22. Max
MAX
I’m pacing the small living area of the guest house, jacket tossed aside and my tie discarded.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Finn leaning over Heidi at the valet, and my hands fist at my sides.
The entire night was an exercise in restraint I didn’t know I possessed.
Hours tolerating Grace, smiling for cameras, playing the part of the dutiful suitor while Finn paraded Heidi around.
My jaw still aches from the forced smiles and polite small talk.
But I got through it for her. Because if I’d broken Finn’s nose, it wouldn’t be my reputation on the line. It would be hers.
How he knew about us, or why he suspected something, I don’t know.
The door opens. Heidi stands there, her eyes bright with fury and exhaustion. We haven’t spoken since she hung up on me after seeing the ring, not outside of camera directions. I have no idea where her head is.
“I’m done,” she says, stalking toward me. “We’re leaving right now. Pack your things.”
I catch her by the waist before she can spiral. “Baby, what—”
“Let me go, we need to pack.”
“Heidi.” I pull her tight against my chest until she stops fighting. Her heart is racing. “We aren't running away in the middle of the night.”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, and the helplessness in her voice nearly breaks my restraint. “Watching you with Grace all night, those people...it was awful. And then Grace and her comments.”
Anger flares in my chest. I know exactly how Grace operates, and the fact that she’s upset Heidi makes me want to tear into her. But I can't let Heidi unravel right now. I know her; she’ll regret walking away when we’re this close to the finish line.
“It’s just one more morning with Grace, and then she’s out of our lives.”
She’s still breathing hard, her body’s rigid in my arms. I pull her closer, needing her to hear me.
“I want to leave too, but I won’t let you regret this. We’re almost there.”
I kiss her forehead.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I won't let you regret this.”
She pulls back slightly. “You love me?”
“I don’t make a habit of proposing to women I don’t love.
” I brush a strand of hair from her face.
I’ve been desperate to talk to her since that stupid ultimatum.
“What I said in the car, it was a mistake. I didn’t mean it.
The ring is just so you know where I stand.
No pressure. Take as long as you need, but I’m all in. ”
She’s quiet, but her mind is clearly buzzing.
“I mean it,” I continue. “I don’t need an answer until you’re ready.”
The silence drags again.
“I’ve spent my life making the logical choice.” Her voice trembles. “But none of that works with you. You’re the only person who makes me want to stop thinking and just...feel. And when I actually let myself feel...”
She looks up at me. “I want to say yes. I want to be all in.”
It’s everything I’ve wanted to hear, but she’s running on fumes. I won't let her decide this while she's like this.
“I’m happy to hear that, but you don’t have to decide right now.” I tell her gently. “Get some sleep. We finish the tennis segment in the morning, then you’re coming home with me. We'll figure it out there.”
She nods slowly. “You’re right.” Her shoulders drop. “I just…I need my brain to shut off.”
“I can take care of that.” I squeeze her waist.
She knows what I mean.
“I should get back Someone might see me leave—”
“If they do, tell them you were checking that I got back safe.”
The tension finally leaves her shoulders. I’ve given her the logic and the cover she needs.
She exhales. “Okay.”
Before she can say anything else, I hook my hands under her thighs and lift her. Her legs wrap around my waist on instinct as I press her back against the door and claim her mouth, trying to erase every trace of Finn.
But as I kiss her, I feel the resistance. She isn't pushing me away, but she isn't there, either. Her body is rigid, her mouth just going through the motions while her mind is clearly a thousand miles away. She’s still stuck in that spiral.
I need her out of that headspace and back in her body.
I break the kiss and set her down gently. She looks through me, her eyes unfocused.
“Breathe with me.”
I inhale slowly through my nose, hold for four counts, then exhale. She resists for a heartbeat—stubborn as always—then matches me. Once. Twice. Her pulse thunders under my thumb at her throat, but it begins to ease, syncing to mine.
“Good.”
The praise lands like a spark. Her eyes flutter, finally focusing on me.
I slide my hand from her jaw to the nape of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair.
I tug just enough to tilt her head back, exposing the line of her throat.
A soft gasp escapes her, and I kiss her again.
Slower this time, deeper. She tries to arch up on her toes, chasing the friction, but I keep her pinned against the door with my hips.
