Chapter 10
#THESTORMINSIDE
MADDOX
The storm howled outside like a living thing while something equally fierce raged inside me. Adrian’s lips were insistent against mine, his body warm and solid beneath my hands as I pressed him deeper into the sofa cushions.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I keep my mouth off his?
Even as I thought this, my hand came up to grip his jaw and hold him in place, changing the angle of our kiss. His stubble rasped against my palm, a delicious friction that sent heat spiraling down to my groin.
Adrian made a sound—half whimper of surprise, half groan of pleasure—that vibrated against my lips. His fingers were hot against the skin of my back, and I shuddered. The way he touched me was nothing like I’d expected. Not calculated or performative, but hungry. Desperate.
“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he murmured against my neck, dragging his teeth across my skin.
“That makes two of us,” I admitted, sliding my hand into his hair to tug his head back. As soon as his throat was exposed, I latched onto it with a deep suck. His pulse raced beneath my lips, proof that his polished exterior was hiding something wilder.
When my teeth grazed the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, he cursed and arched against me, grinding his hard cock against mine. The friction was maddening, even through our clothes. I wanted more. More heat, more skin, more Adrian.
“Too much goddamned flannel,” he complained, already working at the buttons of my shirt with fumbling fingers.
I should have stopped him. Should have remembered all the reasons this was a terrible idea—Adrian was temporary, he would leave, this was just another experience for him to collect and discard. But my body refused to listen to logic as his hands made short work of my shirt buttons.
“I never understood the lumberjack fantasy before, but fuck,” Adrian said, his voice rougher than usual as he pushed the fabric from my shoulders. “I get it now.”
“Yeah?” I asked, enjoying the strength of his reaction. “Something about this doing it for you?”
His fingers traced the contours of my chest, skimming over my nipples in a way that made my breath catch. “Yes,” he said simply, and something in his tone cut through the haze of desire.
The word hit me strangely. Gave me an unexpected sense of pride or something. I quickly shook off the thought, not wanting this to be anything but physical. Nothing complicated. Nothing with expectations. That shit would only lead to disappointment when he was gone.
So instead of responding, I grabbed the hem of his ridiculous designer henley and yanked it upward with a grunted “Off.”
Adrian complied with surprising eagerness, lifting his arms so I could pull the shirt over his head. The firelight threw golden shadows across the planes of his chest and abdomen, highlighting muscles that were more defined than anyone had a right to have during cookie season.
“Like what you see?” he asked, turning it back around on me. There was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice, as if he truly cared what I thought of him.
I answered by lowering my head to his collarbone, tasting salt and expensive shower products. He gasped, hands moving to my shoulders, fingers digging in as I trailed my mouth down his chest. I scraped my teeth over his nipple, and the wobbly sound he made sent a surge of heat straight to my groin.
“Maddox,” he breathed, fingers moving to grip my hair in a silent demand.
The sofa was too small, too constraining for what I wanted to do to him. I broke away, standing abruptly. Before he could protest, I grabbed his hand and pulled him up with me.
“Where—?” he started, but I cut him off with another kiss, walking him backward toward the hall.
We stumbled to his bedroom, unwilling to break contact, bumping into walls and doorframes.
My hands found the button of his jeans, popping it open with more coordination than I expected in my current state.
Adrian moaned into my mouth when my fingers brushed against his hard shaft through his boxer-briefs.
“These feel good. Maybe they’re Nordique after all,” I teased against his lips. “You wearing fancy pants for me, city boy?”
“I’ve thought about this, you know,” he said, surprising me. “About your hands on me.”
“Just my hands?” I asked gruffly before backing him against the wall and dropping to my knees.
The sound of my knees hitting the wooden floor echoed in the room despite the storm raging outside.
Adrian stared down at me, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.
This wasn’t in our script. This wasn’t sarcastic disapproval, and it sure as hell wasn’t any kind of attempt at professionalism.
This was me, on my knees, choosing vulnerability in a way I rarely allowed myself.
“Maddox,” he whispered again, reverence and uncertainty mingling in his voice.
