Chapter Thirty-Four
Max
Her eyes are wide as they hold mine.
Seconds tick by, and my bravado inches away right along with them.
My heart beats a million reps per minute, thundering so loudly I’m amazed she can’t hear the sound.
I’ve told her my first secret, and remaining still while I wait to know how she’ll respond is a fucking testament to my self-control because all I want to do is lean forward and claim those lips, kiss her until she forgives me—or tells me to fuck off.
I can never come clean about my other secret.
I simply cannot.
If she doesn’t choose me right now, I don’t know how I’ll survive the loss of her. Telling her the truth about Dominus is a surefire way to send her packing. So that secret stays with me.
It has to.
I swallow hard as I wait, locked in her eyes. Her gears spin rapidly, but she hasn’t said a word in what feels like hours.
I can’t find the strength to move.
Fear holds me hostage—
Finally, she blows out a breath. “To hell with it.” She closes the distance between us quickly, grabbing the sleeves at my biceps and twisting her fingers around the fabric to drag me to her.
Sutton’s lips crash against mine and my brain short-circuits.
I’m frozen.
Stuck in disbelief.
Is this… is she kissing me?
She growls when I don’t kiss her back, and the sound lights a fire in me, sparking me into action.
Fuck yes.
This fucking woman has consumed me for years. Lately, it's been so much worse. I know what it feels like when she fucks my hand, when she grinds against my thigh. I know what she looks like when she comes.
When she cries.
Her sassy little pout that makes my dick hard.
Her breathy moans.
I cup her face with my hands and drag my tongue across the seam of her lips. “Open.”
She moans as she opens her mouth, then our lips crash together with frenzied, desperate motions.
I lick into her mouth, swallowing the sounds of relief she makes with each stroke of my tongue along the length of hers.
I shove my fingers into her hair, scraping my nails against her scalp as I tilt her head to gain better access to her mouth.
Her hands dig into my biceps, my shoulders, grabbing hold of me like a life line as I assault her mouth with my own.
Fucking hell, kissing her is even better than I could have ever dared to hope.
Something bumps our table and we both jump, breaking apart as the server returns with our bowls of soup.
“Oh, sorry,” she says, clearly not sorry at all. She nods to the other side of the room. “You have an audience.”
“Oh my god.” Sutton shrinks beside me, but I slap a hand onto her thigh and squeeze, freezing her in place.
The server disappears again and I assess our audience, realizing with a hint of regret that said audience is a family with three small children. With a wince, I give them a slight wave, then squeeze Sutton’s thigh. “Let’s eat, huh?”
Looking over at her, I laugh when I see how far she’s curled in on herself.
“Hey,” I say, trying to pull her back to me. “It’s Vegas. They’ve seen worse on the strip, I promise.”
“Max,” she whispers, looking up at me, those wide molten-amber eyes a mixture of lust and embarrassment. “I was seconds away from climbing into your lap!”
I groan, then reach beneath the tablecloth to adjust my aching cock. “Don’t tease me.”
“Max!” she whisper-yells. “I’m serious.”
“I know. But it happened.” I shrug, ready to point out that if she hadn’t denied herself so long, we might not be so fevered with uncontrollable lust, but now doesn’t seem like the right time. I doubt my favorite ball-buster would appreciate such a sentiment.
Instead, I lean over and grip the back of her neck, bringing my lips to her ear.
“That kiss was better than I imagined.” I nudge her ear with my nose, breathing her in.
For the first time, I’m close enough to truly smell her without my mask robbing me of the sense altogether.
I pull her earlobe between my lips, then scrape the soft flesh with my teeth.
“Max,” she whines, the sound a familiar plea.
My cock twitches, pressing against my jeans uncomfortably.
“Let’s eat.”
Releasing her, I reach for a slice of garlic bread, then place it on the plate beside her bowl of minestrone soup.
“This soup recipe hasn’t changed since the owners opened this place up back in the seventies.
” I dip my bread into my soup, then take a bite and wait for my girl to follow my lead.
If we were at the club, I could make her eat.
Here, I’m a bit out of my element, and it’s an interesting switch. Keeps me on my toes.
Without lifting her gaze past the food in front of her, she tears a hunk of bread from the slice and stuffs it into her mouth. “I’m so embarrassed,” she says once she’s swallowed her bite.
