Our Thing: An Australian Mafia Romance (Kids of The District Book 1)

Alone in my studio, I turn the music up. I turn it up loud. The bass vibrates through the speakers. The music moves into me. My programmed body sways to its rhythm. I bourrée, fouetté, jette, and piquette around the studio, mixing routines and having fun. It becomes a free, wild workout of my body and ballet skills, and I have Ripetide to thank for it.

Love this song.

The studio door swings open and I catch a glimpse of someone in the mirror. I pivot to a halt, halfway through a fouetté, to see my favourite person standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, a wide grin on his lips.

‘Konnor!’ I yell out and rush towards him.

He steps backwards when our bodies collide, but then his arms go around me and lift me up as I kick with excitement. He’s here. He’s here, and he’s okay. The last time I saw him, he was a drunken, grieving mess with intense girl troubles like I’d never seen before.

He lowers me onto the mats and turns to the pretty blonde girl blushing by his side. He steers me with his arm towards her and introduces her. ‘This is Blesk.’

Blesk fidgets with her ponytail and glances at the floor and then nervously at Konnor. She’s stunning and my brother is gazing at her with infatuation. This must be the girl. He’s a bit tightly strung as if her unease has become his.

‘Hi, welcome to the thunder dome,’ I say, breaking the awkward moment.

Her face relaxes and then Konnor relaxes and it’s like a magnetic effect. I stare at my brother and take him all in. Even though he’s freshly shaven and still so beautiful, his eyes look tired.

I shake my shoulders and stretch my hands out for him to take. ‘Come dance with your sister.’

He digs his heels in. “Pipsqueak, no.”

I do a silly dance. ‘Come on, come on.’

Konnor groans at Blesk. “See what I have to deal with.”

“Come on, you’re a beautiful dancer.’

He shakes his head adamantly. “No, Cass.”

“You owe me for missing my birthday!”

Konnor sighs, tilting his head back in defeat and rolling his eyes. “Thank god Jax isn’t here.” Jax is one of Konnor’s best friends and they play rugby together. They are all manly and butch about it too. But Jax is fun, and I have no doubt he’d dance with me if he was here right now.

Konnor joins me in the centre of the studio, and we formalise our stance. I kick his foot into position. Sticking our noses in the air, we giggle. My feet take the first step, but I pretend to let him lead.

We waltz together just like we used to do when we were children. I stare up at my big brother and he grins down at me. I love it when he’s home.

It’s a special occasion when he bothers to make the long drive from his campus accommodation to stay with us. And even more so because he has brought his best friend Jax and Blesk’s friend Elise – who is so my spirit animal, it’s not even funny.

Later that evening, as we all sit around the dinner table, laughter fills our home. Elise is just as weird as me. Blesk is sweet. She’s a little shy, but clearly adores my brother.

After dinner, Blesk places a box full of cupcakes on the table. My face lights up. But everyone else is too full. Well, except Jaxon. I mock-frown at him over the chocolate fondant.

We share, like, twenty cupcakes in a cupcake battle that ends with me puking in my bathroom. All the while, Blesk and Konnor drink a little too much. The night quickly becomes eventful when Konnor and my friend, Faith, get into an argument. I end up having to kick her out. Konnor often gets into arguments with people. . .

At least I won the eat off though. Good times.

The following morning, I’m setting the timer, which is strapped to my bicep, all ready for a morning run, when I see Konnor, Blesk, and my dad sitting on the patio. As I approach, I hear Blesk ask, “How did you make the tap water green?”

A chuckle vibrates in my chest because the time Blesk is obviously asking about is the day my brother had decided to dye everything green.

He’d often ‘acted out’ – a polite way to describe his past behaviour. My brother’s story is long and full of trauma. He was kidnapped when he was four years old. And if that wasn’t bad enough, when the police found him years later, his mother had already passed away and his father hadn’t wanted him back. We have no idea why. It sickens me to think about a father not wanting his son. We don’t talk about this though. It’s been swept under the rug.

