32. Maddox
Maddox
We sit in comfortable silence, and when Grace looks up at me with those soft, searching eyes—when her fingers find the collar of my shirt and twist—I don't think. I just move.
My mouth finds hers, and the fire at our backs has nothing on the heat that tears through me. She tastes like whiskey and want.
“Upstairs,” Grace whispers the word barely a breath against my lips, and I pull her to her feet without breaking the kiss.
We don't make it upstairs smoothly. We knock into the banister, and she laughs into my mouth on the landing. I press her against the hallway wall because I can't go another three steps without my hands on her.
By the time I get her through my bedroom door, whatever careful restraint I'd been holding together downstairs has completely unraveled.
I kick the door shut behind us and she's already pulling at my shirt, fingers clumsy with urgency.
I help her and yank it over my head, tossing it somewhere I'll never think to look for it.
Then her hands are on my chest, my stomach, tracing the lines of me like she's memorizing something.
I catch her wrists and slow her down just enough to hold her gaze while I find the hem of her top and peel it off, letting it drop to the floor between us.
She reaches back and unclasps her bra herself—one quick, deliberate motion—and the breath leaves my lungs.
Grace’s bra straps slide down her arms to bare her breasts, and an unbearable heat spreads through my body.
Her nipples pebble instantly, rosy and tight, and I grit my teeth to keep from coming in my pants.
Lowering my head, I close my mouth around one rosy-pink bud, tongue circling, teasing until her back arches. A broken moan spills from her lips, and the sound shoots straight to my hard cock.
For several long seconds, I stay there, worshipping her chest, switching my attention from one breast to the other. I take my time with her, savoring the soft weight of her, the way she writhes and whimpers with every flick of my tongue.
Grace reaches down, unzips my jeans, and wraps her hand around my cock. My vision narrows as her fingers tighten their grip, and she strokes me, slow and sure. Her eyes darken, pupils blown wide as she learns exactly what that does to me.
“Fuck, Grace. If you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”
“That’s okay.” Her smile turns wicked as her hand squeezes the base of my cock. “We’ve got all night.”
“I like the sound of that.” I claim her mouth, kissing her hard, tasting whiskey and heat and her.
She meets kiss for kiss fiercely, tongue sliding against mine while my cock throbs in her grip, needy and leaking. Fuck, this woman.
Her other hand tugs my jeans down, and I kick free of them, my hands already at her waistband. She loops her arms around my neck, pulling me back into the kiss like she doesn’t want to give me an inch. In turn, I lift her, hands cupping her phenomenal ass, and her legs lock around my waist.
My knees wobble. “Fuck. Grace. Condom.”
We move together to the side table, mouths never quite parting.
“I’ve got an IUD, and I’m clean.”
Still in my arms, I rasp, “So am I. I got tested three months ago. Routine part of my annual, even though I hadn’t had sex in over a year.”
She places two fingers over my lips, and her smile causes my balls to twitch. “We’re good, then.”
Her mouth latches onto my neck, and though my need for her is overwhelming, I have to make sure she’s saying what I think she’s saying. “You’re okay without a condom.”
She wiggles in my grasp, teasing my cock with every slide of her pussy against me. “Yes. Now, please.”
As my mouth takes her, the thick tip of my cock sinks into her sweet pussy bit by bit, giving her time to take all of me. She whimpers, fingers digging into my shoulders, and I fight the urge to drive deeper.
“Mad… shit.”
I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. “You feel so fucking good.”
“So do you.” Her breasts sway, nipples grazing my heated chest as I move inside of her, slow and deep, every thrust deliberate.
“We’re alone.” I guide her back onto the bed. “I want to hear you. Every sound. Don’t hold back.”
I pick up the pace, hips snapping harder now, and she answers me immediately. “Yes—Mad—yes.”
She reaches between us, fingers finding her clit, and the sight of her touching herself while I’m buried inside her nearly undoes me. Her moans turn ragged, her body tightening around me until she comes with a sharp cry, clenching hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyes.
Before I can follow her over the edge, she pushes at my chest, breathless and smiling. “I want to ride you.”
The image that comes to mind causes my cock to swell in agreement. And without another word, she straddles me, palms flat on my chest.
Grace leans down to kiss me, breasts crushing my skin, her mouth sweet and sure like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
She sets the rhythm, hips rolling, taking me deep.
My fingers grip her waist, fingers owning her flesh, and I growl her name as she bounces above me—confident, unhurried, completely in control.
“You’re fucking glorious.” I slide one hand up her back, over warm skin, pulling her closer until her movement changes, becomes slower, heavier.
As she feels our connection intensify, a soft sound leaves her, and she leans forward, breath hot against my neck.
“That’s it,” I murmur. “Just like that.”
She answers by shifting again, deeper this time, the pace turning fast, powerful. I meet her halfway, guiding her without taking over, letting her feel exactly how much I want her while keeping us right here.
Her forehead drops to mine, our breaths tangled. The room narrows to heat and motion and the quiet certainty between us.
When I finally take the lead again, I flip us, and my thrusts are languid at first, building instead of rushing. She clings to me, trusting, matching every move, every breath.
The tension builds, coils, stretches thin. I hold her there, right on the edge, both of us breathing hard, bodies pressed close—close enough to feel the moment tip, close enough to choose how far we go next.
I slow us down, just for a beat. Forehead to forehead. Her breath stutters against mine. “Look at me.”
Her gaze flickers to mine, and there’s heat there, yes—but also trust. I brush my thumb against her bottom lip, needing to anchor us both on the edge. “You good?”
“Don’t stop.”
That’s all I need.
