28. Maddox
MADDOX
Best decision I’ve made since the four of us agreed to whatever this is, was booking an early return from Milan.
I’m going to keep saying that.
The shower’s running cold by the time I get out because I stood under the hot water for twenty minutes just letting the week decompress and lost track of time, which I don’t usually do. I towel off and pull clothes on and check my phone while I’m still doing up buttons.
Men’s thread first. Just us three.
Asher texted while I was in the air. Short version: Sophia engineered dinner at Vine for Harper and her matchmaking project while he was running the service.
He’d managed a quick hello and a flimsy professional excuse to get Harper alone in his office for about eight minutes before he and Killian had to leave for an investor dinner off the estate.
Harper told him she was fine staying in.
Asher: She said she was fine but she wasn’t fine.
Asher: Also I’m fairly certain Sophia knows.
I’d read that last part somewhere over the Swiss Alps and thought about it for the rest of the descent.
Here’s the thing about Sophia knowing about Asher: if she’s clocked it with him then she’s clocked it with me too, because my goddaughter grew up watching the three of us operate as a unit for twenty-five years and she’s sharp as hell about all of us.
If she knows about Asher and me then she knows about Killian.
Which means Harper’s been sitting with that knowledge at the dinner table tonight without any of us there, and Asher said she wasn’t fine, and Killian and Asher are forty minutes away at a dinner they couldn’t cancel.
I pull up the estate security app.
I designed the garden maze eleven years ago on a bet with Killian.
I told him I could build something on the grounds that would genuinely stump him and he wouldn’t solve it in under an hour.
I won. He took two hours and fourteen minutes and came out the south entrance looking like a man who’d reconsidered several things about himself.
I know every inch of it. Every false trail, every dead-end that isn’t actually a dead-end, every door hidden behind the vine panels that look like solid hedge from both sides. It’s mine. I built it and I’ve walked it more times than I can count at various hours and in various conditions.
Right now it’s showing me something better than its own architecture.
The east garden path camera catches the dinner group leaving Vine’s terrace: Lorenzo and Sophia first, then Raph and Odette, who are walking close enough that Harper’s matchmaking mission has clearly paid off.
Harper’s behind them in a pale yellow wrap dress, the kind that ties at the waist and moves when she does, her hair loose down her back.
She’s heading for the gardens.
I finish buttoning my shirt and grab my jacket.
By the time I reach the garden path the group’s split up. Lorenzo and Sophia have gone toward the south wing and I’m not reading into that. Raph and Odette are somewhere in the west section and I can see on the app that they’ve stopped moving and I’m very glad I can’t hear them.
Harper went into the maze.
Of course she did.
I switch to the maze’s interior cameras and pick her up at the third junction.
She’s taken the left fork, the scenic route, the longer one that loops past the fountain before it hits the center.
Her hands are trailing along the hedgerow and her face is tipped up a little like she’s looking at the sky through the corridor of green.
She just needed some air.
I pocket my phone and find the nearest entrance.
I hear Raph and Odette before the hedge path even connects to their section.
I move faster.
The maze at night is a different thing from the maze in daylight.
Hedgerows black and dense, paths lit by the low ground lights along the base.
I know it well enough that I don’t slow down, cutting through the interior shortcut via the third hidden panel, a door that swings inward when you find the right section of vine.
I cross the center corridor toward the east section where Harper’s last camera position had her heading.
I can hear her footsteps. Light, unhurried, the pace of someone who’s got nowhere specific to be and doesn’t mind.
I track the sound through the parallel passage until the paths converge at the false dead-end in the east section. From her side it looks like solid hedge. From my side there’s a door, vine-covered, invisible unless you know it’s there.
I know it’s there.
Her footsteps slow. Then stop.
She’s hit the dead-end and she’s standing there looking at a wall of green that doesn’t go anywhere.
I find the latch.
The door swings open without sound and I step through and get one hand over her mouth before her sharp intake of breath becomes anything the whole garden can hear.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I keep my voice low, right next to her ear. “Fancy meeting you here.”
She goes completely still for about two seconds.
