Chapter Fifty-Three Max
Chapter Fifty-Three
Max
My eyes shamelessly run over her as we stand side by side, waiting for the lift doors to open. I’m convinced this emerald-green gown was created specifically to torture me.
I saw the way she turned heads tonight, the interest in Cole’s eyes when I clocked them talking from across the room.
I was excited for the launch tonight—this opening is the very reason I’m in London, but nothing could compare to the thrill of seeing Gemma. All the surrounding noise in the room fell away the moment I spotted her.
These last four weeks wrapped up in each other have been perfect.
Not just physically—Christ, that’s been perfect too—but in all the small ways.
Waking up to her every morning, her golden hair fanned across my pillows like she’s always belonged there.
Showering together and learning every inch of her body.
Every place she’s most ticklish. The way her laughter changes depending on her mood—the little one when she’s tired and the full belly one when I catch her off guard.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. She’s become the best part of my day, the one I want to tell everything to. I love getting to know her—every version of her.
Fuck.
I love her.
I’ve fallen for this clever, loud, brilliant woman and I’m so tired of hiding. I’m the lucky bastard taking her home, and I hate that I can’t tell anyone.
I hate that I’m leaving after the wedding.
We need more time.
The moment the elevator doors slide open, I take her hand and lead her inside.
The apartment is bathed in moonlight.
As soon as the door closes behind us with a soft click, I’ve got her pressed up against the wall, my mouth on hers.
I kiss her with everything I have, desperate to show her exactly what she does to me.
My cock is so damn hard and angry, straining against my zipper.
I know the minute I bury myself inside her sweet little channel, I’ll erupt.
My fingers find the delicate strap of her dress, teasing it slowly.
“These tiny little straps,” I murmur, dragging my knuckles over her collarbone, down to the swell of her breast. “So flimsy. Like you want me to tear them off.”
My hand trails lower. Over her ribs, across her stomach, until I reach the dip of her belly button. She inhales sharply, arching into my touch.
My voice is low as I palm her hip. “You wore this for me, didn’t you?”
Her lips curve in a knowing smile. “Yes.”
She reaches for my shirt buttons, and I drop my gaze, watching her pop them open one by one. I could rip off my suit faster, but I let her take her time. By the time she reaches the last button, my shirt is hanging open. She pauses.
“You planning to finish what you started?” I murmur.
Her eyes flick up to meet mine and she smiles—bloody smiles. Planting her palms on my chest, she starts walking me backward. She backs me up until my legs hit the sofa, and I sink down, heart thundering in my chest.
Shoulder strap slipping down her arm, eyes glassy with want, she tugs the skirt of her dress at her knees as she sinks to the floor between my legs.
I groan before she even releases my cock because the sight of her on her knees is enough to undo me.
“I need to taste you,” she says.
“Then get your pretty mouth around me before I lose my mind.”
She yanks my zipper down and grabs my cock. It’s thick and hard in her hand, pulsing as I watch her lean forward. She licks a firm line up my shaft, swirling around the top before pumping her hand, her mouth following, sucking me down. Hot. Wet. Heaven.
I drop my head back, my hand flying to her hair.
She moans as I guide her head up and down, the vibrations from all the filthy sounds she’s making as she sucks and licks around me.
“Jesus—fuck, Gemma,” I groan.
Her eyes flick up to me and I can see she’s watching for my reaction.
“You like sucking my dick, baby?” I growl, my grip in her hair tightening, and she works me over like it’s what she was born to do.
She whimpers around my stiffness, her eyes fluttering shut.
My cock taps and curves down the back of her throat as her muscles relax with every pass, opening more for me.
She gags, her eyes watering so prettily. Her free hand lifts to play with my balls, tugging, kneading, and teasing. My breathing turns ragged as she steers me toward the finish line.
“Does this get you wet, sweetheart? Sucking my cock like this?” She nods without breaking rhythm and picks up the pace, bobbing up and down, and my hips jerk up to meet her, matching her movement.