When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed. Her breathing is ragged, but the panic is gone. Progress.
I carry her to the bed and ease her down onto the mattress. I reach for the tie I discarded on the nightstand. Her gaze tracks the fabric as I lift her wrists above her head.
“Trust me?” I ask.
She nods, quick and certain. “Yes.”
I loop the around her wrists, binding them loosely to the headboard. She could slip free if she wanted to.
“You don’t get to think right now,” I whisper against her ear. “You only get to feel. Leave the rest to me.”
I drag my mouth down the side of her throat. She whimpers, her hips jerking up instinctively to find mine. I’m not letting her rush this, not until I’m sure the overthinking has completely stopped.
I find the zipper at the side of her dress and ease it down. The metal teeth click softly as the fabric parts, and goosebumps rise on her skin in the wake of the cool air. I peel the dress away, then her underwear, until she’s bare beneath me—flushed, trembling, and finally focused only on me.
I brace myself over her, weight on my forearms so she feels the full length of my body. My chest brushes hers with every breath, and I settle my hips firmly between her parted thighs.
I lower my mouth to her collarbone, tracing the bone with my tongue before moving lower.
I take my time, circling her nipple until it's a tight peak, then drawing her into my mouth.
I use just enough suction to make her gasp.
Every move I make draws another soft, helpless sound from her throat, and for the first time all night, I can tell she isn't thinking about a single thing outside of this room.
Her hips twitch restlessly, seeking more contact, so I shift my weight and lower my thigh, pressing it right where she needs it, letting her grind against the fabric.
She gasps at the first drag then rocks again.
Her movements becoming more frantic as she grinds into me.
I can feel the dampness of her soaking through the fabric, and fuck, her using my leg like that makes my cock ache harder against my zipper.
Every roll of her hips syncs with my mouth on her nipple: suck harder when she grinds down, release with a slow lick when she lifts. Her breaths come in short, desperate pants, fingers flexing against the tie above her head.
When her whimpers turn into soft, broken pleas, I finally move down between her legs. She’s drenched, her skin hot and so ready for me that it nearly snaps my control. I want to be inside her more than I want my next breath.
Then the reality hits me. I don’t have a condom.
Fuck.
The thought is a sharp, frustrated spike, but I shove it aside. It doesn't matter. I’ll take care of her.
I settle between her legs, my shoulders forcing them wider. I hook one of her knees over my arm, spreading her open completely until she's fully exposed.
I drag two fingers along her center, gathering her heat before finding that small, sensitive spot and circling it with the lightest pressure. Her whole body jerks, a sharp tremor running through her as if every nerve just caught fire.
She moans, her hips bucking to chase my hand. But with her wrists bound above her, she can’t grab me or guide me. She has no choice but to lie there and take exactly what I give her.
I slide one finger inside, then a second, curling them against the spot that always makes her lose her composure. Her walls pulse around me. I keep a steady, unhurried rhythm, watching her face: her eyes are half-lidded, her lips parted as those broken whimpers start again.
God, she’s incredible when she’s this needy.
I lean in closer, my breath hot against where I know she wants me. “You want my mouth?”
She arches off the mattress, pushing into me, desperate for the contact, but I pull back just enough to keep her reaching.
“Max—” she warns, voice cracking, strained and needy.
I flick my tongue once, hard and precise, right where she’s most sensitive. Then I lick through her in one long, slow stroke. I take her into my mouth, using gentle suction at first. I pulse my tongue in time with my fingers as I curl them deeper, hitting that spot.
She loses it.
Her hips grind shamelessly against my face, smearing her wetness across my chin, my lips, chasing every suck and flick like she’ll die if I stop. No more thoughts, no more hesitation, just desperate hunger, her thighs squeezing my head like she wants to trap me there forever.
I pull back just enough to torture her—fingers slowing to lazy, shallow pumps, tongue barely brushing her. She whines, and chases the mouth I’ve just denied her.
“Not yet,” I say against her skin.
I dive back in, sucking hard, fingers slamming deep and relentless, curling against her sweet spot with every brutal thrust. She’s teetering right on the edge, thighs shaking, breath hitching in sharp, broken gasps.
Then I stop again. My fingers buried but still, tongue pulling away just enough to leave her empty and aching.
“Max, you better—” she starts.