24. Maddox
Maddox
Erica’s still ruling my mind when we return to the table. And while the night unfolds around me—laughter rising and fading, stories traded, talk drifting to holiday plans—what’s nagging at me the most is, until today, we had almost a year of silence.
Something has changed, or someone said something. I just can’t work out what or who, and I want to. It’s the only way to prepare.
One by one, goodbyes are exchanged, and the table empties until it’s only Grace, Blane, and me. We step outside, and the night air bites while the light from the Paw spills warm across the parking lot.
Blane releases a jaw-cracking yawn. “I need to edit while I can still see straight.” His gaze moves between us, something unreadable sitting behind it. “Grace, you coming?”
Her teeth catch on her bottom lip, but she doesn’t look at me. Not once. “I want some fresh air. Maddox, you okay to take me home?”
Then her eyes lift to mine. One look. Something ignites low and deep, and I nod, not trusting my voice.
“See you tomorrow.” She nudges Blane toward her rental.
For once, he doesn’t have a comeback and leaves without a word.
Miracles do exist.
Then it’s just us.
She stands with her arms folded around her middle, breath misting in the cold, and I rest a hand against the small of her back, guiding her toward my truck without a word.
Grace steps closer than she needs to, shoulder brushing mine, and if I had to guess, it isn’t accidental. Certainly not shy. More an unspoken question.
My pulse stirs under my skin, and I look down at her, making sure I’m reading this right. Her gaze is soft and searching, and the air between us shifts into something of a pull. The kind of pull that could change everything if either of us leaned just an inch closer.
My mother’s voice filters through. You like her. But sometimes the wrong reason puts the right person in your path.
She might be onto something. There are a million reasons this shouldn’t go any further. Grace and I are attracted to each other—so what?
I’ve been attracted to plenty of women before and felt nothing beyond that. Didn’t want to feel anything beyond that. But this is different. Grace is different.
Maybe it’s temporary. Maybe it’s only once. But we’re both adults, and if we’re on the same page, maybe that’s enough. No promises, just two people choosing each other for whatever this is.
I’ve spent so long being the fixer, the responsible one, keeping myself at a careful distance from anything that could cost me.
And tonight, standing in a cold parking lot with Erica’s ghost still circling and Grace right in front of me, warm and real and wanting, I’m done letting the fear of failing talk me out of what’s right here.
So, why not?
We stop at the edge of my truck, and she leans, maybe seeking shelter from the wind or just wanting to be close. Her breath ghosts between us, grazing my jaw as she tips up her chin.
“Grace…” Her name leaves me on a low exhale—more caution than warning.
Her fingers lift—tentative for half a second—then they catch at the collar of my jacket in a barely-there hook, but enough to draw me down and undo every line I’ve been holding.
Why the fuck not?
My pulse thunders as she rises onto her toes and presses her sweet mouth to mine. The world narrows and catches fire. Immediate and unforgiving.
Whatever I was clinging to—whatever narrow view I thought I needed to hold—burns like it was never real to begin with.
Her lips brush mine again, firmer this time, then she pauses like she’s giving me the chance to pull away. My breath stumbles, and something severe jolts through my lungs, a flash of lightning, sharp and electric.
Fuck.
After our kiss in the kitchen, I didn’t think I’d get a second chance. My hand slides up her spine, the other cupping the back of her neck, thumb fitting under the hinge of her jaw. She melts into the hold, and when her mouth opens on a quiet inhale, I answer her—deepening, matching, giving.
With the sure slide of her tongue, heat rolls through me. There’s nothing rushed about our kiss, not even wild, only right.
She tastes like cold air and something undeniably satisfying, all Grace, and in that instance, I’m done denying the truth. I’ve been starving for her far too long.
Her eyes blink open, wide and a little dazed. “Maddox…”
I brush my thumb along her cheek. “Yeah. I’m here.” The cold presses in around us, but she’s warm in my hands. Too warm to let go. “Tell me to stop,” I murmur, though every part of me hopes she won’t.
Her gaze drifts to my mouth, then back to my eyes, and she doesn’t step away. Instead, she consumes the little bit of space left between us. “Take me home.”
Fuck.
