8. Max
CHAPTER EIGHT
Max
Lila is already in the shower when I skid to a stop in the bathroom. Water sluices down her back, plastering her golden blond hair to her shoulders. Sprinkles cling to her skin like rainbow confetti, and there’s a streak of frosting down the column of her throat.
She looks like dessert.
She looks like everything I’ve ever wanted.
How did I get so lucky?
“Stop staring and get in here before the water gets cold,” she says.
I open the glass door and step into the spray. The moment the water hits my chest, thoughts start to swirl
I’ve been here before.
Well, not literally here in Lila’s bathroom. But I’ve been in this exact position—shower spray on my chest, cock hard and aching, Lila’s name on my lips—more times than I care to admit over the past two weeks.
The memory of those moments hits me like a freight train. Standing in my own shower, forehead pressed to the tile, stroking myself to the thought of her.
And now she’s here. She’s real and warm and naked and wet and covered in sprinkles and frosting, the evidence of what we just did in her kitchen dripping down her legs.
My dick twitches.
I reach for the body wash in the niche and the loofah hanging from a hook next to it and squeeze out a generous amount.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intend.
With a sigh, she leans back against my chest.
My hands settle on her shoulders, and I work the lather into her skin in slow strokes.
“That feels so good,” she murmurs, her head dropping forward.
I work my way down her arms, one at a time. Her wrists. Her hands. I take my time with each finger, lacing mine through hers, cleaning the sprinkles from beneath her nails. They’re stubborn, those little rainbow flecks. They cling to her like they never want to let go.
I get the feeling.
“What are you thinking about?” Lila asks.
“You want to know the truth?”
“No, Max, lie to me.” She huffs out a laugh.
I turn her around to face me, and the sight of her stops the breath in my lungs.
Water droplets cling to her lashes like tiny crystals. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the heat of the shower and the aftermath of her orgasms, and there’s a look in her eyes as she stares up at me that I don’t quite recognize but desperately want to understand.
She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
“I think about you in my shower.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“And I’m so sorry. I can’t stop. Over the past two weeks, every time I’ve touched myself, it’s been to the thought of you.
” I step closer, crowding her against the tile, my hands settling on her waist. “And now you’re here, and I’m trying very hard to be gentle right because you deserve gentle, but my fox… ”
“Your fox,” she prompts when I trail off.
She is mine.
“My fox wants to claim every inch of you.”
Her pupils swallow the blue of her irises. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about in the kitchen? Well, besides how good you felt inside me, I was thinking about how safe I am with you.”
My forehead drops to hers. The water beats against my back, a steady rhythm that does nothing to drown out the pounding of my heart.
“I’ve never felt that before,” she continues, and the vulnerability in her voice makes my fox whine with the need to protect, to shelter, to wrap her in every blanket I own and guard her with my life.
“Like I can ask for what I want or tell you what I need and you won’t judge me for it.
Like you actually want me. All of me. And I know you want to leave. But if you stay, I will too.”
Forever.
I can’t say the words. I can’t say anything So I kiss her, soft and gentle, and with so much love my eyes burn.
Squeezing more soap onto the loofah, I sink to my knees beneath the spray. Since meeting this woman, I’ve spent an astonishing amount of time kneeling before her.
I can’t bring myself to care.
I work the warm lather over her calves, ankles, and delicate arches of her feet.
I clean each toe with the same care I gave her fingers.
Then I work my way up. I turn her beneath the spray and fill both hands with the lush curves of her ass, kneading the soft flesh as my thumbs follow the deep cleft between her cheeks.
Her breath catches when one grazes the tight little hole hidden there.
“Has anyone ever taken you here?” I ask.
“You’d be my first.”
At her last. My fox howls with satisfaction.
The sound must escape my throat, because Lila shivers and presses back against my thumb.
“Will you be my first, Max?”
“I want to be your only,” I hear myself say.
I stand and press against her, my dick sliding to rest between her ass cheeks. The heat of her makes my eyes roll back in my head.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I say against her ear.
She twists her head to look at me over her shoulder. “I will.”
I grab the shower oil off the shelf, the scent of coconut bursting through the air when I open the bottle and squeeze it onto my fingers.
She shudders but doesn’t pull away as I trace the crease between her plump cheeks. Her hands press flat against the tile, her spine arches, her hips tilt back in a wordless invitation that makes my dick ache.