For a second, he looked breakable. Not fragile, but human in a way his curated persona never allowed.
I held his gaze as I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down along with the black boxer-briefs. His cock sprang free, already hard and leaking, the tip glistening in the dim light filtering from the living room.
“You sure, Sullivan?” The roughness of his voice was something straight out of a dirty movie, the kind of sultry hero shit I’d secretly fantasized about when I was younger. His moment of insecurity turned teasing. “’Cause if you’re not…”
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “Unless you want me to stop.”
And it was true. I wanted to take him apart piece by piece, to make him forget about cameras and content and curated perfection. I wanted to be the reason Adrian Hayes lost control.
And I wanted to see it happen in real time.
I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, feeling it twitch in my grasp. Adrian’s breath hitched, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thud. I took a moment to just look at him—flushed and wanting, coming undone before I’d even gotten my mouth on his cock.
I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.
“Fuck,” he groaned, fingers sliding into my hair again. Not pushing or pulling, just holding on like he needed an anchor.
I worked him slowly at first, learning what made his breath catch, what made his thighs tremble. When I hollowed my cheeks and took him deeper, Adrian cursed.
His fingers tightened in my hair, the slight pain sending a jolt of pleasure down my spine. I hummed around him, and his hips jerked forward involuntarily.
“Fuck,” he gasped, trying to hold still. “Sorry—”
I pulled off just long enough to look up at him. “I can take it,” I said, my voice a challenge.
His pupils dilated further, leaving just a thin ring of blue around black. “You sure?”
In answer, I wrapped my lips around him again, taking him deeper than before, and then deeper still. His control slipped, his hips moving in small, careful thrusts. I gripped his thighs, encouraging him, letting him know it was okay to let go.
“Maddox,” he chanted, like my name was the only word he remembered. “Fuck, I’m close. You should—”
I ignored his warning, redoubling my efforts. I wanted to taste his release, wanted to know what Adrian Hayes looked like when he came undone.
The wind and snow battering the windows felt like a soundtrack to the loss of control I felt the more I touched and tasted this man. Each gust that rattled the glass felt like it was rattling my resolve to keep him at arm’s length.
The storm outside I could handle. But this one, the one in which I wanted to spend hours, days, years giving this man pleasure, terrified me.
His hands tightened in my hair even more, a wordless warning. I glanced up, meeting his eyes as he finally let go. The intimacy of that moment—his gaze locked with mine as his release overtook him—was almost too much to bear.
Afterward, I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Adrian slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor across from me, breathing hard, looking thoroughly debauched.
His hair was in utter disarray, his eyes glassy, his lips and skin swollen and red from my lips and stubble.
He’d never been more gorgeous.
“That was, uh…” he began, then seemed to lose the words.
“Yeah,” I agreed, not sure what else to say. The heat of the moment was fading, leaving an uncomfortable awareness in its wake.
And stark-raving terror.
What had I just done? What did it mean? Why the fuck hadn’t I kept my distance?
Adrian reached for me, his hand cupping my cheek. “Your turn,” he said with a soft smile that looked nothing like his Instagram grins.
I flinched. The tenderness in his touch terrified me more than the passion had.
This wasn’t supposed to be tender. This wasn’t real.
“I should head out.” I pulled away, and his hand flopped into his lap. “The storm’s easing up, and I need to get to the store in case anyone needs anything. It’ll take time for me to shovel my truck out.”
Confusion and hurt flashed across his face before he masked it with a fake-as-fuck smile. “Sure,” he said, pushing himself up from the floor. “Whatever you want.”
But what I wanted was the problem.
I wanted him—not just physically, but in ways that would hurt when he inevitably left. In ways I couldn’t afford to indulge.
So I retreated behind the walls I’d built, blocking off the part of me that wanted to pull him close and never let go. It was easier that way. Safer.
Even if it felt like tearing something essential inside me.
Even if the walls only stayed up for mere moments before he tumbled them down again.
#TooMuchFlannel #LumberjackFantasyUnlocked #KneelingButNotSurrendering #PantsDownWallsUp #Ragrets