Then I feel her start laughing against my palm.
Not scared. Not residual adrenaline. Just genuine, helpless laughter shaking her shoulders and pressing warm against my hand, and something I’ve been carrying since Milan lets go all at once because that’s her, that’s exactly her, and I’ve missed it in a way I hadn’t fully accounted for when I booked the trip.
I pull her backward through the door and ease it shut behind us, then spin her around in my arms. She’s still laughing, one hand coming up to cover her mouth now that mine isn’t there, eyes bright in the low light filtering through the hedgerow.
She looks up at me.
I look at her in that pale yellow dress with her hair loose and the laugh still on her face and two weeks of being somewhere that wasn’t here compressing into this single point, and I don’t say anything because there isn’t anything I want to say more than I want to close the distance.
My lips find hers.
Not soft. Not a question. Two weeks of New York and Milan and security files and early flights and the specific absence of her, all of it coming through without preamble.
She makes a sound against my mouth that’s not laughter anymore.
Her hands find my jacket.
The maze is dark and private and I built every inch of it.
The second her lips part under mine, I know I’m fucked.
Not the kind of fucked where I can walk away.
Not the kind where I can pretend this is just another night with another woman in another city.
This is Harper, and she tastes like wine and summer nights and the kind of hunger that makes my hands tighten on her waist like I’ll die if I don’t hold her closer.
She gasps into my mouth, fingers twisting in my jacket. “You’re back.”
“Early.” I bite her lower lip, drag my teeth just hard enough to make her shudder. “Couldn’t fucking wait.”
She whimpers when I kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against hers, and I don’t give her a second to breathe.
Two weeks without her—two weeks of video calls where I could see her but not touch, could hear her but not taste—and now she’s here, warm and real and arching into me like she’s been starving for it too.
I pull back just enough to see her face. “You missed me.”
Her cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from my mouth. “You have no idea.”
I grin. “Show me.”
Her hands shove at my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders, and I let it drop to the ground behind us.
The second it’s gone, she’s on me again, kissing me like she’s trying to crawl inside my skin.
I walk her backward, hands gripping her hips, until her back hits the hedge wall.
She makes this sound—half moan, half sigh—and I swallow it, pinning her there with my body while my fingers find the tie of her dress.
One tug and it loosens.
Another and the fabric falls open.
I don’t wait. I push the dress up her thighs, my hands rough, impatient, and she arches into my touch like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“Fuck,” I mutter against her mouth. “You’re not wearing anything under this.”
Her breath hitches. “I was hoping you’d come back.”
Christ.
I drop to my knees right there in the grass, hands sliding up her bare thighs, and she makes this broken noise when my mouth finds her.
She tastes even better than I remember.
Her fingers fist in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and I groan against her, dragging my tongue through her wet heat like I’ve been dreaming about for days.
“Maddox—” Her voice cracks. “Please—”
I don’t let her finish. I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue, and she jerks against me with a cry.
I could stay here forever, drowning in her, but I want more. I want her riding me, desperate and wild, the way she gets when she’s been without me too long.
I stand in one smooth motion, catching her wrist and pulling her away from the hedge. She stumbles into me, her dress still pushed up around her waist, and I spin her, guiding her down onto the grass.
She goes willingly, her back hitting the soft earth, and I follow her down, bracing myself over her.
“Tell me,” I murmur, dragging my lips along her jaw. “Did they fuck you while I was gone?”
She shivers. “Yes.”
“Did you come?”
“Yes.”
I bite her throat, just hard enough to make her gasp. “Good. But this—” I slide my hand between her legs, fingers slick with her arousal—“this is mine.”
She whimpers, hips lifting into my touch.
I don’t tease her. I push two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she arches off the ground with a cry.
“Fuck,” she pants. “Maddox—”
I kiss her again, swallowing her moans, and she claws at my shirt, trying to get it off me. I help her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside, and then her hands are everywhere—my chest, my shoulders, my stomach—like she can’t get enough.
I unbuckle my belt with one hand, shoving my jeans down just enough to free my cock.