A tingle sparks to life at the base of my spine. I’m teetering.
“Christ, Gemma,” I gasp. “I’m gonna come. Don’t you dare stop.”
And then I lose it.
I come hard. Stars dance in my vision and my whole body seizes. I pulse deep in her throat.
“That’s it. Swallow all of it,” I say, feeling her throat tighten as she drinks me down.
Once I’m empty, she pulls back and smirks. Like she’s proud.
I shrug off my open shirt, tossing it aside. I gather her into my arms and tuck her head underneath my chin. She lets out a breathy laugh, sliding her arms around my neck as I lift her with ease. I carry her through the apartment, heading straight for the massive guest bathroom.
I leave the door open and step through, placing her gently on her feet. I kneel and turn the tap on the bath, testing the water temperature with my hand until it’s just right.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching me as I unscrew the cap of a bottle and tip its contents into the bath. Bubbles expand and multiply across the surface.
Standing, I step forward and gently spin her until her back is flush against my chest. I lower my mouth to her neck and the hollow behind her ear, placing soft kisses over the curve of her shoulder and across the bare skin of her upper back.
My fingers find the thin straps of her dress again, sliding them down one at a time.
“We’re taking a bath,” I say.
The silk slips down her body, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her heels.
She’s mesmerizing.
I take her hand and gently turn her to face me once more. Dropping to my haunches, I lift one of her feet and unbuckle her heel, kissing her ankle and easing her foot out of it. Then the other.
She stands before me, naked and so radiant.
“You take my breath away, Gemma,” I say, barely able to hold myself together.
“So do you,” she whispers.
She helps me undress, tugging my trousers down my legs. I step out of them and lead her to the tub, climbing in behind her and pulling her against my chest. She sighs into me.
Her head drops back to rest on my shoulder, and I wrap my arms around her, winding them tight. My cock presses against her arse, hard and eager for more, but I ignore it as best I can. Not because I don’t want her, but because this—holding her, having her—is more than enough.
“Thank you,” she says, barely above a whisper.
I nuzzle her neck. “For what, baby?”
“For being patient with me.”
My brows pull together. She has no idea. I would give this woman anything. I squeeze her gently. “Thank you for trusting me.”
She wiggles slightly, craning to look up at me. It’s then I notice her eyes, brimming with unshed tears.
I run my thumb against her cheek, bubbles clinging to her skin. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “I love you.”
The world tilts on its axis.
Her touch seeps through me. Into my marrow and everything that I am.
“I love you too,” I say, my voice clogged with emotion.
One tear escapes, sliding down her cheek, and I lean in, kissing it away.
“Baby, why are you crying?” I whisper. “That’s a good thing.”
She shakes her head, her voice cracked and so small. “Because you’re leaving.”
And just like that, my heart splinters.
“I’m still here. I haven’t gone anywhere. We can figure something out,” I say.
She opens her mouth to speak when someone calls my name.
“Max!” We both instantly freeze, gazes darting to the open door.
“Was that…” Gemma breathes, dread written all over her face.
“I think so,” I whisper, my throat suddenly dry.
Loud footsteps fall down the hall. With every approaching step, my heartbeat thunders in my ears. We both jolt upright. My arm tightens around Gemma protectively.
Gemma stills in my hold as Anna strides past the doorway. She takes three steps before she falters. She steps back and does a double take when she surveys the scene before her.
Gemma and me, naked in the bath together, my arms around her.
“I tried to call,” Anna says. Then she says nothing. She just glares through both of us, betrayal etched in her eyes, the color drained from her face.
The silence is worse than any shouting could be.
“Anna,” Gemma says, her voice breaking.
“Fuck this,” Anna finally says, turning and stomping toward the front door.
A sob tears from Gemma’s throat.
“Anna, wait!” I say, quickly standing and reaching for a towel.
I don’t even bother to dry myself, bubbles cascading down my body and dripping onto the floor.
My sole focus is on stopping her so I have the chance to explain. Explain what Gemma means to me—that I love Gemma.
