Chapter 23 Rory #3
“Impossible things seem to be our specialty,” he said softly. The colours reflected in Maxwell’s glasses, turning his dark eyes into prisms.
His hand found mine in the heather, fingers sliding between mine with the same gentle certainty he’d shown all evening. His thumb traced across my knuckles as we watched the sky dance above us.
The aurora pulsed again, a symphony of light that painted the ruins silver-green and made the dark lake below us shimmer like molten metal.
In that moment, surrounded by impossible beauty with this impossible man’s hand in mine, I felt something fundamental shift inside me.
Something that felt dangerously like hope.
Glancing sideways, I found Maxwell staring at me instead of the sky. His expression was soft, almost dreamy, completely transfixed.
“Oi,” I said, grinning. “You’re missing the show.”
He blinked, startled. “Sorry.”
“It’s so not fair that I can’t read your thoughts,” I teased, bumping his shoulder with mine.
Maxwell glanced away, then back again. “I’m trying, for the millionth time, to decide if your eyes are blue or green. And…” He paused, seeming to wrestle with himself. “Lines of poetry keep popping into my head.”
“You’ve… memorised poetry about eyes?”
“No, I…” He ran his hand through his hair, thoroughly flustered now. “I write poems. Sometimes. Well, usually just snippets of ones, really.”
Delight bubbled up inside me like champagne. My serious, ultra-professional detective inspector wrote poetry. About my eyes, apparently.
“Do they rhyme?” I asked, grinning like a fool. “Please tell me they rhyme.”
Maxwell gave me a withering look. “No. Are you five?”
“Come on, then,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Let’s hear these lines of poetry about my eyes.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please? I promise I won’t take the piss.”
“That’s a lie, and we both know it.”
“Maxwell, please. Please. Pleeeeease.”
He was quiet for so long I thought he’d refuse. Then, he opened his mouth.
“Like broken bottles in an alley that catch streetlights just so—dangerous and beautiful. Like verse that shifts meaning with each reading—green mischief, blue sincerity.” He spoke to our joined hands, as if the words were too intimate for eye contact.
“Like storm-green and summer-blue caught in the same breath, brightness and chaos, somehow perfect together. Like looking into deep water where sunlight fractures into a thousand shades of… maybe.”
My breath caught. Above us, the Northern Lights pulsed brighter, as if responding to him.
“That’s…” I started, then found I had no words. “That’s really beautiful, Maxwell.”
He was still staring at our hands, but I could sense his pleased hum of satisfaction.
“Really beautiful,” I whispered.
I couldn’t take it anymore—any distance between us.
Before I could second-guess myself, I threw myself onto Maxwell’s lap, one leg on either side of his hips. His soft “Oh” of surprise made my stomach flip, but his hands immediately settled on my waist like they belonged there.
I wrapped both arms around his neck, legs circling his waist, and pulled him closer.
Coldness had been creeping into my bones all evening, but Maxwell was pure heat, melting away everything except this moment.
The aurora above us painted his gorgeous face in celestial light in a way that made me want to kiss every inch of it.
We couldn’t call Dev and Isla until the solar storm was over, and I planned to take full advantage of that.
Hopefully, the bloody solar storm lasted for hours. Days, even. Years.
I ground down into him, feeling him harden beneath me, and pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth. The small sound he made—half gasp, half groan—sent heat shooting through my veins. His lips parted, and I flicked my tongue inside teasingly.
Want swelled within me like a tide fighting against rocks, sudden and desperate for release. I fumbled with his belt buckle, my fingers clumsy with urgency, then dragged down his zip with a metallic rasp that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet night.
Maxwell sighed. “You know, we’re supposed to be watching the castle.”
“Okay then, Mr Proper Procedure,” I said, palming his dick through his underwear and watching his eyes flutter shut. I reached up to gently remove his glasses, placing them on top of his rucksack. “Let’s stop.”
He caught the back of my neck, bringing his mouth to my ear. “Not a fucking chance,” he growled, voice dripping with promise. “We’ll just have to multitask.”
Well, fuck. With that voice, maybe I’d developed a thing for authority figures after all. If he growled at me again, I’d probably let him bend me over the castle battlements.
“Besides, if anyone spots us, they’ll just think we’re a couple of hikers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other,” I said. “Perfect cover, right?”
Maxwell’s hands gripped my waist, hauling me backwards into the tent with such sudden force that I nearly toppled over. He fumbled for the torch, hooking it from the mesh ceiling pocket.
We attacked each other’s clothes like scavengers through a wreckage—buttons popping, fabric tearing as we peeled away layers until we were down to underwear.
His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, the expanse of ebony skin complete with thick dark hair that I itched to run my fingers through.
That gorgeous V-line carved into his lower abs made my mouth water, pointing like an arrow toward everything I wanted.
The corded muscles in Maxwell’s arms stood out in sharp relief under the torchlight, and something possessive and primal whispered mine, mine, mine in the back of my mind.
This beautiful, impossible man was mine.
For tonight, at least, I forced myself to add, though the cord of energy tethering us together seemed to pluck angrily at that last thought.
Maxwell’s large hand circled my hip, thumb pressing into the hollow just above my hipbone, and a full-body shiver racked through me.
“Keep your jumper on at least,” he murmured. “It’s freezing.”
“Hold on.” I shifted on top of him, one hand braced against his chest while I rooted through my rucksack with the other. My fingers found soft cotton amongst the chaos of spare socks and energy bars.
I tugged it free.
Maxwell’s eyes widened in recognition. “Hey, that’s my shirt!”
“You gave it to me,” I said innocently, shrugging into the sleeves but leaving every button undone so the navy-blue button down hung open like a frame around my bare chest. The familiar scent of Maxwell’s cologne wrapped around me like a second skin.