I move again, rotating my hips in slow, precise circles. A gratifying groan slips from her puffy pink lips, and I plunge deep inside her. My strokes are now hard and fast, and it isn’t long before the tether of tension between us snaps clean.
Our inevitable fall follows in a rush of pants and shudders, and we cling to each other until our frenzied state passes, leaving us breathless and spent, still pressed together, still here.
We lay tangled together until our breaths even out. Then I’m out of bed to grab a warm washcloth and clean her up. Once back in bed, the room is quiet except for our breathing. She fits against me like she belongs there, warm and peaceful.
“How are you doing?” She’s on her side beside me, sheets under her arms, hair loose across the pillow.
I’m not used to being asked. “Before, I would’ve said been better. Been worse.” I playfully squeeze her hip. “But now, I’m fucking great.”
Her expression softens, thumb tracing a line along my chest, not taking my playful bait. “Tonight was a lot. For everyone. For you.”
“I should be asking you that. All this loss… this grief.” I search her face. “It has to be more than you bargained for.”
Her hand stops, and she draws it back slowly, resting it against the sheet. Her voice drops, barely above a whisper. “I know about loss.”
Something shifts in her eyes. A shadow passes through—something old and carefully contained beneath her humor and sharp intelligence.
“Maddox…” Her voice wavers. “I want to tell you something, and it isn’t something I talk about easily.”
I don’t move, don’t speak. I just stay where I am, close enough she can trust I’m here, ready to listen.
“It’s about my brother… Cary.” The name cracks on the way out. “He left California years ago. He couldn’t stand our parents—their obsession with image, with control. They’re big deal producers, Hollywood royalty.”
I quirk a brow at her choice of words, and she pauses, frowning. “What was that for?”
“Hollywood royalty.” My lips curve upward. “Grace Kelly… It all fits.”
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Anyway…” Her expression sobers.
“My parents and their need to run everything didn’t stop at the studio.
So Cary moved to Florida and built a life he was proud of, and while I hated that he wasn’t close by, he never stopped checking in on me. On Buffy. Never.”
She presses her lips together, maybe to gather her thoughts or herself. “Aside from Buf and the whole hive-mind thing between twins, he was the only one who made me feel like I wasn’t a disappointment.”
I ache to touch her, and my hand reaches for hers, lacing my fingers through hers.
“About four years ago, he was killed while on a blind date.”
“Fuck, Grace.”
“The man who murdered him was an addict.” She stares at the ceiling, blinking fast. “Desperate for cash. One of those moments where everything goes wrong at once. Cary never stood a chance.”
Her voice frays. “I didn’t get to say goodbye. The police called me because my parents didn’t answer their phones that night. I was his number one contact. And when my parents finally did hear the news…” A hollow laugh slips out. “They blamed him. For leaving. For his choices.”
Something sharp lodges behind my ribs. Different details. Same cruelty.
“For many months, his murderer was on the run. And when he was finally arrested, I sat through every hearing, every court date. Watched the man who killed him cry. Apologize.” She shakes her head. “Justice didn’t heal anything or bring peace.”
A tear slips free. I brush it away with my thumb.
“After that…” She exhales shakily. “I threw myself into my job, and at first, though I didn’t realize it, I was numb, just going through the motions.
Until I came across a case in California that pulled on my brother’s case.
While most of the details were different, the one thing they had in common was that both assailants were hooked on the same drug.
Sure, drugs make people do crazy, violent things, and that wasn’t a story, but something clicked for me.
I knew in my gut the similarities meant something.
This drug wasn’t just any narcotic. It was supposed to be a miracle drug.
So I started digging on my own time. It took years before I found something and got the green light for an official investigation.
This is the story my editor benched me for, giving me this assignment for the meantime. ”
Her gaze finds mine, open and raw, and I shift closer, sliding my arm around her waist, pulling her into me until her head rests in the crook of my neck.
“He was my person, and then he was gone.” Her breath shudders.
I press my lips to her hair, holding her there, and let the moment be what it is.
“I’ve only ever spoken about this with Buf and Morgan… the woman on the blind date with him when it happened. The guy was aiming at her, and Cary stepped in front of her.”
“Shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to process everything. “And you’re friends now.”
“Yeah. Weird, but Cary would’ve wanted that.” She sniffs. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”
“I do,” I murmur.
She lifts her head, searching my face. There’s relief there and something else—a willing vulnerability. Her hand comes up to my face, fingers grazing my jaw, slow and tentative.
The touch lands deep and reverberates through me. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”
Her fingers curl into my bicep, gripping like she might fall apart if she lets go, and I hold her tight, anchoring her to the bed, to me, to this moment.
“I know.” But her body says something else as she pulls back.
I kiss her then—soft, nothing demanding—the kind of kiss that says I’m not going anywhere. She responds cautiously, testing if we’re real.
When I don’t change the pace or ask for more, her shoulders finally loosen, and she melts into me. We stay like that for a long moment, no talking, no rushing the quiet away.
Grace breaks the silence in a quiet voice. “Thank you for not trying to fix this.”
I tilt my head, resting my cheek against her hair. “Some things aren’t meant to be fixed. Just carried.”
She halts at that, as do I, now fully letting the truth of it seep into my bones. I mean it. Now, I have to try living it, which might be easier said than done.
I roll us so she’s beneath me, my weight braced on my forearms, careful not to crowd her as I press my mouth along her jaw, then throat.
She arches slightly, a quiet sound leaving her. “Mad, I want you inside me.”
“Me, too.” I close the space between us until there isn’t any, until every breath, every shift belongs to both of us.
I don’t rush what’s building, let the heat rise on its own and create the space for the moment to hold. This isn’t about forgetting. It’s about staying in it together.