CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
Maximus sighed. In a matter of hours he would be on a stage, kissing each remaining girl for the entire village to see.
It was the inaugural event of the festival, and the entire point was to give the villagers a chance to cast their vote.
It was one of the more ridiculous parts of the competition, and it was one he had begged his father to forgo. But Augustus wouldn’t listen.
“The villagers deserve a say,” he’d said. And that had been the end of it.
Did the villagers deserve a say? Maximus understood that they wanted input on who might be their future queen.
But the only person who truly deserved a say in who Maximus would marry was Maximus.
Never in his life had he bowed to a crowd of strangers, and he was not about to start now.
Besides, he knew quite well who they would vote for.
Constance was the clear choice, for both Augustus and the villagers.
They would know her father, the shipping merchant who provided most of their goods through the long, cold winters.
They would support such an opportune match.
Maximus did not support it. There was only one girl he wanted to kiss tonight, and he had no idea whether she would let him do it.
He didn’t dare hope that she would. If he allowed himself to hope, he opened himself up to heartache.
Daphne didn’t bother with convention on a good day—he doubted she would bother with it even when faced with a crowd.
Still, he was only human, and the hope grew.
It propelled him as he tucked in his daughter, chugged an anticipatory glass of wine, and trailed down the stairs to the foyer to find his father waiting.
By the time they were seated in the carriage, Maximus was tight with adrenaline.
His entire body was tense; it felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, staring out over the precipice.
His mind was empty save for a single thought, repeated over and over as they barreled toward the town square: Will she let me kiss her? Will she let me kiss her? Will she—
“Son.” His father broke him from his thoughts as the carriage halted. “We have arrived.”
Maximus stared numbly out the window. The villagers were already gathering in the square, which was decked out in decorations.
Gold flags spanned the air above them, and rooster feathers hung from the eaves in fluffy bushels.
Maximus scanned the crowd as he exited the carriage, following his father onto the stage.
He didn’t see Daphne. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t here.
She had to be here. Augustus stayed back while he ascended the stage, standing in the middle alone.
Maximus had eliminated three girls after the Frisky Sixty.
The remaining six ascended the stage, forming a single-file line along its edge.
It was bitterly cold, and an icy wind played at his neck. Maximus felt like an animal in a cage. Everyone was staring at him. Eventually, the crowd quieted as the knot in his stomach twisted tighter.
Veronica was the first in line. Maximus didn’t even bother stepping forward to meet her—her lips were on his before he even had a chance to blink.
He kissed her back mechanically, barely registering the way her fingers groped at his hair, hardly noticing when she pressed her body against his.
He didn’t care about any of it. Normally such a kiss would make him immediately hard.
Now he found himself counting the seconds until it was over, and when Veronica finally pulled away, Maximus breathed a sigh of relief.
Behind her, the crowd cheered. Not as loudly as they would surely cheer for Constance but loudly nonetheless.
The next girl stepped forward, and on it went.
Seconds passed, but it felt like hours. It wasn’t until Constance was walking up to him that Maximus finally saw the only girl he cared to see.
She was last in line, her arms crossed, her hair a cascade of loose curls down her back.
He couldn’t read her mood from here—her usually expressive mouth was clamped shut against the cold.
Just the thought of kissing her was enough to do what none of the other girls could: harden his cock.
Inconveniently, the next girl in line was not the girl he wanted to reap such a reward.
Constance walked toward him with a smile, which persisted even as Maximus audibly groaned.
He had no interest in kissing her. Could he refuse to kiss Constance?
But that would be unprecedented. If he refused to kiss a girl—Constance specifically—it would be a disaster.
His father would never forgive him. The villagers might not either.
Even now, he could see their shining, eager faces in the crowd.
They wanted this. But Maximus only wanted her.
Constance was upon him. He wanted to flee.
Instead, he stood perfectly still as she pressed her lips to his.
Maximus closed his eyes, if only to block it out.
But nothing could block out the roar of the crowd as their lips met, and he knew immediately that the villagers had cast their vote for her.
Maximus could hardly blame them. His life would have been so much easier if he wanted Constance.
Instead he wanted Daphne. She was all he could think about—her hair, her skin, her lips.
She was so close he could smell her, the familiar scent of salt caressing him with each gust of cold autumn wind.
He wanted to shove Constance aside, to grab Daphne by the face and kiss her until she fell in love with him.
What would his father do if he did that?
Perhaps kill him on the spot. Perhaps kill her.
Maximus felt an undeniable thrill at the thought of defying him so publicly.
He would fuck Daphne on this stage in front of the entire village if she let him.
Imagine what his father would think of that.
Finally, Constance stepped aside, and Daphne was before him.
She looked radiant—her cheeks pink beneath her freckles, her curls windswept in the cold autumn air. She was wearing an enormous knitted scarf that enveloped her entire upper body. Maximus wanted to tear it off her.
“You’re here,” he breathed.
“I’m obligated to be.”
Perhaps she’d meant it as an insult, but Maximus didn’t care.
All that mattered was she was here, in front of him, and the rules of the competition dictated that they kiss.
If it were up to him, they would have done so already.
But it was not up to him. So Maximus raised his hand slowly, using just one finger to tilt Daphne’s face up to his.
Even now, he was afraid she would run away.
Even now, with the eyes of the entire village upon them, somehow he was sure she would push him away.
But she didn’t. Instead she met his eyes, gazing at him calmly as the crowd behind her grew restless.
Maximus doubted there would be any cheers for them. It didn’t matter. She was here.
He stepped closer, placing his other hand gently on her waist. “May I kiss you?” he whispered, ignoring the crowd, ignoring everything but her gorgeous brown eyes, which held his with utter conviction.
Daphne took a long time to answer. Too long. So long that Maximus began to sweat beneath her gaze, wondering if she was truly going to humiliate him before the entire village. Just as he was losing hope, she said, “I suppose you’d better.”
It wasn’t much. But it was enough for him.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Maximus leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
They were soft, just as he’d expected them to be.
And warm. She tasted like salt water and secrets, and he pulled her body against his, wrapping one arm around her back and slipping his other hand into her curls.
It was slow at first—hesitant and halting.
Then she began to kiss him back. There was no doubt about it; Maximus felt her tongue enter his mouth and he nearly came in his trousers right then and there.
He angled his head, giving her his tongue in return, tasting every inch of her that he possibly could.
He knew their time was limited; he knew she could end this at any moment.
Daphne made him feel the one way none of the other girls did: desperate.
Maximus knew that whatever happened, he wouldn’t be the first to pull away.
He would do this for exactly as long as she allowed it, kissing her for every single second that he possibly could.
They’d been kissing far longer than he’d kissed anyone else.
Surely, his father would notice. Maximus didn’t care.
He didn’t care about anything except for Daphne.
Her body molded to his. Maximus could feel the depth of her curves even through her coat, grasping at any part of her he could hold on to.
It was entirely indecent. And it did not matter.
He could feel her breasts against his chest, and unlike when he’d been in the same position with Veronica, now he pulled her closer.
Daphne did not push him away. He clutched her body against his so tightly it was sure to cause her pain.
In response, she bit his bottom lip. Maximus groaned, his cock straining against his trousers.
Daphne was pressed against it. He hoped she could feel it.
Behind them, someone cried out.
Maximus didn’t know or care who it was—Daphne Verus was in his arms, kissing him back. He could do this forever. He would do this forever, if she allowed him to.
The crowd was making noise.
Were they cheering? Maximus found that odd. He was quite sure they didn’t approve of Daphne. At least, not as much as they approved of Constance. The crowd had been deafening for her, yet somehow they were deafening again now.