“To wash!”
I leaned down until my lips brushed the shell of his ear, voice dropping to a whisper. “Well, Officer, I’m afraid I’ve been very naughty and haven’t washed it.”
Crack.
His hand met my ass with enough force to make me gasp. “That’s Detective Inspector, thank you very much.”
Heat spread like wildfire where he’d struck me, sending sparks straight to my cock.
Something wolfish unfurled inside me—the overwhelming need to claim, to possess, to mark him as mine.
Through our connection, I could feel his desire answering mine, feeding the fire until I could barely think straight.
“And is there a punishment for such insubordination?” I asked breathlessly.
Maxwell traced the outline of my very erect dick. “I think you can find a way to make it up to me.”
“Are you going to mock me for packing the lube?” I reached into the rucksack again, producing the small tube with what I hoped was a cocky grin. “Being optimistic?”
“Mock you?” Maxwell’s hands slid up my thighs, fingers digging into muscle. “I’m going to bloody kiss you.”
His mouth devoured mine. Gone was any gentle exploration—this was hunger made manifest, teeth and tongue and desperate need.
He kissed me like I was moonlight and he’d been lost in darkness.
Like he could pull the very essence of me into himself through sheer will.
His tongue swept against mine in claiming strokes that made my toes curl, and when I tried to pull back for breath, he chased my mouth with his own, refusing to let me escape.
Maxwell fell back against the sleeping bag, pulling me with him until I was sprawled across his chest. His hands found the waistband of my boxers, fingers hooking into the elastic.
“These need to come off,” he rasped, “before I tear them apart.”
The threat made my blood sing. I scrambled to obey, kicking them away. Maxwell shuffled beneath me, working his briefs down his hips until his cock sprang free—thick and flushed and absolutely magnificent in the torchlight.
It looked so delicious I couldn’t help myself.
My mouth found the tip instantly, one long teasing suck that had Maxwell crying out the most beautiful broken sound, his hands tangling desperately in my hair, tugging with enough force to make my eyes water.
I grinned at him wickedly before wrapping my fingers around his head and giving the gentlest squeeze.
The breathless curse that escaped him made me bolder—I flattened my tongue and licked across the sensitive tip, slow and deliberate, just to watch him come apart beneath me.
When he was writhing enough for my liking, thrusting his cock towards me, I worked my mouth up and down his length, tongue tracing every ridge and vein, drenching him in saliva until he was slick and glistening.
Precum leaked from his head and I greedily lapped it up.
The taste of him flooded my senses—salt and musk and lemongrass and raindrops and mine.
Maxwell moaned, deep throaty sounds that vibrated through his chest and straight into my bones.
His hips bucked beneath me, seeking more friction, more heat, more of everything I was giving him.
But when I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock, stroking in rhythm with my mouth, something shifted in the desperate cadence of his breathing.
He captured my wrist with trembling fingers. He guided my hand lower, down past his ass cheeks to the sensitive skin behind them.
“Can you…” he breathed, voice fracturing on the words. “Touch me?”
The naked need in his voice undid me.
Without breaking eye contact, I sucked on my fingers, coating them thoroughly with saliva until they were soaking wet. When he made a soft, needy sound, I pressed one finger against his entrance, watching his face in the golden torchlight.
Thud, thud, thud.
His heart beat a frantic pulse as his eyes fluttered closed, breath coming in heavy pants as I applied gentle pressure.
“Go on,” Maxwell whispered, voice barely audible above our ragged breathing.
I pressed forward, just the very tip of my finger breaching him.
Maxwell’s mouth fell open with the softest whimper, a sound so beautiful I wanted to bottle it up forever.
The blissed-out expression that crossed his features was poetry written in flesh and torchlight—lips parted, brow slightly furrowed in concentration, every line of tension melting from his face.
“Oh,” he said, bearing down against my finger, trying to take more. His hips shuffled down the sleeping bag, chasing the pressure.
“Easy,” I murmured, though my own voice was shaking. “Let me…”
I reached for my winter coat, bunching it up and sliding it beneath Maxwell’s lower back to lift his hips. The position opened him up beautifully, and I had to bite back a groan at the sight.
Claim, claim, claim.
Grabbing the lube, I squeezed what was probably a ridiculous amount onto my fingers. The cold gel made Maxwell shiver as I spread it around his entrance, working it in slowly with gentle circles.
When I properly pushed my finger inside, Maxwell’s back arched off the makeshift pillow, a broken moan spilling from his lips. I worked him carefully, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, letting him adjust to the sensation.
Without breaking that careful pace, I lowered my mouth back to his cock, sealing my lips around the head and drawing gently. The dual assault made Maxwell surge up into my mouth, profanity spilling from his lips like a prayer.
The echo of his pleasure crashed through our connection, doubling my own arousal until I could barely think straight. Everything he felt rippled back to me—the stretch, the fullness, the maddening friction of my tongue.
“Give me another,” he panted.
I added a second finger alongside the first, working him open with patient strokes whilst my tongue traced patterns around his tip.
When I found that spot inside him, Maxwell cried out so loudly I worried someone might hear us across the lake.
His whole body went rigid, thighs quaking as they bracketed my head.
Through the invisible thread, I felt his body’s response like it was my own—the gorgeous tension building in his muscles, the way his nerve endings sang every time I crooked my fingers just right.
“So good,” he gasped, then suddenly his hand was capturing mine, stilling my movements. “So bloody good, but… Rory, I need—”
His eyes flew open, wild and desperate in the torchlight, to find mine.
“Fuck me,” he said, voice cracking on the words. “Oh, please, fuck me, Rory.”