But his broken little soul couldn’t be healed by hiding the injustice. So he’d misbehaved. He’d drank too much. . . drinks too much.

Sometimes I wonder if he had tried to push us away as a test of our commitment. Would we still love him after it all? We did. We do. We won’t abandon him like his father did.

“Well, Duchess,’ Konnor begins, making me smile. I’ve come to learn that that’s his pet name for Blesk – too cute.

‘I’m so glad you asked,’ he says. ‘I put green jelly crystals in the faucet under the washer.”

Bouncing over to them, I plonk down on my dad’s lap and kiss him on the cheek. “I remember that!” Dad’s hazel eyes brighten as he gives me a bear hug. “What up, Daddy-o?”

Konnor leans over and lightly pinches my stomach. “You’re too old to sit on Dad’s lap, Cassidy.’

“Daaaaad, Konnor’s hitting me.”

Dad squeezes me tighter. “Now now Konnor, let me keep my little girl for a while longer. God knows I’d lost Flicker as soon as she’d come out of the womb.” My dad doesn’t have any favourite children, but the two of us have a special bond. We’d spent a lot of time together because I was more of a ‘home-body’ than either of my siblings. We’d liked watching quiz shows and playing board games together, while Konnor and Flick had preferred to socialise with their friends.

Konnor lets out a big sigh and smirks at me. “Such a bloody princess.’ He leans back and looks at Dad. ‘Where is Flick? Cassidy just said she was away for the weekend.”

Dad peers up at me. “Isn’t she with her new lady love?’

I stare down at the spread on the patio table, grinning at the sight of Konnor’s signature waffles. He cooked Blesk breakfast. He must be pulling out all the moves for this girl.

I pick up the fork and shovel a piece of waffle into my mouth, chewing and answering at the same time. “Yeah, but I don’t know where. Probably in Connolly somewhere.”

Konnor’s brows furrow. “Who? Why Connolly? Who’s she seeing?”

My big brother has always had an apprehension towards The Butcher Boys. They have a bad reputation. I take another piece of waffle so I don’t have to elaborate. “You don’t wanna know.”

Konnor glares at me and it’s a hostile look I very rarely see directed at me. “Who, Cassidy?

Salty waffle chunks muffle my words. “Stacey Grange.”

‘I know Stacey.’ Blesk smiles sweetly at Konnor. ‘She was friends with Erik for a while. She went to Connolly High.’ I don’t know who Erik is, but that doesn’t seem to impress Konnor at all.

He stiffens. ‘Great. So she’s been hanging out with that crowd.’

Dad feigns laughter and I know he’s trying to lighten the mood. Konnor is overprotective and often irrational. It’s all to do with the way he handles conflict. He struggles sometimes channelling his emotions.

‘Don’t worry, Konnor,’ Dad says. ‘The boys know to behave here. They’ve grown up a lot since you have left to study.’

Blesk glances between us as she fidgets with her clothes. ‘Are you talking about The Butcher Boys?’

I tilt my head at Blesk. ‘You know them?”

Blesk and Konnor share a significant look before she says, ‘Not really. But doesn’t everyone in the District know of The Butcher Boys?’

They sure do.

Konnor grumbles. ‘Yeah, alright. I’ll have a chat with Flick when I see her next, but you stay clear of them. Please, Cassidy. They are just bad news.’

I glance up at the sky and then back at Konnor, internally shaking the negativity from this conversation out of my mind. ‘Yes, big brother.’

They continue to talk as I wander off. Jogging out the front door, I head towards the track that circles our property. Flick doesn’t understand the exercise thing. Konnor and I have been running since we were children, and when I don’t run in the mornings, I dance or do Pilates. Exercise has always been a part of my morning ritual.

