“But I need my bed here.” I gasp when his finger skims again.
“Why when you’re going to be with me every night?” That’s a good question, one I don’t have an answer to. “You’re moving in with me.” He moves his hand from between my legs, then rests it on my chest between my breasts.
“You know you could ask me to move in with you like a normal person,” I snap and he grins.
“I could.” His eyes lock with mine then his expression softens. “I won’t lie, baby. I don’t give a fuck what you fill the house with—stuff is just stuff. All I need in that house is you. And all I want is for you to be happy being there with me. So I’ll tell my mom to back off… in a way that won’t upset her. We’ll go shopping, even though I have no desire whatsoever to do that, and we’ll figure it out.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I swallow over the lump that has suddenly formed in my throat and try to get my hands free, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. Clearing my throat, I beg the tears I feel building not to fall, but of course they don’t listen. And I know this when I feel one slide down my temple, and his eyes watch it disappear into my hair. “The furniture doesn’t really matter. I’ll talk to your mom, and she and I can figure it out together.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say, babe, but you’re full of shit.”
“What?”
“And to be honest, my mom’s taste is not mine either,” he continues, completely ignoring me. “I like the way it feels every time I walk into this place.” He spreads his fingers wide, then slides his hand up my throat, and I wonder if he can feel my pulse as it beats out of control. “This place feels like home. You… feel like home.”
“I love you,” I blurt, and his fingers flex around my neck on the word love while the look in his eyes warms.
“I know.” He lifts one shoulder ever so slightly, and my eyes narrow on his.
“You’re not supposed to say that. You’re supposed to act surprised.”
“Sorry, should we try that again?” He smiles, and I shake my head and let out a long, aggravated sigh.
“No, you already ruined it.” I wiggle my fingers. “Can you let me go now so I can touch you?”
“No.” He moves his hand back down to my chest, then lower, dragging down the top of my nightie and exposing my breasts. “I love you too.” He brushes his lips over my nipple.
“I know,” I say, and it’s meant to come out sassy, but instead I sound breathless.
“Now, are we done talking?” He cups one breast, then licks my nipple and blows across it.
“For now,” I pant, and he grins right before he opens his mouth, covering my breast, his tongue swirling around my nipple. Gasping, I lift my hips and fight him to let me go, then cry out in frustration when I can’t get free. “I want to touch you.”
“And I want to touch you.” He takes his hand from my breast and slowly lifts the bottom edge of my nightie up my thighs and over my hips, exposing my belly. I hold my breath when his fingers skim under the edge of my panties, causing my stomach muscles to twist and dance.
“Maxim.” I lift my hips when his fingers slip lower, brushing just below my pubic bone, giving me something but nothing at all.
“Yeah?” he asks after releasing my breast with a pop.
“When I get free, I’m going to hurt you.”
“When I let you go, baby, you’re going to be too tired to do anything.” He rolls his finger over my clit, and then he keeps good on his promise.
By the time he’s done with me, my body feels like Jell-O, and I can do nothing but lie there and let him clean me up before I completely pass out, ignoring the smug look on his face.
So annoying.
_______________
SITTING AT THE island in my kitchen, still half asleep, my gaze follows Maxim around the kitchen while he makes us breakfast and talks on the phone with his mom. Dropping my eyes to his abs and the dark hair that disappears under the band of his boxers, I hear him laugh and lift my head. Finding him shaking his head at me, I give him a shrug and take a sip of my coffee.
“I’ll tell her. Love you, Mom.” He ends the call and sets down the phone, then goes over to the stove, saying over his shoulder, “Mom said she’ll call you later. She also said she’s relieved that I’ve decided to take over, since she’s not here and has been overwhelmed with helping Malo.”
“What’s going on with Malo?” I ask as he places a perfectly made omelet on a plate, then brings it over to me.
“Apparently, he ran some social media ads for Panic Pants, and he’s already sold out of the inventory he had in stock. People have been asking daily when he will get more in.”
“Seriously?” I ask, accepting a piece of toast from him before he goes back to the stove to grab his plate. When he comes around the island to take a seat next to me, he touches his lips to mine quickly.
“They’re a hit. Mom said he’s already sold over five hundred pairs, and he’s making a killing, since he’s charging over a hundred and fifty dollars each.” After some quick math, I shake my head in amazement.
“That’s awesome.” I pick up a piece of toast to take a bite.
“It is, but now he and I are going to have to talk about the club.”
“What about it?” I turn to frown at him. From what he’s said since we’ve been back here, Malo stepped up with running things in Vegas and even told Maxim he’d like to take over permanently.
“If this thing takes off for him, I’m not sure he’s going to want to manage Wet, so I’ll have to figure that out.” He shakes his head before taking a bite of his omelet.
“How about you let him come to you if he doesn’t want to keep running the club?” I cut off a chunk of my omelet and add, “I get that you’ll always think of Malo as a kid, but he’s not, and you need to trust him to tell you when or if he doesn’t want to do something.” I take the bite and chew, then cut off another piece. It’s delicious, with lots of spices, cheese, and veggies.
“I would, but I don’t know that he’d come to me if he changed his mind.”
“I love you, but you really need to learn to have a little more faith in your brother.” I sigh, then gasp when he wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me around for a hard, quick kiss.
“You’re right. I’ll work on it.” He lets me go and motions to my plate. “Eat quick—we have an appointment at eleven.”
“An appointment?”
“At the car dealership.”
“I’m not going with you to a car dealership,” I tell him, taking another bite, and his brows drag together.
“Why not?”
“You know how you said you have no desire to go furniture shopping?” He lifts his chin ever so slightly. “I have zero desire to go to a dealership, and even less desire to look at cars all day long.”
“But I am going to go furniture shopping with you,” he reminds me. “So now we’ll both be doing something we don’t want to do.”
“I’m not going.”