Chapter Twenty-Three #3
“I’ll make plans,” he said ambiguously before checking his watch. “Go eat and we’ll meet at Supermoon in two hours.”
With their orders, Ash, Marco, and Cole took off to the right, Miles went to the left, and Serrano walked down the way I’d come.
Turning me in his hold so I was facing him, Maximo tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m so tempted to bring you up to the room, spank your ass until you can’t sit, and then fuck you until neither of us can move.”
I was right, talk was code for spank .
“But we need to eat. The rest will wait until later.” He studied me for a moment as he skimmed his fingers down my neck. “Glad you like that idea, too.”
I didn’t bother denying it. Because even if I swore the pain sounded horrendous, the coil of need that tightened low in my belly said otherwise.
“I set reservations at the French restaurant, but we can switch to Asian or— “
“French is good,” I answered instantly, my mind on bread.
Putting his palm to my lower back, Maximo steered me to a glass elevator. We rode it to the second floor and got off.
Like the downstairs, the long path was lined with stores and drink stands. We kept going until we reached a set of etched doors. Maximo opened one, holding it so I could enter first.
The interior of the restaurant was much different than the exterior, with brick walls, exposed wood beams, matching tables, and red chairs. Only a few subtle moons and wrought iron details tied in the Moonlight theme.
It was reminiscent of a French bistro—or what TV and movies portrayed one to be.
Bypassing the long line of people waiting, we approached the podium.
“Mr. Black,” a woman in a sleek suit greeted, already standing at the ready with two menus in hand. “Right this way.”
We followed her to a table against the floor to ceiling window. It overlooked a courtyard filled with palm trees and twinkle lights. Once we sat, she handed us the menus emblazoned with the name Parisian Crescent . “Liz will be right with you.”
She wasn’t kidding because no sooner had she stepped away did the server take her place.
Wide-eyed and terrified, her voice shook. “Good evening, I’m Liz. May I start you off with something to drink?”
“Just water for me, please,” I said with a smile I hoped was reassuring.
“Club soda with lime, please,” Maximo said, not looking up from his menu.
She nodded and rushed away like someone had lit a fire under her ass.
I watched her go, surprised she didn’t just continue out the door to get away from Maximo. “Do you always inspire terror?”
“If I have my way.”
Which meant yes because he always had his way.
“Isn’t there some saying about catching more flies with honey than vinegar?” I asked.
“I don’t want to catch flies. I want competent employees who do shit my way. Call me a bastard, an asshole, or even,” his lips tipped, “a control freak. Their terror means I’ve made the expectations and consequences clear.”
Thinking about the consequence I had coming my way later, I shifted in my chair.
Maximo didn’t miss it. “Do I inspire terror in you, little dove?”
Swallowing hard, I admitted, “Sometimes.”
“Smart girl,” he rumbled, his eyes going hooded as he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip.
I was beginning to recognize that was his tell.
And it told me he was thinking very naughty thoughts.
Before I could ask what they were, Liz approached with our drinks. “Have you decided what you’d like?”
Yes.
Maximo.
Naked.
Bossing me around and taking care of me.
Taking my silence as indecision, she pointed to an item on the menu I’d yet to even look at. “Chef Frédéric wanted me to tell you that he thinks you’d enjoy the gnocchi gratinée.”
“Uh, okay I’ll have that then,” I agreed, even though I had no clue what gnocchi matinee or whatever she’d said was.
“Mr. Black?”
“Steak, medium rare, side salad with house dressing instead of frites.”
I’m pretty sure frites are fries.
Who chooses a salad when they could have fries?
At the very least, have both.
“I’ll put this right in,” Liz said, taking the menus before hustling off like the boogieman and all her exes were chasing her.
“Quick question,” I said before amending, “two, actually.”
“Yes?”
“What’s gnocchi gra-whatever?”
“It’s baked mac and cheese but made with gnocchi.”
Oh. That sounded delicious and exactly like something I’d order. Which led to my next question… “Who is Chef Frédéric?”
“Freddy. If he isn’t working at the house or developing new recipes, he picks up shifts at the restaurants.”
Freddy and Ash had already told me as much, but I hadn’t put together Freddy was a nickname for Frédéric.
A thought occurred to me. “Since I’m assuming he isn’t Freddy Frédéric, what’s his first name?”
Leaning in, Maximo lowered his voice. “Don’t call him it, or he won’t bake you funfetti cake again.”
I made the motion of crossing my heart because that was a consequence I couldn’t handle. “Is it Milford? Mervin? Wilbur?”
“Laurent.”
How anticlimactic.
My lips turned down. “I thought it’d be something unusual. Why doesn’t he like it?”
“It’s a family name.”
“Okay?”
“He hates his family.”
“That would do it,” I muttered.
Between Ms. Vera, Freddy, and now me, it seems like Maximo collects strays.
Maybe he’s more of a softie than he lets on.
I thought again about my impending consequences.
Never mind.
_______________
“Faster, little dove.”
