Chapter 12 Rory #3
My whole body began to quiver as a strange combination of fear and longing shot through me. And perhaps that was why I found myself saying, “So what? You care enough to lecture me but not enough to trust me to handle myself?”
“Trust has to be earned, Rory.”
“And what have I been doing all this time?” Fucking hell, what more did he want from me? With both hands, I shoved against his chest, but he barely moved. “I’ve been trying my hardest since day one to impress you.”
“Impress me?! By taking unnecessary risks?” he growled, his other hand slamming against the wall on the opposite side of my head, fully caging me in now.
The heat of his body enveloped me, and with it came that scent—raindrops on sun-baked pavement, elemental and consuming. It filled my lungs, clouding my thoughts, making my wolf stir beneath my skin.
“By making my job of keeping you safe impossible?” he continued, leaning closer until his anger seemed to radiate between us like summer heat.
“Your job,” I repeated, the words bitter on my tongue. “Right. That’s all you ever really care about.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“No, I get it. I’m just a task to be managed. Another problem for Detective Dickface to solve.”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “I’ve told you to stop calling me that.”
“Make me,” I taunted, tilting my chin up defiantly.
Maxwell’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, leaving it glistening in the lamplight.
What would those plush lips feel like against mine?
Would he taste of the mint I could smell on his breath, or the red wine he’d had with dinner?
Or would he taste like he smelled—like the promise of rain, like relief after unbearable heat?
Would he hold me so softly, or clutch me tightly, while he—
With a growl that sounded almost feral, he grabbed the back of my neck and crushed his mouth against mine.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was pure frustration and pent-up anger—all teeth and desperation.
I gasped against his mouth, shocked to my core, my body frozen between fight and surrender.
For one long, suspended moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
Then something primal took over. I fisted the collar of his shirt, rising to my tiptoes to return his kiss with equal ferocity. My tongue slid against the seam of his lips, demanding entry, and when he opened to me, he made a pleased sound deep in his throat that vibrated through my entire body.
Was I unconscious? Was this some outlandish fever dream brought on by my injuries?
The cool metal of Maxwell’s wire-framed glasses grazed my cheek as I tilted my head. His other hand found my waist, fingers digging into bare skin so tightly it was as though he were afraid I might disappear—or perhaps fighting the urge to pull me even closer.
The blanket slipped dangerously low, barely clinging to my hips.
His hand on my neck slid up to tangle in my hair, and I fit our mouths together more firmly.
The stubble along his jaw rasped against my palm, my fingers delighting in collecting this new sensory detail about a man I’d only ever observed from a safe distance.
No, this wasn’t a fever dream. Dreams faded at the edges—this only grew sharper, more intense with each passing second. Dreams couldn’t make your pulse race like this, couldn’t make your skin burn where his fingers pressed into flesh.
He removed any space between us to press me against the wall. I slipped a hand under his button-down shirt to trace the contours of his abdomen and his breathing hitched. I quickly swallowed the sound, savouring it like a secret I’d stolen from him.
Everything grew hazy except for the feel of his solid chest beneath my hand, the way our lips moved together, and the heat of his breath mingling with mine.
A hunger began to build, spreading through my veins like wildfire.
I pushed my tongue deeper, groaning at the silky heat of his mouth, at the way he tasted of that minty toothpaste, but also so much more.
Beneath the artificial spearmint lay something intoxicating—something that matched his scent perfectly. Like the first rainfall after a drought, like thunder breaking silence, like salvation.
When we finally broke apart, both gasping for air, his eyes were dark and wild, his lips swollen. I stared at him, my brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
“This is completely unprofessional,” he murmured, voice ragged.
“What, has the great Detective Maxwell finally lost control?” I said, inches from his lips. I pulled back slightly to reach up to pluck his glasses from his face. “Let’s see if removing these helps you to relax.”
Whilst snatching his glasses out of my hand, he silenced me the only effective way he’d discovered so far: by pressing his mouth to mine.
He claimed me again, deeper, hungrier this time. The hand in my hair tightened, sending delicious tingles across my scalp, a pleasure that bordered on pain. But I needed more, needed to taste him again.
I nipped at his bottom lip, drawing a startled gasp from him before diving back in, invading his mouth with desperate strokes, chasing away the last remnants of toothpaste to find what I truly wanted—that taste of summer rain, of something wild that called to me on a level I couldn’t explain.