My fingers wrap around her hand, and I nod, opening the door to the truck. The ride to my place is quiet in that stirring way, silence thick with everything we aren’t saying because our bodies already spoke.
Once at my home, as soon as the front door clicks shut behind us, Grace is on me. Her cool hands slide under my jacket and up my chest, lips finding mine with a hunger that steals the ground from under me.
I grip her hips, thumbs sweeping the warm curves beneath her coat, pulling her closer. Her body presses into mine, soft everywhere I’m hard, and she lets out a sound—quiet, breathy—that punches right through the little restraint I have left.
I kiss her deeper. Slower. My hands trace the length of her spine until she shivers.
“Bedroom?” Her lips move against my mouth.
Christ.
I lace my fingers through hers. “Yeah. This way.”
“Yours. Not mine.” She stares up at me, something unreadable in her gaze as the words tumble out of her. “Your room is away from the others.”
I nod. Mom’s room is downstairs, and Blane and Grace are upstairs at the front of the house. My room sits at the back, past a bathroom and a spare bedroom—as far from everyone else as you can get under this roof.
We quietly climb the stairs, and because I’ve lived here all my life, I know which floorboards to avoid so as not to make a sound. Blane is the last person I want to see.
The moment we step inside my room, she turns toward me—eyes dark, breath trembling—and reaches for the hem of her sweater. I stop her gently, closing my hands over hers.
“Let me.”
Her inhale is sharp, sweet, surrendering, and she nods, eyes boring into mine.
Reluctantly, I release her hands to cup her cheek, thumb running tenderly over her swollen bottom lip. I’ve never wanted anyone this badly, even if I know better than to want her. This can’t end well.
I grab the edge of the fabric, hands shaking, and lift slowly. My knuckles brush the soft skin of her stomach, and I pull upward, discarding the sweater onto the floor. Even in the dim light, she’s stunning. Skin flushed, chest rising fast, every line of her curves drawing me forward.
My palms skim her sides, memorizing her narrow waist and the soft flare of her hips, the way her nipples are tight and hard, poking through the black lace of her bra. Fuck, I can’t tear my eyes away from her. She drives me crazy.
Not satisfied with my lingering appreciation, or perhaps just as needy as I am, Grace leans into my touch, hands sliding up my arms, nails grazing lightly into my flesh.
Her lips part like she’s about to say something.
But instead, she pulls on the back of my neck, bringing me down for another kiss.
Oh, yeah, needy.
The kiss is deeper than before, demanding and almost desperate. Her mouth begs to be devoured, claimed, and I’m more than willing to give her what she wants. Fuck, what I need. My head swims and knees weaken.
Our bodies are flush now, her soft breasts molding to my chest, and my erection presses into her stomach. When her fingers slip beneath my shirt to trace the ridges of my stomach muscles, my breath hitches. I pull away to tug the T-shirt over my head, letting it drop somewhere behind us.
Grace steps back and the intense lust in her gaze nearly brings me to my knees. Then her hands are exploring me, slow strokes across my chest, down my stomach, making it impossible to think about anything but the feel of her.
“Grace.” My hands twitch, craving to undress her as my cock throbs with the ever-loving need to be inside her.
Even if at the same time my mind screams to slam the brakes. I haven’t forgotten who she is and why she’s here. And most importantly, who I am.
“What?” Her voice is husky as she presses onto her toes and kisses me again.
My hands cup her face as I pull away and press my forehead to hers. “This is a bad idea.”
I want to weep as that tiny, insistent voice inside of me that’s hoping she comes to her senses. One of us has to, and it isn’t going to be me. If she doesn’t put a stop to this, I don’t have the willpower to do the smart thing.
A slow, seductive smile skates across her puffy pink lips. “The worst idea.”
Before I can clarify what she means, her lips are on mine again, and her hands are at my belt, undoing the button and zipper of my jeans.
Mother of Christ.
My hand wraps around her wrist, stopping her fingers from slipping beneath my boxers. “Wait—if you want to stop this, all you ever have to do is say so.”
Her gaze softens. “Maddox, I’m going to make this easy for you and be clear about what I want.”
I nod and swallow the boulder-size lump forming in my throat. She’s going to do what I didn’t have the balls to do, and I might weep at my stupidity.
“Maddox, fuck me.”