Swiveling my hips, I moved up and down his length.
I liked the way Maximo looked at me always.
But I loved the way he looked up at me while I rode his cock.
So close.
Just need to find the spot.
“Faster,” he repeated.
“No.”
“You don’t get to say no to Daddy,” Maximo growled right before he flipped us. Slamming in, he hit the spot I needed.
It was perfect.
The entire night had been.
Dinner had been delicious.
When we’d gotten to the Supermoon Arena, Maximo had kept me with him while he’d checked on everything. Once he’d been sure there were no last-minute hiccups, he’d taken us to ringside seats, again settling me on his lap.
According to him, he hadn’t been a fan of me sitting so far away during dinner.
According to me, I’d agreed.
As we’d watched, his hard expression had been imposing and intimidating to everyone else. But I’d gotten his sweet side. His funny jokes whispered in my ear. His teasing bites on my neck.
The fights may not have been as excitingly vicious as the warehouse ones, but the rest more than made up for it.
Once the last bout ended by TKO, Maximo had hurried me to his private elevator, impatient to get me alone.
To lift me in his arms and take my mouth during the ride up.
To carry me through his penthouse.
To strip me down.
To bend me over the bed and spank my ass.
To let me ride his perfect cock until we both went mad.
Riding him had been good.
But him putting all his strength into each thrust, relentlessly filling me over and over was far better.
My pussy tightened, the pulses of pleasure zipping through every last nerve ending in my body.
And then he slowed, stealing it all away.
Releasing a whimper of need, I wrapped my legs around him and dug my heels in, urging him to go faster.
He didn’t, of course.
“Who am I?” he growled, his muscles taut as he held back and continued the torment.
Long strokes out, gentle thrusts in.
I tried to rock my hips, but his pace slowed even more.
“My Daddy,” I rushed out.
“Only when we’re at home?”
“Everywhere.”
“Only sometimes?
“All the time.”
“Remember that, Juliet. Remember who takes care of you. Who knows what you like. What you need .” His hips ground against me, and I was so full. Stretched. Impaled by his cock until I felt as though it were splitting me in two.
And I was happy to break if it meant the coil of need broke, too.
Maximo sped up, his hand going between us so his thumb could stroke my clit. “I don’t give a shit who is around. I want people to know what a lucky bastard I am to have you. I want them to know you’re mine, and I’m your Daddy. Is that understood?”
Unable to speak, I nodded frantically so he wouldn’t stop.
But he didn’t accept my nonverbal answer. He eased the pressure on my clit. “Whose are you?”
“Yours.”
The pressure returned as he rubbed tight circles. “Say it again.”
My neck arched, my orgasm hovering around the edge, so close to crashing over me. Drowning me. Forcing the words out while I could, I rasped, “I’m yours.”
“Fuck. Yes,” Maximo grunted as he lost control, fucking me harder than he ever had—which was saying something.
My orgasm tore through me, eviscerating me from the inside out. I didn’t break. I shattered into a million shards, and Maximo was all that held me together.
Head falling back, Maximo groaned, harsh and low, as he came, filling me. His thrusts slowed before he planted himself deep.
Slumping forward, he gave me most of his weight as he licked and nipped my neck, collarbone, and breasts. “I could spend the rest of my life buried in this pussy and it wouldn’t be long enough.”
His touch was addicting.
But it was those obscenely sweet words he offhandedly spoke with his silver tongue that were the most dangerous.
Before I could respond—not that I planned to—he rolled off me. “Go get ready for bed, Juliet.”
My exhausted body and I had no interest in arguing, so I climbed off the bed and opened my suitcase.
Hellloooooo.
Right on top, there was a sinfully decadent lacy gray bodysuit I’d never seen before. There was no way Maximo knew about it, otherwise he’d have told me to put it on before immediately ripping it off.
He was not a patient man.
This explains Ms. Vera’s mischievous smile.
She’s a great wing-woman.
Since putting on lingerie after sex was like ordering dinner after you were already full, I pushed it to the side and grabbed my toiletries before going into the bathroom.
When I returned, Maximo was on his phone. His eyes were on me, alert and furious—though that part didn’t seem aimed my way. “Let me know.”
“Everything okay?” I asked when he ended the call.
“Just some post-fight bullshit. It happens.” He went into the bathroom, returning a couple minutes later smelling like mint and him. Rather than climbing into bed with me, he stood next to it. “Tired?”
I sprawled like a starfish. “Exhausted.”
“The good kind?”
“The best kind.” Yawning, I muttered, “I take it there’s a reason you’re not in bed with me.”
“I need to make a few calls in the living room.”
“Can I stay here and sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Will you come in and spoon me?”
“As soon as fucking possible.”
“Then enjoy your calls.”
He bent to take my mouth, and God, his kiss had the power to wake me up faster than a triple shot of espresso.
Before things could get really good, he pulled away. “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.”
“And thank fucking Christ for that,” he muttered before leaving the room.
Sinfully charming with a silver tongue.
I’m in so much danger.