After a light run, I take a shower in the studio and get ready to practise Sugar Plum’s choreography. To really get in the mood, I put on some music by Tchaikovsky. I pull on my favourite white leotard and my pink knee-high legwarmers.

It’s a warm day, but I always wear legwarmers. They’re essential for minimising the chance of future injuries. My torn ligament last year had reminded me of that and I’ve never forgotten them since.

Barefoot, I go to warm up at the barre. My eyes are focused on my form in the mirror when the door to my studio swings open to the stopper. Max’s tall, broad form appears as a reflection. He has something in his fist, but he’s staring at me in the mirror, his eyes caressing every inch of my exposed body. My lips part to allow for bigger breaths. The door bounces off the stopper and swings shut, leaving me alone and secluded with his piercing gaze. As I turn to acknowledge him, he turns from my reflection to meet my eyes.

‘What’s this?’ He raises the newspaper rolled up in his grip.

‘You tell me,’ I say with a nervous chuckle, but he just stares at me. ‘Okay. . . I got a very special role and they printed an article about me.’ My heart skips in time with each of his steps towards me. I lower my leg from the barre and pivot towards him just as he stops an arm’s length away.

He smirks. ‘Golden Girl?’

The corners of my cheeks pinch as I try not to smile. ‘Apparently.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ The word comes out breathlessly as his consuming stare wraps me up in warmth and tingles. I swallow and look towards the unlocked studio door. ‘You can’t be here at the moment, Max. My brother is home for the weekend and you’re not his favourite person.’ Max’s narrow grey eyes start to strip me of sanity. He drops the paper before closing the space between us. Stepping backwards, the barre presses against my lower back and I gasp. ‘You should probably go.’

His fingertips meet my hand before brushing up the full length of my arm and envelope the arch of my neck. ‘I should probably go. . . say hi.’

‘You’re a menace,’ I whisper as he tilts my chin up with his thumb.

His face is suddenly filled with amusement. ‘A menace?’

I giggle shakily. ‘Yeah.’

He suddenly lifts me onto the barre and wraps my legs around his waist. Feeding his hand through my hair, he kisses me passionately. He presses his pelvis between my thighs and rubs against the thin fabric of my leotard. I moan and tighten my legs around him. His tongue enters my mouth. His hands begin to move around my body, stroking me with a tender, yet demanding level of pressure. I slide my fingers under his shirt, break our kiss to help him tug it over his head, and then desperately find his lips again. His cheeks have that perfect level of roughness. His mouth and tongue are all over my chin. My neck. My ear. The warmth of his heavy breathing caresses my skin.

Wrapping his fingers around the straps of my leotard, he begins to peel it down my body. My breasts bounce free, squishing against his toned abdomen.

‘Max,’ I beg as his lips leave mine and circle my chin and neck again. ‘Max, we can’t. The door.’

He groans. Pushing himself away from me, he walks over to the door and locks it tight. I glance at myself in the mirror. I’m sitting on the barre, shoulders rising and falling with each big breath. My leotard is bunched below my navel. My nipples are pointed, and I actually look as sexy as Max is making me feel.

My eyes dart back to him. He’s stalking towards me, his torso wrapped in taut, flexing muscles. The inked design under his skin ripples as he moves. His face is completely emotionless.

He pulls a foil packet from his back pocket. Stopping inches in front of me, he unbuttons his jeans, slowly pulls them off, and stands with his thick, toned thighs between my knees. I grip the barre until my knuckles feel tingly. He reaches into his boxers and pulls his erection out, fisting the root and giving himself long, slow strokes to the tip and back. Precum forms as a glistening bead on its head.

Peeling my fingers off the barre, he moulds my hand around his penis. It’s so thick, my fingers are unable to circle it fully. While he holds my gaze, he begins to show me how to stroke him.

I peer down at his long, heavy penis which looks even bigger in my tiny hand. I’m overawed by how rock-hard his erection is, how I can squeeze him with all my strength and yet, that doesn’t stop him from throbbing against me.