“I’ll go slow. Make sure you’re ready to take me,” I tell her, circling her asshole with the tip of my finger.
“I trust you.”
My dick kicks as those words seep into my soul, and I press the tip of my finger inside.
She gasps, her inhale becoming a moan as I work past the tight ring of muscle. The oil eases the way, but she’s still so tight and hot, clenching around me like her body can’t decide whether to push me out or pull me deeper.
“Breathe,” I remind her. “Just breathe.”
She exhales slowly, and I sink in to the first knuckle. Then the second.
“More. Please, Max. More.”
I have to close my eyes against the wave of lust that crashes down my spine, tightening my balls.
I will never leave her wanting.
I add a second finger, stretching her carefully, scissoring gently to work her loose. Lila rocks back against my hand, her body telling me she’s ready. That she wants this as much as I do.
I withdraw my fingers, add another generous coating of oil, and position myself behind her. The flushed head of my cock nudges against her slick, prepared entrance.
She turns her head, and our eyes meet over her shoulder.
“Thanks for saving my life,” she says quietly. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.”
Emotion clamps around my chest as I push inside, the head of my dick disappearing.
A gasping moan escapes her, and I immediately stop. My hands grip her hips as I fight every instinct demanding that I take more.
“Okay?” I manage.
“More than okay. Don’t stop.”
I sink deeper.
Centimeter by centimeter, I work myself into her. Her body grips me like a fist, hot and snug.
When I’m fully seated, I pause. Both of us are breathing hard. Water pounds against my back as steam fills the shower, but all I can focus on is the place where our bodies connect. Where I’m inside her in a way no one else has ever been.
“Move,” she pants. “Please. I need you to move.”
I withdraw slowly and push back in.
The rhythm I establish is gentle at first, but Lila has other ideas.
“Harder,” she demands, shoving back against me. “I’m not going to break, Max. I want to feel you.”
Impossible to say no.
I thrust harder, her moans echoing off the tile. Her hands slide against the wet surface, and I cover them with my own, lacing our fingers together against the wall.
“This what you wanted?” I growl in her ear.
“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.”
I fuck her with long, deep strokes that make her cry out with every thrust. It’s music so beautiful I want to record it and play it back on a loop.
My hand snakes around her and finds her clit. She jerks when I circle the sensitive flesh, a full-body shudder that makes her muscles clench around my dick.
“Be a good girl and come for me again, Lila.” I press a kiss to her shoulder. “Squeeze me tight.”
She shatters, each pulse of her release drawing a desperate sound from my throat as I keep thrusting, keep pushing her through the pleasure as I come in her ass.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her ear. “That’s my good girl.”
When the last tremor leaves her body, she goes limp in my arms. I pull out carefully and rinse us both off before turning off the water.
A smile plays at the corners of her mouth that makes my heart skip.
“That was—” She shakes her head. “I think you fucked all the words out of my head.”
I step out of the shower and grab an enormous fluffy orange towel from the rack. “Come here, beautiful.”
She lets me dry her with the same care I used to wash her, starting at her shoulders and working my way down.
Her eyes are dazed and glassy as she looks up at me. “Maxwell Lark, how are you real?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Lila Hart.”
And I have. Every day for the past two weeks.
If we are dreaming. My fox says sleepily. I don’t want to wake up.
I’m suffocating.
This is it. This is how I die.
Coarse hair tickles my cheeks, and a low vibration rattles through my skull.
I jerk upright.
The weight slides off my face and lands on my lap with an offended yowl.
“You were trying to kill me.”
Mr. Biscuits’ amber eyes narrow, and we both look to Lila’s side of the bed at the same time.
Where is she?
The bedroom door stands open. Morning sunlight spills through the windows, turning the walls gold. Besides Mr. Biscuits grumblings, the house is quiet.
I set him on Lila’s side of the bed, and he sprawls across her pillow, burying his face in the indentation where her head rested.
My fox makes a wounded sound.
Find her.
I pad naked through the house, finding my clothes folded on the kitchen counter next to a folded piece of paper.
My name is written across the front in turquoise gel pen, surrounded by tiny drawings of fox faces.
The tightness in my chest eases as I unfold it.
We used all my butter, sugar, and vanilla, (not to mention the sprinkles). I had to make an emergency grocery run before heading to the community center to bake my competition entries.
I left you a blackberry-lemon scone beside the coffee maker. It is a thank-you for all the orgasms.