Again, I’m out of my element. If we were in the club, I’d make her forget that embarrassment by distracting her with my hands, my words, my mouth…
Time to get creative. “Tell me about why you were at the Fall Festival today.”
She blinks, then, after a beat, she rips off another hunk of bread.
“I was supposed to meet with Jayson Greenberg and…” She purses her lips.
“Well, I was hoping to get a chance to speak with Lamar Ondricek as well, but they both no-showed.” She shoves the bread into her mouth and gets that thoughtful little crease between her brows as she chews.
She’s obviously disappointed. I frown, hating that some punk-ass footballers made her feel this way.
“He’s notorious for doing that. Lamar,” I clarify. “You know that, right? It’s not personal. The kid’s a fucking menace.”
Her gaze meets mine and the hint of a smile dances at the edges of her lips. “Really?” she asks around a mouthful.
“Really. You don’t want that kid at Hart.”
She finishes chewing, but I watch her shoulders deflate slowly.
“What is it?”
When Sutton’s eyes meet mine again, they’re narrowed. “What are we doing here, Max?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you and me. Are we talking about players? Because… we don’t do that. We’re competitors. We’re not friends.”
“I want to be your friend.” I lean back and drape my arm on the back of the booth behind her. “I thought I’d made that clear.”
She sighs, lowering her gaze as she picks at her napkin in her lap.
“You’ve made something clear, yes, but I don’t think you really want to know that my agency is failing, or that without Emerson Bratt, I’ll have to shut down.
I don’t think you really want to know that my shot at success has everything to do with menaces like Lamar Ondricek and Jayson Greenberg, guys that, to you, might be interchangeable—”
“Hey.” I reach for her chin, cupping her face as I force her to look at me.
“I want to know everything about you, Sutton. I want to know what makes you happy, what makes you sad, what movies make you laugh and cry. What ice cream flavor you can’t get enough of.
I want to know your comfort show so I can watch every episode.
” She smiles, but it’s a sad imitation of the smile I love.
“I want to know why you hate eggs on your Monte Christo but don’t mind them on your benedict.
I want to know why everything is riding on Ondricek and Greenberg, so I can help you figure out a way to succeed without relying on assholes like them”
She laughs, but it’s a bitter sound.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Sutton Hart; I want to be your everything.”
Her lip quivers and I realize I may have taken it too far. Dragging my thumb across her bottom lip, I add, “I want to know what makes your lip tremble like that so I can keep it from ever happening again.”
She swallows hard, then whispers, “Wow. You’re good.”
“I meant every word.”
“Kiss me again?”
I search her eyes for just a second longer, then lean in slowly, brushing my lips against hers in a soft, tender kiss. Unlike the first one, which was a frenzy of desperation and weeks of pent-up feelings for one another, I want to take this slowly.
I want to kiss her so deeply and tenderly that she feels each stroke of my tongue down in the depths of her heels.
Gripping her chin, I lick into her mouth, feeling her relax beside me, then deepening the kiss when she digs her fingertips into my biceps.
We remain like this, just slow, deliberate strokes of our tongues, her fingers flexing and gripping my arms, holding me to her, until I finally break the kiss to pull back and look at her.
Eyes hooded, she smiles, and it’s the sexiest smile I think I’ve ever seen. Similar to the smiles I get out of her in the club, but this one is special.
This time, that satisfied smile is for Max, not Dominus.
My heart swells, the hope I long ago tried to stuff down rising again with fervor.
“I’d like to take you back to my hotel room, Ms. Hart,” I say, ducking forward to nip at her bottom lip, then moving to whisper in her ear. “Because if you think we gave that nice family a show earlier, you have no idea the things I have planned for you.”
“Oh my god.” Her hands flex around my biceps again. “Tell me.”
I chuckle, dragging my lips over the shell of her ear, then sucking her earlobe into my mouth until she gasps. “I think I’d like to leave you guessing.”
“Check please,” she jokes, and I pull back, laughing as I meet her gaze.
But there’s no mirth in her eyes. There’s no room for mirth with all that unbridled lust.
“Let’s go,” she mouths, and it’s all I can do not to jump for joy.
Fucking hell, this woman will be the death of me. Adjusting my aching cock, I retrieve my wallet, grab a couple bills, then drop them onto the tabletop. Gloria will understand.
And if she doesn’t, the hefty tip will help.