As Max pants beside my forehead, his lips brush against me, breath fanning my arousal. He squeezes the barre on either side of my thighs; the dramatic music of Tchaikovsky flowing through the speakers intensifies the moment.

Taking him in both hands, I lick my lips, wondering what he tastes like. As I massage his penis up and down, his hands move between my legs. He circles the buttons at the crotch of my leotard with his fingers for a while, slowly, as if he’s unsure about what he’s touching. But then it clicks and he’s snapping them open in quick succession. And he’s pulling it off, leaving me with only my pink legwarmers on.

A soft kiss meets my earlobe. Another graces my jawline. His lips take mine again when he grabs my hands and pulls them off his erection.

I hear the foil from the condom wrapper crinkling and then he’s positioning me top of his erection. Using the tip of his penis, he stimulates my clit. Arching on a spasm, my legs tighten around his waist. My arms begin to tremble around his neck. Our kisses now mingle with whimpers and deep, longing groans.

‘Don’t worry, little one. I’ll try to go slow.’

A tear escapes my eye, but I’m not sad. ‘Please, Max.’

‘Tell me you want this.’ He’s almost growling. ‘I need to hear you say it.’

‘I want this.’

With one hand cupping my bum, he lifts me slightly. His fingers are between my cheeks, pressing on the hole between them. The other hand grasps his cock and feeds his erection into me. Slowly. Inch by inch until he stops on a groan. His shoulders are pulled so taut from his restraint. The pace is perfect for me, but I imagine he wants to thrust. But he isn’t.

I’m feeling a lot of tightness, a lot of stretching. And I’m so full. So utterly taken.

‘Fuck.’ I barely hear the word, but I feel it against my lips. ‘Relax, Cassidy.’

He uses his hand to push his erection further in, but he’s not fitting – it hurts. I begin to wriggle my hips and mewl. He curses again and thrusts harder. And then I feel a sting like an elastic band being flicked inside me. And now he’s sliding in deep and I’m crying out in pain and pleasure.

‘Relax,’ he groans as he kisses my face, his penis pumping inside me.

Heat from his skin radiates against mine. There’s an intense, mind-blowing sensation when his whole erection stretches me open. Our breathing becomes laboured. Our lips are everywhere.

As he begins to speed up, I hug his neck and look over his shoulder at his reflection. I watch as his muscular, tattooed back tightens and his perfect backside thrusts into me, clenching and releasing with each buck of his hips. My legs and body shake from the force of him. It’s voyeuristic. Erotic. My ears start to burn. The muscles inside me, circling his penis, begin to squeeze together and pulse. And it seems to affect Max because he’s groaning louder beside my ear.

He lifts me to straddle his waist, supporting my weight with ease, and bounces me on top of him.

He’s not slow anymore.

But he’s not rough.

My stomach tenses up. My toes curl. And Max is so fricking strong. He moulds my body wherever he wants it and even though I want to crawl away, the sensation coming on too fast, too intense, he’s taking me, handling me.

My legs begin to shake as heat shoots up my thighs and down my abdomen, crashing together in a powerful orgasm. I cry out, but Max swallows my sounds.

My body feels weak, muscles fatigued and trembling. He continues to bounce me on top of him until I feel him grow even bigger inside me. He’s growling next to my ear now and thrusting up once more. Holding me close, he pulsates on a wave of pleasure. His groan is deep and sexy – my new favourite sound.

He buries his head in the arch of my neck, exhausted. As he nuzzles me, I brush my fingers through his thick, dark-brown hair. The sweetness of this moment makes my heart skip.

When he finally lowers me down, his penis slips from inside me, wet and amazingly beautiful. But at the sight of the blood on the condom, my chest tightens. Glancing between my legs, I spot my blood mixed arousal sliding down my thighs like a pink snake.

Max grabs my chin and lifts my wide eyes to meet his soft, supportive ones. ‘It’s normal. I’m a big guy.’

