursts into flames.

"Oh my G.o.d," Madison breathes, leaning into my arm, s.h.i.+elding her face from the waves of heat that roll over us even from this distance.

As I watch the orange flames licking the black night, as the heated breeze brushes across my face, it triggers a response in me.

I feel the now-familiar anxiety coming on and my gut clenches tighter than a vise grip. I can feel my throat begin to close up as it prevents me from getting a full breath.

f.u.c.k.

"I've got to get out of here," I mutter as my chest tightens. Sweat pours down my temples and I wipe at it, squinting as the salt stings my eyes. Madison stares up at me, her eyes filled with concern.

"Are you OK?" she asks, her fingers trembling as they curl around my arm. "We can't leave. I'm pretty sure the police will want to talk to us."

She gestures toward the crowd forming, to where cop cars have already begun to congregate. I can see uniformed officers milling about, a couple of them headed our way. Heat from the fire and from my own anxiety begins to overwhelm me.

"I've got to get out of here," I mutter again. Her fingers are too tight now, along with everything else... my s.h.i.+rt, my waistband, my shoes. Everything bears down on me in blurs and smells and sounds. I can't take it. I'm going to f.u.c.king explode. Or implode. I yank my arm from her grasp and stalk away.

The last thing I see before everything turns black is the astonished look on Madison's face, backlit by the red-and-orange glow of the taxi fire.

The bad thing caught you.

Chapter Three.

Madison

For a brief moment I wonder if the shock of the taxi accident has gotten to me or if I've somehow fallen down the rabbit hole.

The guy standing in front of me has completely melted down, going from ultra-c.o.c.ky and excruciatingly s.e.xy to a complete panicky mess in literally thirty seconds.

I don't even know what to do with him.

I put my hand on his arm, only to have him shake it off. There's a wild look in his eye as he spins in a circle, hunting for a way out, his gaze darting around the perimeter of skysc.r.a.pers that surround us.

"I've got to get out of here," he mumbles for the third time. His eyes have a glazed-over look to them that I've never seen before. He starts to walk away and I grab his arm again. There's no way I can let him walk off in this state. I don't know him, but I feel a responsibility not to do that.

"Wait," I tell him quietly. "We're got to give our names to the police and then we can go. Do you have an ID with you?"

He fumbles in his back pocket and hands me his wallet before he sits on the curb, staring off into s.p.a.ce, into the flames of the burning cab. After a minute he closes his eyes tightly and drops his head into his hands, as if to shut everything out.

What the h.e.l.l?

I watch him hesitantly for just a second before I trot off to give the nearest policeman our IDs. The cop asks me for my contact information, then glances over at Gabriel.

"Is he all right? Does he need an ambulance?"

I turn and look. Gabriel is now leaning forward, his head resting on his knees, his eyes still closed.

"I don't think he's hurt," I answer, even though I honestly have no clue. "I think he just drank too much. We were taking the taxi home from the Underground."

"Smart," the cop tells me. "There's too much drunk driving out there. Good to call a cab."

"Except for when the cab explodes," I mumble as I put my driver's license back in my purse. The cop smiles wryly.

"Yeah. Good point. At least no one was hurt."

I eye Gabriel uncertainly as I head back toward him. I'm not too sure about that. He's still got his eyes closed, but his foot is tapping wildly against the pavement.

When I reach him, I kneel down in front of him.

"Gabriel, did you hit your head in the crash?"

Because that would make sense. Maybe. Would a concussion cause someone to freak out like this?

Gabriel looks up at me. "I don't know. I don't think so. I need to go home." He doesn't even sound like himself now. He's speaking in a strange monotone, completely unlike the husky s.e.xy voice he had before.

It's freaking me out.

I sigh. Because I can't leave him here.

"Where do you live?"

He just stares at me.

I realize that I'm still holding his wallet, so I open it up and look at his driver's license. His address isn't that far away. We're actually within walking distance. Thank G.o.d. I don't want to get into another cab anytime soon.

Reaching down, I tug on Gabriel's muscled arm.

"Come on," I tell him. "I'm walking you home."

He comes with me without protest, pulling at his collar.

"I can't breathe," he mutters to me. I look up at him. His collar isn't too tight.

"You're going to be OK," I a.s.sure him.

Although I'm not sure of that myself.

I hold on to his arm, although I don't know why. After we've walked a couple of blocks, Gabriel starts muttering incoherent words under his breath. I can't understand him, but when I ask him to repeat them, he just looks at me.

This is seriously freaking me out. I highly doubt I should be walking anywhere alone with this guy. Why in the world didn't I just tell the cop to deal with him? I'm clearly not equipped to handle this situation.

"Is there anyone I can call for you?" I ask him, hoping that there is. He just looks at me again, almost like he doesn't understand.

When I look into his eyes, they are vacant and gla.s.sy.

Like he's not there.

I gulp hard.

Within a minute we've reached his building and I've never been so happy. A doorman recognizes Gabriel and greets him by name.

"He's not himself," I say by way of explanation, because I'm honestly not sure what to say. "I'm walking him to his condo. Can you tell me his condo number?"

The doorman is actually kind enough to walk us up to the condo and then unlock the door for me with his master keys. I smile at him.

"Thank you," I tell him simply as I walk Gabriel through the door. Gabriel isn't speaking at all by this point.

The doorman looks at us.

"If you need anything else, let me know," he tells me, staring at Gabriel curiously before he takes his leave.

That's interesting. He's obviously not used to seeing Gabriel like this, so maybe it really was an injury in the accident. Maybe he did hit his head. For a second I wonder if I should call an ambulance.

But Gabriel is already walking back toward his bedroom, mumbling. I can see his neatly made bed through the open door. I follow along at his heels and almost run into him when he abruptly stops and slams his fist into the wall. His movement is strong and unexpected and packs enormous power. So much power that he shakes the entire hallway and leaves a hole in the wall.

I gasp and freeze when he turns to me. Fear floods every part of me, every last nook and cranny of me. Because as Gabriel turns his face, a small illogical part of me almost expects to see someone else. Someone terrifying.

My father.

My heart pounds in my ears and memories from long ago flit through my head. Fists and blood and arguments and fear.

But of course Gabriel isn't my father. And so I force my breathing to slow and my heart to calm down, even as I balance lightly on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, poised to run if I have to. I swallow as Gabriel looks at me.

"I hate this," he tells me. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are slightly glazed and his hand is still curled into a fist at his side, his knuckles sc.r.a.ped. I eye it and take a step back, because I know what can happen with a fist.