She licks her lips when she sees it.
I smirk. “Later.”
Then I’m pulling her up, turning her, guiding her to straddle me as I lean back against the hedge. She doesn’t hesitate. She sinks onto me in one smooth motion, taking me deep, and we both groan at the feeling.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Just breathing. Just feeling.
Then I grip her hips and growl, “Ride me.”
She does.
Slow at first, rolling her hips, her hands braced on my shoulders. But then I thrust up into her, hard, and she gasps, her rhythm breaking.
“Faster,” I order.
She obeys.
Her nails dig into my skin as she rides me, her body tightening around me with every thrust. I can feel her getting closer, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, and I slide one hand into her hair, fisting it just enough to tilt her head back.
“You gonna come for me?” I murmur against her throat.
She nods frantically.
I bite her neck. “Say it.”
“Yes—” Her voice breaks. “Yes, please—”
I take my hand from her hair, bringing my middle finger to her lips. “Suck.”
She does, her tongue swirling around my finger, and I groan at the sight. Then I pull it free, slick with her saliva, and press it against her ass.
She goes rigid, her whole body tensing, and then she shatters.
Her scream echoes through the garden as she comes, her pussy clenching around me so tight I nearly lose it. I hold her through it, thrusting into her until her shaking slows, until her breathing evens out.
Her body trembles against mine, still pulsing around my cock as she rides out the aftershocks. I don’t let her catch her breath—I flip her onto her back in one smooth motion, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other trails down her sweat-slicked stomach.
“You’re not done,” I murmur against her throat, nipping at the delicate skin there.
Harper whimpers, her hips lifting instinctively toward my touch. “Maddox—”
“Tell me what you want.”
Her breath hitches when my fingers slide through her slick folds, circling her clit just enough to tease. “You.”
I grin against her skin. “Where?”
She arches off the grass, desperate. “Everywhere.”
I don’t make her wait. I kiss my way down her body—her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the dip of her navel—until my breath ghosts over her wet, swollen cunt. She shivers before I even touch her.
“Look at you,” I murmur, dragging my tongue through her folds in one slow, filthy stroke. “Fuck, you taste even better than I remember.”
Her fingers twist in my hair, pulling hard enough to sting. I groan against her, lapping at her like a man starved, and when I push two fingers inside her, she cries out, her thighs clamping around my head.
“That’s it,” I growl, curling my fingers just right. “Take it.”
She sobs my name, her hips bucking against my mouth, and I don’t let up—I fuck her with my fingers, my tongue circling her clit in tight, relentless strokes until her whole body goes taut.
“I can’t—” she gasps.
“You can.” I slide my thumb against her ass, pressing just enough to make her gasp. “Come for me, Harper.”
She shatters with a scream, her back arching off the ground, her pussy clamping around my fingers like a vice. I ride her through it, my tongue relentless, until she’s limp beneath me, her chest heaving.
But I’m not done.
I crawl back up her body, lining my cock up with her dripping entrance. Her eyes flutter open, dark and dazed, and when I push inside her in one smooth thrust, she moans, her nails digging into my shoulders.
“Fuck,” I grit out, my hips snapping against hers. “You feel too good.”
She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. “Harder.”
I oblige. My balls slap against her ass with every brutal thrust, her clit rubbing against my pelvis just right, and when she starts trembling beneath me again, I know she’s close.
I crush my mouth to hers, swallowing her moans, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Her hips jerk erratically, her breath coming in sharp, broken gasps, and when I murmur, “Come with me,” against her lips, she does—her body clenching around me, her cry muffled by my kiss.
I follow her over the edge with a groan, my cock pulsing deep inside her as I spill every drop. For a moment, all I hear is our ragged breathing, the rustle of the hedges around us, the distant hum of the estate at night.
I press my forehead to hers, her arms winding around my neck.
“I love you, Harper,” I whisper, the words raw, unplanned.
She sniffles, her fingers tracing the ink along my ribs. “I love you too, Maddox.”
I kiss her again—soft this time, slow—and when I pull back, her smile is the only thing I see.