I breathe out fast and with urgency, not even realising I’d been holding my breath. He pulls the condom off and ties the end before walking over to the waste bin and disposing of it.

I detail his body from a distance. At the sight of the smug grin plastered all across his face, my cheeks flush. ‘Stop it, Max.’

Staring at me in the mirror, he tucks his penis into his boxers. ‘I was watching your sexy little arse bounce on my cock in the mirror.’

I cover my face, which is ridiculous because I’m naked from the knee up. ‘Oh my gawd.’

‘Big tick for the choice of venue.’ He laughs and I look up from my hands to see that relaxed smile again. Max appears lighter for a moment.

He moves towards me and scoops me into his arms, cradling me as he walks into the bathroom. We smile at each other. He places me on top of the vanity and helps me clean myself up. I’m not at all uncomfortable – he’s incredibly attentive.

I throw on a yellow tee-shirt and a pair of denim short shorts.

When I’m completely dressed, he says, ‘I gotta go, little one.’

My heart sinks.

My mouth gapes as I watch him pull his jeans and shirt on. He can’t seriously be leaving. Not straight after that. Not straight after taking my virginity.

He turns to leave, so I rush after him and grab his wrist. ‘Don’t go.’

He stops. When he faces my direction again, I take a step back. A long sigh escapes him as he studies me with a tight expression – seeing every desperate and pathetic inch of me.

‘I got shit to do,’ he says as his finger strokes down the shaft of my nose before tapping the tip playfully. ‘I’ll see ya soon.’

‘One hour. Hang out with me for an hour?’

Oh my God. Stop it, Cassidy!

‘This is just this. Sex. I fucking told you that.’

His words cut into me, but they bring anger rather than pain. ‘What? So we can’t be friends?’

After a quick glance at the door, his head dips back in defeat. ‘Fine.’

His fingers feed through mine and he pulls me outside onto the porch in a form of defiance, knowing full well that Konnor is around somewhere. He releases my hand and when I try to protest, he slumps down onto the daybed and positions himself against the back board. He smirks at me while patting the cushion between his outstretched legs. ‘Sit.’

I scowl at him. ‘You’re a menace.’

‘So I’ve heard.’

I falter and gaze across the property, my eyes landing on a red motorcycle. ‘You rode Bronson’s bike?’

Max watches me hesitate and clenches his jaw. ‘Yeah. Look, stop searching around for daddy. I saw Konnor when I pulled up. He was getting blind drunk out front. Don’t worry.’

My breathing stammers. ‘Is he okay?’

He shakes his head and smirks. ‘I don’t really care. Your brother is too much drama.’

‘You actually are a jerk,’ I bite out.

‘Another thing I’ve heard.’

My cheeks are still warm and tingly. I run my hands down them as I contemplate. Narrowing my eyes at Max, I stroll over to him because there is literally nowhere else I’d rather be. It’s frustrating as hell.

As I crawl onto the daybed, I settle between his thighs, my back and head pressed against his chest.

Moments pass and we breathe together in comfortable, pleasurable silence. I hate that my irritation towards him is dwindling.

The last minutes of the day are displayed in an orange and pink glow above the roof tops. I can smell Max all around me. I can feel his deep breaths behind my spine. I find his tattooed forearm draped across the armrest and drag my nails softly through its soft hair. As his skin prickles, he twists his wrist to encourage me to keep stoking him.

“Tell me about this role,” he says, kissing my temple.

His interest in my life makes me smile. I’m glad he can’t see it. “What do you want to know?’

‘Anything you want to tell.’

‘Well, the Sugar Plum Fairy is the guide for the Land of Candy, which sounds weirder than it is. The whole story follows Clara on this adventure. It’s kinda Alice in Wonderland-esk, but instead of the Mad Hatter, you have the Sugar Plum Fairy. She’s sweet and spice and everything nice. She’s sort of like a conductor. Her choreography is playful and even a little flirty.’

