18. Maeve
MAEVE
“Please,” I hear myself whisper, the word escaping as a breathless whimper. “Please, Ford, I need ? —”
“What do you need?” His voice is like gravel and sin, and I can feel the heat of his breath ghosting across my inner thigh like a brand. “Tell me exactly what you want, Spitfire. I want to hear you beg for it.”
My spine arches clean off the mattress as his tongue finds my clit, the tip just grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves before he pulls away with deliberate cruelty.
“I need you,” I gasp, my fingers twisting in the silk sheets as I try to chase his mouth. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t tease me like this.”
“You beg so fucking beautifully,” he murmurs, satisfaction clear in his tone. “I could listen to you plead all night long.”
He dives back in without another word, his mouth claiming me like he’s been starving for this moment. His tongue works my clit with slow, deliberate strokes that have me writhing beneath him, craving more pressure, more friction, more of everything he’s willing to give me.
My eyes flutter shut as pleasure builds like a storm inside me, heat pooling low in my belly. His hands are everywhere —large, warm palms cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peak into hard points.
“That’s it,” a deep voice rumbles, and my heart stutters because I know that voice, and it definitely isn’t Ford. “Look how desperate she is for your mouth. Such a good girl for us.”
My eyes snap open, and I find myself staring up into Hayden’s gorgeous brown eyes. He’s kneeling beside me on the bed, his skilled hands working my breasts while Ford continues his relentless assault between my legs.
“Did you really think we’d let Ford have all the fun?” Gabriel’s subtle accent draws my attention, and I turn to see him on my other side, that devastating smirk playing at his lips. “We could never be so selfish, petit oiseau doux.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Gabriel leans down and finds that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder. He nips just hard enough to make me gasp, then soothes the sting with his tongue, sending shivers cascading down my spine.
“Oh god,” I breathe, overwhelmed by the sensation of three pairs of hands on me, three mouths worshipping my body like I’m something precious.
“Not god,” Hayden corrects, pinching my nipple just hard enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain. “Just us. Just your men taking care of what’s ours.”
Ford’s tongue delves deeper, fucking into me while his thumb works my clit in maddening circles, and I can feel my climax building like a tidal wave. My breathing becomes ragged, my hips bucking against his mouth as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter.
“Please,” I beg again, not even sure what I’m asking for anymore. The word falls from my lips like a prayer. “Please, I’m so close. I need ? —”
“We know exactly what you need,” Gabriel murmurs, his hand sliding down to join Ford’s between my trembling thighs. “We’ll give you everything, Maeve. Everything you’ve been dreaming of and more.”
Hayden’s mouth replaces his hands on my breasts, drawing my nipple into the wet heat of his mouth while Gabriel’s fingers tease my entrance. The combination is devastating—Ford’s relentless tongue, Hayden’s wicked mouth, Gabriel’s skilled fingers—pushing me right to the edge of oblivion.
“Come for us,” Ford commands, the vibration of his voice against my clit nearly undoing me. “Let go, Spitfire. We’ve got you.”
I can feel my orgasm building, my entire body drawing tight like a bowstring. My breath comes in short pants, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it thundering in my ears.
“That’s it,” Hayden growls against my breast, his teeth grazing my nipple. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So ready to fall apart for us.”
“So perfect,” Gabriel adds, curling his fingers inside me as he drops his head to kiss my neck. “Our perfect girl.”
The coil of tension in me winds tighter and tighter until I’m balanced on a knife’s edge, just about to shatter into a million pieces, when ? —
I jerk awake with a sharp gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Darkness surrounds me, and I’m instantly, mortifyingly aware of Ford sleeping peacefully beside me in the massive bed. I freeze, trying to control my harsh breathing and praying I haven’t done anything embarrassing in my sleep.
I hold my breath and wait, but Ford doesn’t stir, and I nearly collapse with relief. The last thing I need is to explain why I just woke up from what was easily the most vivid, explicit dream of my entire life.
I’m still incredibly turned on, my body humming with unfulfilled need. It would probably only take a few touches to finish what my subconscious started, and god knows the ache between my legs is demanding attention.
But I don’t trust myself to stay quiet, not when I’m this wound up.
And if Ford wakes up, even if I sneak into the bathroom, he’s going to ask questions I cannot answer.
The humiliation of having to explain that I was getting myself off because of a dream about him and his business partners might actually kill me.
I have way too much restless energy to fall back asleep, though. Moving cautiously, I slip out of bed and grab the plush robe from the chair, pulling it on over my pajamas before tiptoeing out of the room.
The house feels different in the dead of night—bigger somehow, but also cozier because all the Christmas lights are still twinkling downstairs and outside.
The warm glow fills me with a sense of wonder I haven’t felt in years, like I’m eight years old again, back before my father died and Christmas still felt like a magical time instead of just another day to get through.
The Christmas tree isn’t up yet, since Elaine wants us to decorate it together as one of the family holiday activities, but the lighted garlands wrapped around the staircase banister and the soft glow from the exterior lights still give off a cozy, festive feel.
I want to hold onto this feeling, this rare moment of peace and wonder, so I tiptoe through the foyer to the front door and crack it open just enough to peek out at the pristine snow blanketing the grounds and the star-studded sky above.