My whimper of approval vibrated between us as I pressed closer, craving more and more.
All that mattered was getting closer, tasting deeper, drowning in him.
The idea that Maxwell was kissing me, actually kissing me, was so absurd, so impossible that it spun me even dizzier. Maxwell hating me made sense. Maxwell kissing me? That was madness.
But his hands on my skin felt real. The heat of his mouth against mine felt real. The racing of my heart felt real.
Raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell.
The scent that had guided me through the dark forest. The scent I’d followed back to safety. The scent that had become a beacon, a north star in my wolf form.
Raindrops-lemongrass-Maxwell.
Wait. No. Not quite that.
Raindrops-lemongrass-mine.
That’s what I’d called him. Mine.
Panic shot through me like ice water. I broke the kiss, shoving against him. Though his hand remained on my hip, he shuffled back, his eyes opening, confusion swirling in their depths.
Mine. My wolf had claimed him. Without my permission, without my conscious thought.
“Wait, wait, wait, but… what are we doing?” I gasped, my hand flat against his chest, his heartbeat thundering beneath my palm, echoing in my ears like a drum. My head spun, a dizzy cocktail of desire and confusion.
Maxwell’s eyes blazed as he stared down at me, his breath coming in short bursts. “Getting this out of our system,” he rasped.
This? What was “this?” The tension that had been building between us since that night at Meridian? The undeniable pull I felt toward him despite the fact he hated me?
“But… you’re straight. You’re totally straight. So straight.”
Maxwell’s gaze dropped deliberately to where my rather erect cock had tented the blanket. “If you say so,” he murmured, one eyebrow arched in challenge.
A mad urge to cover myself with my hands surged through me, but before I could move, Maxwell’s hands slid down my back and grabbed my ass through the blanket, kneading firmly with both hands. I gasped at the possessive touch, my knees nearly buckling.
In one smooth movement, he twisted me around so that he was against the wall, then settled his thigh between my legs—his very large, very muscular thigh—and pulled me toward him. The pressure against my aching erection sent sparks shooting through me, drawing an embarrassing whimper from my throat.
“Go on,” he whispered against my ear, his hands still gripping my ass, guiding my body in a deliciously slow grind against his thigh. “Show me how straight I am.”
Stunned wordless, my mouth did the only thing it could—latched onto Maxwell’s once again.
Our kiss was all-consuming. Each brush of Maxwell’s tongue against mine had heat flushing through my veins like liquid fire, turning my blood to molten lava.
Desperate, needy whimpers slipped out of me, and he responded with a groan that vibrated through his chest and into mine, his hands tightening their grip on my ass as he pulled me harder against his thigh.
“Fuck,” I gasped against his lips, the hands tangled in his shirt gripping tightly.
Maxwell growled and yanked my head back by my hair, exposing my throat.
The sharp sting against my scalp sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my dick.
His other hand slid up my back, carefully avoiding my injured shoulder—a fleeting moment of tenderness in the midst of our frenzy that somehow made everything hotter.
“You like that?” he murmured against my neck, tangling his fingers deep in my riot of curls.
Fuck, yes, pull harder. I love it when—
He tugged again, harder this time, and I couldn’t stop the raspy moan that escaped me. His lips curved into a smile against my skin. My hips bucked against his thigh, seeking more friction, more pressure, more of everything. This damned blanket—
And a second later it was gone, Maxwell having whipped it off the second I’d had the thought. The cool air hit my overheated skin, but I barely noticed, too consumed by the blissful friction of Maxwell’s jeans against my bare cock.
His mouth found mine again, hungry and demanding, as his hands guided my hips in a rhythm that had me seeing stars. I rocked against him, chasing the building pressure at the base of my spine, my fingers moving to dig into his shoulders.
“I’m going to come on you,” I panted, half plea, half warning, wholly mortified. Because when Maxwell snapped out of this, he was never going to be able to look at me the same again.
“Hey,” he said, capturing my chin to lift my face, staring intently into my eyes. “I’ll be able to look at you just fine.” He brought his mouth to my ear, as if whispering a secret. “In fact, I’ll remember how fucking hot you looked, rubbing yourself against me like this.”