I think he chuckles, but it’s barely audible. ‘Is it a main role?’

‘She’s one of the main roles.’ I roll my head across his chest and wonder if he’s making conversation for the sake of it or if he’s genuinely interested. Max doesn’t usually banter. He doesn’t sugar coat. His words are like knives that stab straight to the point. ‘She has some very complex sequences.’

‘Have I said congratulations?’

I bite back another smile. ‘Yes.’

A few moments pass. Before I had been content in our silence but now my comfort is weighed down by my insecurities. ‘Max?’

‘Yeah?’ he asks, his tone wary with suspicion.

‘I’m going to the wedding. Did you know that?’

‘Yes,’ he states, the word curt.

‘Do you. . . mind?’

I imagine him frowning. ‘Why would I mind?’

‘I don’t know.’ Because I’ll cramp your sexual prowess? I wish I could see his face. His body is tense behind mine and his breaths have become more exaggerated. ‘You were so angry when you saw me with Aurora,’ I press.

‘I was. I am. It has nothing to do with you.’

‘Well, it seems to have had everything to do with me. . . Are you fighting with your brothers or something?”

‘No, little one.’

I drag my fingernails up the curve of his bicep, making him twitch. ‘Wanna talk about why you’re mad?’

‘Nope.’

I huff. ‘Why not?’

‘Don’t be pushy or I’ll bend you over this couch.’

I press my knees together and try not to wince.

Max must have sensed my discomfort though because he caresses my outer thigh and then cups a hand between them. ‘Are you in pain?’

I’m familiar with muscular tearing – a fatigue or throbbing of overworked muscles, and this feeling is no different. ‘I’m fine. . . Max?‘

As he gently strokes between my legs, he says, ‘Yes?’

I draw in a breath for courage. ‘Why can’t we–’

‘So how’s your dickhead mate, Toni?’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce the Master of the Subtle Transition.’

He slides his hand inside my shorts and continues to tenderly caress the swollen valley between my lips. ‘I like the master part.’

I try to ignore his touch, but it’s soothing and sensual and I don’t want him to stop. ‘He isn’t a dickhead. He’s my best friend.’

‘Great friend.’

‘What makes you say that?’

He pulls his hand away. ‘He left you in heat while some dickhead was trying to get inside you.’

I twist on the daybed to glower at him. ‘Firstly. . . not in heat. Secondly, he isn’t my keeper.’

His face tightens. ‘Right.’

‘I’m a big girl.’ I turn a little further towards him. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘Not from where I’m sitting.’

‘Well sit somewhere else then!’ The air around us thickens. His teeth grind. For a second he looks like he wants to punch a wall.

But then he slumps down and grins. ‘Nah.’

I twist back around towards the main house. ‘You aren’t so good at this getting to know you stuff, are you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Master of the Single Word Responses.’

He laughs loudly and presses his lips to my ear before pushing his hand down my shorts again, stroking me softly. ‘I’m the master of a lot of things today.’

I swallow and drop my head to his chest. ‘I’m sore.’

‘Get inside.’ His tone is salacious. ‘I’ll lick you all better.’

‘I thought you had things to do?’

‘I prioritise.’

A distanced yell makes me jump. It’s coming from the house and is soon punctuated by loud slamming. My feet are on the ground and running across the grass before I even register the motion. In the next step, I slam into Max, who has outpaced me and is now holding me back.

‘Get out of my way!’ I yell at him.

‘I’ll go.’ He throws me over his shoulder and tries to walk me back inside the studio.

‘I swear to God, Max Butcher, if you don’t put me down!’

‘Shut up!’

‘Max!’ My voice breaks.

He freezes. With a curse, he places me back onto the grass and grabs the nape of my neck hard, manhandling me to focus on him. ‘Go up there, but I’ll be listening. If things get out of control, I’m coming up.’