“Are you trying to freeze to death out here?”
I jump about three feet in the air and slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my startled squeak. Heart still racing, I quickly close the door and spin around to find Hayden standing in the shadows, a crystal tumbler of what looks like whiskey in his hand.
“You scared the shit out of me!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low enough not to wake the entire house.
“You scared me first, creeping around like some kind of Christmas ghost.” His eyes rake over me, taking in my robe and bare feet. “What the hell were you doing opening the door?”
“I wanted to enjoy the winter wonderland, unlike some people who apparently prefer brooding in dark corners.”
I study the glass in Hayden’s hand with growing concern.
It’s late—so late it’s technically early—and he’s down here drinking alone.
His usually perfect posture is slightly relaxed, and there’s something almost vulnerable in his expression that I’ve never seen before.
He doesn’t look drunk exactly, but the fact that he’s up nursing whiskey at this hour sends worry shooting through my chest.
“Well, unlike some people, I’m not skulking around about it.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Next time I’ll wear a bell around my neck like a cat so you have fair warning. Would that make you happy?”
Hayden actually snorts out a laugh, and I blink in genuine shock.
“What?” he asks, noticing my expression.
“Did you just… laugh? Like, an actual laugh?”
“I am capable of humor, you know.” There’s something almost defensive in his tone.
“Right. Sorry, it’s just—I’ve worked for you for two years. You treat laughter like it’s a communicable disease.”
“Most people aren’t funny. And I do laugh.”
“I guarantee you I could count the number of times I’ve heard you laugh on one hand.”
Hayden makes another derisive sound. “You’re not that observant, Keller.”
“Oh, really?” I hold up my index finger.
“There was the time that pompous banking CEO—George whatever-his-name-was—got so caught up in one of his ridiculous monologues that he missed the wet floor sign and went sliding across the lobby on his ass. Gabriel tried to cover his laugh with a coughing fit, but you didn’t even try to hide it. ”
“No,” Hayden corrects, his mouth twitching. “I laughed because after he fell, you looked at him with that deadpan expression and said…” He imitates my flat tone perfectly. “‘Careful. Wet floor.’”
Heat creeps up my neck. I probably shouldn’t have said anything—the guy was a client, after all—but he’d been insufferable.
He had a reputation for cycling through assistants based only on their looks so he could date them, and he made some gross comment about that being why I was hired too.
When he went down, the words just slipped out before I could stop them.
“Okay, fine, and I thought I was going to get fired for that.” I hold up a second finger. “There was the time Ford first tried one of my chocolate croissants and made this sound that was probably illegal in several states, so I told him he needed to keep it PG in the office.”
“Well, you managed to fluster Ford, which is practically impossible. How could I not appreciate that?”
I raise a third finger. “The emergency meeting where the copier died and everyone was stressed out of their minds, and I walked in with the copies stupidly saying I was sorry they were late because I had to wipe the ass-prints off the scanner.”
“That wasn’t stupid.” Hayden shakes his head. “Everyone was wound so tight we could barely function, including the clients. You broke the tension exactly when we needed it.”
The fact that he not only remembers but understood what I was trying to do makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “And then there was the time that nightmare client brought her baby in and just… handed her to me like I was built-in childcare while she had her meeting. You walked out and found me doing the monkey dance.”
That had been mortifying. Not the dancing part—kids need entertainment—but being treated like I didn’t matter, like watching someone else’s child was automatically part of my job description. Gabriel had apologized later, and all three of them had been understanding when my actual work got delayed.
“Four times,” I say, wiggling my fingers. “That’s one hand. It’s honestly kind of sad.”
Hayden just shrugs, offering no comeback or snark, which is unusual enough to worry me.
I’m honestly shocked that he remembered all those moments in such detail, even correcting my versions of events. “So,” I say, clearing my throat, “why are you up? Couldn’t sleep either?”
“No.”
“Then what’s keeping you awake?”
Hayden takes a slow sip of his whiskey, his gaze burning into mine. The silence stretches between us, thick and charged. “You really don’t want to know.”
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
I’m not seriously worried about Hayden having a drinking problem—I would have noticed signs by now, and Ford or Gabriel would have intervened.
But I am concerned about him being up like this, especially during the holidays.
I don’t know anything about his family or his past, but I know the holiday season can be brutal for people carrying certain kinds of pain.
Hayden hesitates, and I see something flicker in his gray eyes—something I’ve seen before but never been able to identify. After a moment, I realize where I’ve seen that look before, when he’s interrupting my dates or getting territorial about something he has no business being territorial about.
“What did that server say to you tonight that had you so chatty and smiling?” Hayden asks suddenly.
“What?” The question catches me off guard. “Why would you even ask about that? It was nothing.”
Hayden shakes his head. “It wasn’t nothing.”
I frown and glance at the whiskey in his hand. Maybe he’s more affected by the alcohol than I thought. “Is that seriously what’s keeping you awake tonight? A conversation with a server?”
“Maybe.” Hayden shrugs, but there’s something dangerous in his casual tone. “Or maybe I’m up drinking because I don’t like the idea of you being in Ford’s bed instead of mine.”
My jaw drops open, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.