Chapter 18
MAX
Lacey is in the passenger seat of my truck, where I like her to be, and we’re halfway back up the side of the mountain when her phone rings, and she takes it out quickly.
“Can you pull over?” she asks, flashing a look at me before bringing the phone to her ear. “It’s Vanessa, and I don’t want to lose the signal.”
I’m already doing what she wants and pulling over to the side of the road. I’m also realizing that I will, pretty much in any situation, do what Lacey wants me to.
That’s clear after the way I went from booth to booth today, not really bothered by the crowds or the rampant consumerism.
Lacey bought tea and baked goods, a shirt and a skirt, loaded up bags with beeswax candles and vintage finds, and I did nothing but follow along behind her, carrying her things.
“Vanessa?” Lacey says, answering the phone as I punch the button to turn on the hazards. “What’s—”
Her friend’s voice bursts out from the phone’s speaker, staticky and bright, and Lacey laughs, pulling it away from her ear for a moment so she can turn the volume down.
But not before I catch Vanessa saying, “want to come up there to make sure you’re alive!” Then I hear her say something about AI, and Lacey puts the phone back to her ear.
“Fine, fine — I’ll ask.” She glances at me, her cheeks pink. The moon is high in the sky tonight, and on either side of the road, the trees have exploded into a frenzy of orange, yellow, and reds, the leaves rustling in the wind. “Yes. Well, I think it’s a plan. He’s a guy from town. Max’s friend.”
I realize, listening, that her friend knows who I am, and that Lacey has already told her about the dinner planned for me, Warren, and her. Surprising myself, I say, “You should invite Vanessa to come, too.”
Lacey blinks at me, her eyes going wide. “Really?”
The pleasure on her face is enough to convince me that offering was a good idea. Smiling, I say, “Yeah. It would be cool to meet your friends. You’ve met all of mine, after all.”
That makes her laugh, and she goes back to her phone call. Vanessa gets even louder on the other side of the phone, and Lacey laughs again, telling her to calm down. Then she’s off the phone, and we’re pulling back onto the road.
I check the ditches for deer, scan the road for objects, and go slow, taking the curves with a practiced and cautious hand.
When Lacey reaches over and slips her hand into mine, I swallow but try not to let on how the gesture makes me feel. How it cuts right to the center of me, and alarms the part of me certain that this is going to hurt in the end.
When I pull up outside Jasper’s cabin — or Lacey’s cabin, now — for what feels like the millionth time this month, she doesn’t get out right away. My heart thuds in my chest, and something hangs in the air between us. Something that tastes like possibility.
“I want this,” Lacey says, cutting through the silence, and I turn to look at her, not sure I heard her right.
She’s staring out the windshield at the cabin, her throat bobbing once before she turns and looks at me.
Today, her hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, two braids running from her face down to the bun, where they disappear.
She always looks gorgeous, but she clearly took more time to get ready today.
I waited patiently for her in the living room as she did, unable to stop myself from thinking about the kind of furniture I would make for the place, if it were mine.
Then, when she came out in her burnt orange overall dress and tights, doing a little twirl and asking how she looked, I had to restrain myself from picking her up and carrying her right back into the bedroom.
After all, when we woke up this morning, I’d already had in mind that we should do it again.
I’d held myself back because she was excited about the festival. But we’re home now, and she’ll be taking the dress off anyway.
So, I slide out of the driver’s seat and circle the Jeep, opening her door for her like I’ve insisted on doing before.
“Max.” She laughs when I don’t step back, but instead reach inside and unbuckle her belt, letting it slide smoothly back from her chest. “What are you—”
Then I’m picking her up, carrying her like I did when she fell off the ladder. An injury that I’m realizing healed in just enough time for her to enjoy the fall festival.
Lacey wraps her arms around my neck, and I walk her up the front porch and into the cabin, carrying her directly to the bed we shared the night before. The sheets are still messy, the duvet pulled back.
It smells like her in here.
“Keep talking,” I say, setting her down on the bed, fingers finding the clasps for her dress and undoing them.
She gasps, her eyes flying to mine, then she swallows and says again, “I want this. I want—” She pauses as I pull the dress down and off, then hook my thumbs in the waistband of her tights.
“I don’t know what the future looks like.
But I’ll always be honest with you. They offered me the promotion, but I don’t—”
I pull her shirt off over her head and drop my mouth to that spot above her throat, which takes her breath away for a moment. Bringing my hand up to the small of her back, I let my fingers spread out, holding her in place as I let my lips work over her hot, feverish skin.
“I don’t even know if I want the job,” she whispers, bringing her hands up to tangle her fingers in my hair. “I think— I think I want this. This place. This cabin. You.”
Her fingers find the button at the top of my jeans, and an urgency builds inside me. Before, the first time I had her, I forced myself to take things slow. To touch her and feel her and taste her, in case it might be the last time.
But this isn’t the last time. Not even close, because I’m already planning out all the ways I’m going to have her tonight.
So I let the urgency take over. I let it settle my body over hers, and spread her legs wide. I let it dispatch with the rest of our clothes quickly, and let it slide me between her legs, my cock pressing at her entrance as she stares at me with those dark, expectant eyes.
And when I rock into her, I let it take both of us, pushing deep and harder, driving into the need she shows me through the tug of her fingers and her gasps and the way she throws her head back against the pillows.
I palm her breasts and run my hands down her sides and promise to myself that I’m never going to hold back from something I want ever again. How many times could we have done this already if I hadn’t been stopping myself?
How many times could I have lowered my mouth to her nipple, scraping my teeth over the most sensitive part, feeling her pussy clench around my cock in response? How many times could I have felt the scratch of her nails gently down my back?
I have no idea how much of this I’ve missed out on. All I know is that, from this moment forward, I’m going to take as much of her as I can possibly get.