Mr. Biscuits will insist I’ve never fed him in his life. He’s a liar. HE HAS HAD brEAKFAST! (And many treats.)
Speaking of treats—come by the festival before you cast your vote, and I’ll give you something sweet.
See you at the competition, Judge Lark.
P.S. You snore.
P.P.S. And your fox whines in his sleep.
I read the note twice, a smile spread across my face.
“She left us food.”
Mr. Biscuits meows from beside his empty bowl.
“Not you.”
His ears flatten.
But he’s so cute. And he’s starving!
I add a scoop of cat food, then cross to the coffee maker and the waiting scone. It’s golden brown, split through the center and filled with glossy blackberry preserves. Pale lemon glaze drips down the sides, and sugar crystals sparkle across the top.
Butter. Lemon zest. Warm berries.
Lila.
My dick twitches inside my jeans, and my fox nearly climbs into my throat.
Within a minute, nothing remains of the scone but crumbs.
I brush off my hands and read Lila’s note again.
See you at the competition.
The words fill me with warmth. No one ever expects me to show up anywhere. Honestly, I’ve never given a place or the people in it a chance to expect anything from me.
It’s a nice feeling. Better than nice.
I want to stand beside Mrs. Abernathy and Mayor Wren while the entire town gathers around the Frosting Queen stage. I want to watch Lila present her sugary creations. I want to see her face when everyone tastes it.
I want to help dismantle the booths when the festival ends.
I want to finish the volleyball season and start another one. I want Judith to flirt with me and Mayor Wren to rope me into another committee before I realize what’s happening.
I want to wake up with Mr. Biscuits trying to suffocate me.
I want Crescent Cove.
I want Lila.
From what she said last night, I know she’ll stay if I do. And I’ve never wanted to call someplace home more.
“I’m going back to the rental and opening every box,” I inform Mr. Biscuits. “I’m calling Jolene and asking for a real lease instead of month-to-month. Then I’m telling Lila I’m staying. That I’m falling for her so fast I can’t see the ground.”
That she is ours.
Mr. Biscuits flicks his tail and saunters toward a patch of sunlight on the couch as I make a beeline for the door. I’m so wrapped up in my own happiness, I nearly run into Candi standing at the bottom of Lila’s steps.
The soft feelings inside me vanish. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you too, Maxwell.”
My gaze drops to the hot pink notebook clutched in her hands.
“Where did you get that?”
“Someone found it beneath the Ferris wheel.”
“Thanks for returning it,” I say flatly, holding out my hand for Lila’s journal.
She presses it against her chest. “This contains some very private thoughts. I planned to give it directly to Lila.” Her gaze moves over my wrinkled shirt. “But I see that she put the rest of her plan into play just in the nick of time.”
“What plan?”
“You don’t know?” Slowly, Candi’s smile returns. “Well, of course you don’t. It would be Operation: Butter Up the Fox if you did.”
A chill moves through me. “What operation? What are you talking about?”
She holds out the notebook and flips to a page written in glitter gel pen just like the note in my pocket. Across the top, in Lila’s unmistakable handwriting, are the words:
OPERATION: BUTTER UP THE FOX
My stomach tightens.
Beneath the title is a numbered list.
I stare at the words.
Win vote?!
My heart aches, and I’m reminded of why I move so often. Why I don’t let Gran’s talks affect me. Why I don’t have or want a home.
Candi peers over the top of the notebook.
“Did she bring you baked goods? Invite you to spend time together under the pretense of discussing the competition? Ask you to sample her recipes?”
“You don’t know what happened between us,” I grind out.
“I know Lila.”
“No. You know how to hurt her.”
Candi purses her lips. “She doesn’t want the crown because she loves Crescent Cove and wants to be the next Frosting Queen. She wants the prize money. Did she tell you why?”
My throat tightens. “She wants choices.”
“She wants to leave.”
…if you stay, I will too.
When I don’t answer, Candi steps closer.
“Lila has been trying to win Frosting Queen for years. This time, she finally saw an advantage. A newcomer who didn’t know either of us. A judge she could influence before anyone explained who she really is.”
Candi is a liar. I know that.
But she didn’t write the list.
I step around Candi and nearly break into a run back to my rental.
“Tell Lila I’ll see her at the competition,” Candi calls after me.
For the first time, I looked around a place and imagined a future instead of an exit. But it’s always easier to be the first to leave than to be left.