I chase after Anna, feet slapping against the hardwood. Water sloshes behind me as, I assume, Gemma gets out of the bath.
“Anna!” I call again, catching her just before she reaches the foyer. “Please. Don’t go! Just let me explain.”
I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing it out of my eyes.
Anna whirls around, her expression stony. Hurt. Eyes red, her cheeks tear-streaked.
She looks fucking devastated.
It feels like I’ve torn stitches. My little sister—who I’ve protected her whole life—is staring at me like I’ve committed the worst betrayal.
“Explain what?” she spits. “That you’re screwing my best friend!? AGAIN!”
“Anna, please,” Gemma says, rushing after us. My dressing gown is cinched at her small waist and damp patches seep through the woolen fabric.
“This isn’t—” she starts, then stops herself. “We didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” She reaches toward Anna.
“Don’t even think about touching me,” Anna says.
Gemma’s hand falls limply to her side. Her lip trembles as she pulls in a shuddering breath.
Anna’s eyes bounce between us. “How long?”
We stand, frozen.
“HOW LONG?” Her voice ricochets through the room like a slingshot. Gemma startles.
“Five weeks,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as possible.
Anna turns to Gemma. “Five weeks,” she whispers. “How could you?”
Then she spins toward the door.
“No! Anna. Please,” Gemma cries. “Don’t go. Please—don’t go.” She repeats it like a chant.
Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.
A muscle feathers in Anna’s jaw. “I told you what happened with Nicole. I asked you not to touch him. I told you to do one fucking thing, Gemma!”
Gemma takes a cautious step forward. “I didn’t—”
“—mean to?” Anna scoffs. “I would never do this to you, Gemma. I would never betray your trust and go behind your back if you asked me not to do something.”
Gemma flinches as if the words land a physical blow.
Anna diverts her gaze back to me. “I told you everything I’ve been going through with Mason, Max! And you still—” Her voice cracks. “You still did this.”
“What do you mean, Anna?” Gemma asks through tears.
Anna swipes angrily at the wetness staining her cheeks, her lip wobbling as she tries—and fails—to hold it together.
“Is that why you’re here? Because of Mason?” I ask, taking a step closer. “Anna—what happened?” My voice drops.
“Please don’t,” she whispers, shaking her head as she presses a trembling hand over her mouth. Then, a loud sob rips out of her. So thunderous and raw that it cracks my heart in half.
“What happened?” I say, growing more concerned.
“Anna…” Gemma says quietly.
And then I see it in Anna’s eyes.
She isn’t just angry.
She’s grieving.
“Weasel,” I whisper.
Anna steps up to me and collapses in my arms. “I needed you!” she cries, beating her fists against my chest. “I needed you”—she chokes on her next breath—“and you hurt me too! I needed you!”
I wrap my arms around her, holding her as tight as I can. My chest is heavy and my vision blurs. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, burying my face in her hair as she wails. “I didn’t know, Anna. I’m so sorry.”
When I lift my eyes, Gemma’s still there, arms folded across her middle as if she’s trying to keep herself together. Her eyes swim with guilt and… fear.
I meet her gaze and beg her with a look that screams everything I can’t say out loud. Please don’t leave.
She reads it. But I see it in the way her chin lifts. In the subtle shake of her head.
She isn’t staying.
“I’m so sorry, Anna. This should never have happened,” she pleads.
“No,” I say to Gemma, my voice low.
She tenses her jaw.
“No, Gemma, please.”
Gemma’s watery gaze stays fixed on the scene in front of her. On the wreckage that we’ve made.
“What did we do?” she whispers, her voice splintering. “Anna… I’m so sorry.”
She snatches her phone off the side table and bolts for the door.
“NO!” I shout, torn between my sister, breaking down in my arms, and chasing after the woman running away with my heart.
Gemma pauses long enough to look over her shoulder when she reaches the door.
A tear releases itself from my lashes and falls down my cheek.
“Please, Gemma.”
“Anna needs you,” she says softly.
And then she leaves.