I return emails and check the inventory. During the holiday season, I use these things as my excuse to get out of all Christmas-related activities.
I used to love Christmas. My mom was like Queen Christmas. We hung the lights, decorated the trees (multiple), made the cookies, and did whatever crazy festive thing she deemed was necessary. We started listening to Christmas music at Halloween, and she wouldn’t take down the decorations until Valentine’s Day.
Then she left.
And every white light and jingle bell reminded me of the gaping hole she blew into my life. I know I hold a mean grudge, but even I feel like this is a little long for poor old Saint Nick.
I’m going over the marketing schedule for the next three months when the doorbell I had installed goes off. People don’t often ring it, mainly because we are a bar, and what kind of bar needs a doorbell, but it always makes my day when they do because it rings to the tune of “Turn Down for What.” I don’t think I have a delivery scheduled for today, but as a member of Amazon Prime and an Etsy enthusiast, I know that anything’s possible and make my way to the door.
As soon as my glass doors come into view, my heart soars and my feet falter when I see Maxwell standing on the other side.
It’s Tuesday, but since we’ve been going strong on a steady diet of text messages and avoidance, I didn’t have high hopes for seeing him today. And now that he’s in front of me, I’m not sure how I feel. I keep my steps even as I approach. No way will he get the satisfaction of seeing me run to him after he’s basically ignored me for a week.
When I unlock the door, I fold my arms in front of my chest and keep my mouth closed. My stubbornness beats out my need to jump his bones.
“I’m sorry,” he says with no hesitation. “Seeing Theo really fucked with me, and talking to him only made it worse. I haven’t seen him in years and it was intentional. We don’t like each other, and a lot of really bad shit has gone down between us. I should’ve handled this better. My mind has been a mess and I didn’t want to drag you into the darkness that Theo brings. And to be honest, things are still a fucking mess and I know I should stay away from you, but I can’t. I can’t make myself leave you alone when you’re the only person who can give me back the light.”
And call me a softy, tell me I’m a fool for forgetting about how angry and hurt I’ve been for the last week, but that’s all I needed to hear before I’m yanking him into HERS and locking the door behind him. You can also blame it on the fact that I have literally been dreaming about sex with him for days now and I’m so sexually frustrated I could cry.
“My office.” I point to the open door, where the distant sound of DMX yelling at me is coming from. “Then take your pants off.” You know, ’cause I’m all classy and emotional and shit.
“But first”—Maxwell pulls me into him, our chests pressed against one another—“I need your mouth.”
I tilt my chin and he touches his mouth to mine.
“I’m so sorry, Brynn.” Another kiss. “I promise I won’t do it again.” Another kiss. “You can trust me.”
“Shut up,” I whisper before opening my mouth and deepening the kiss. Because I know I can trust him, implicitly and to my bones. What I don’t know is if I can trust myself. I am, after all, my mother’s daughter.
We don’t pull away as we walk to my office. It’s not pretty and I’m sure I’ll have multiple bruises on my legs from running into the corners of tables, but what it is is raw. There’s no faking what runs between us.
I kick my office door shut behind us, and as much as I want the movie-perfect scene of swiping all the papers off my desk, I have a brand-new Apple computer and it was freaking expensive.
“Pants off.” I point at his sweatpants with the tented crotch before I move to my desk and unplug my computer and very carefully relocate it to the empty desk I bought for Ace when Poppy worked here. Then, when I’m sure it’s not going to topple over onto the rug-covered ground, I peel off my yoga pants and white tee.
I take my time walking back to my desk. I bask in his attention and add a little swing to my hips. I know I look good naked, and I know Maxwell thinks I look good naked. And holy shit, is there power in that. I reach my desk, bending over slowly, and finally sweep it clear of all paperwork.
Papers fly into the air, taking their time to swoop around before landing on the floor. I prop my ass on the edge of my desk, my legs spread just so, and watch as Maxwell’s sexy ass steps over the mess on the floor and makes his way over to me.
It only takes him a few long strides before he’s standing in front of me, reaching out to touch me.
“No, no, no.” I tsk. “I’m not sure you get to touch yet.”
“What?” His eyes are too heavy to widen much, but he does pull his hands back to his side.
“You ignored me this week.” I keep my eyes on his, but the same can’t be said for him. No, he’s laser focused on my hand that’s slowly, but surely, drifting up the inside of my thigh. “Do you know how that made me feel?”
“How?” he grinds out between clenched teeth.
I spread my legs open wider and put one hand behind me on the table as I arch my back, pushing my breasts toward him. “It made me feel frustrated and lonely.” I slide the hand up my thigh higher and higher until—“Mmmmh”—I moan. My eyes close of their own accord and I pull my bottom lip in between my teeth.
My fingers dancing between my thighs start to move in circles, and I feel Maxwell harden against my thigh. It’s not easy, but I manage to pry my eyes open. It’s a mistake, because when I see the look on his face and his hand stroking his length, my little game is almost over immediately.
“You like watching, don’t you?” I speed up the circles before dipping a finger inside. “Oh my god!” My free hand flies to the edge of the desk and clings to the small ridge as I lie flat on my back.
“Jesus, Brynn.” Maxwell’s voice is barely recognizable. I faintly hear the tear of a foil wrapper as I switch back to the circles.
I start working my hand faster and harder. A pace that I need . . . that I crave . . . and that is nowhere as good by myself than with the man staring down at me.
Beads of sweat are dripping down his forehead and his chest. His black eyes are watching me so closely, it’s like I can feel his hands on me. And as much as I love this, I love what he can do even more.
“I want your mouth on me,” I groan, my throaty whisper at least an octave higher than normal.
He drops to his knees and yanks my ankles until my ass is dangling off the table and my ankles are over his shoulder. “Fucking finally.”
I’ve wanted this since our date. I was already primed and ready before the little show I put on. So once his mouth latches onto my center, it’s only a matter of seconds before my back arches off the desk and my hands fly to his head, anchoring myself to him. But after I let go of his head, I realize I didn’t need to hold him to me because he still doesn’t come up for air. He keeps his mouth attached to me even as my body quakes and trembles through at least two, but maybe three orgasms.