Not the Marrying Kind Page 24

  I rose up on my tiptoes and kissed him. Wrapped my arms around his neck and kept kissing him, pressing every single inch of our bodies together. He tasted like red wine and sin, but the pressure of his lips on mine was now achingly familiar. He was my anti-Prince Charming and the man who made me feel sparks. Everywhere.

  He brushed the hair from my face, fingers sliding through the strands. “I like the way you touch me.”

  My lips brushed his cheek, his throat. I placed my head on his chest and let him hold me. “You are not just a body to me. And what’s happening between us. It’s not just sex.”

  He tilted my chin up until our eyes connected. “No,” he said. “It’s not just sex. That’s not possible.”

  I swallowed around a tightness in my throat. “A lot of the guys I dated touched me like this but left me shortly after. Because they were lying.”

  “Then let’s not lie,” he said softly. “I’ll go first. I like you, Fiona, and I’m even more scared now.”

  I pressed my face to his chest, laughing around my own nerves. “I feel terrified and out of control, and I like you a lot.”

  “Still on the same page, then.” He kissed the top of my head. “And I know we just said this thing between us wasn’t just about sex, but I’d really appreciate the opportunity to give you those orgasms now.”

  I fisted his shirt and pulled myself up on my toes. “Please.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed beneath my thighs and hoisted me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He walked us through my French doors, into my bedroom. Laid me down on the bed with total control. He stood back up and pulled his shirt over his head—allowing me to really see the rangy, tattooed body underneath all of those white tee-shirts. I sat up on my elbows, heart racing, admiring the black-and-white ink on parts of his chest, his ribcage, his shoulders.

  “Why so many?” I breathed, tracing a tattoo of the city skyline.

  “I’ve been lucky to see a lot of beautiful things.” I kissed his stomach, and he hissed softly. “Just because my homes have been temporary doesn’t mean I don’t want to remember them forever. Place them on my body permanently.”

  My fingers traced every ridge, every muscle, every line. Max seemed to hold his breath. The outline of his cock against his jeans was magnificent. I traced my finger down the entire length of him, then back up. “You should take off all of your clothes now.”

  “Same to you,” he said hoarsely.

  I pointed. “You first.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. Tossed off his belt, let his jeans fall. He stepped out of them wearing tight black briefs. Hooked his fingers in the sides and slowly lowered them down. I’d been too far gone in that supply closet to fully take note of Max’s body, although I was still dreaming about his perfect cock and the way it felt inside me.

  With a grin that was oh-so-arrogant, Max fisted his cock in front of me, fingers sliding up and down the thick shaft. It was pure perfection, a work of art, and I needed a taste.

  I shed my sweatshirt, my shorts, my underwear. Max growled at my nakedness and made a move towards me. But I stopped him with a hard shove to the chest, kept him standing over me with that cock mere inches from my mouth.

  “Let me worship you this time,” I whispered, reaching around to grab the firm muscles of his ass. I gazed up at him. He swept his fingers into my hair, tugging my ponytail free and tossing the tie on the floor. Sifting through the strands, he twisted slightly, arching his eyebrow at the same time. My eyes fluttered closed. Through pure instinct alone, I gripped him at the base and wrapped my lips around the head of his perfect cock. Slowly, slowly took him as deep as I could manage. He tasted salty and sweet, and the flexing of his stomach muscles was turning me on so much my own insatiable need for him took over. I flicked my tongue up, then down, and Max let out a satisfied moan that burned itself into my memory.

  I took him deeper.

  His fingers clenched in my hair. I was wet, aching, ready for him. I worked him up and down, over and over, intoxicated with his scent, his taste, the total intimacy of this moment. He was nothing but fraught, heavy breathing and groans.

  “Fiona,” he grunted, thrusting his hips forward. I moaned, excited, took him deeper. “I’ve wanted to fuck this smart mouth for days now.”

  I got closer, went up on my knees, took him as deep as I could while I bobbed my head in a rhythm that had him cursing my name as much as praising it. My toes curled in the bed. Oh, I fucking loved this. This cocky bad boy had lost his arrogance, was only pure, biological need. Because of me.

  A second later, I was rudely removed by Max dragging my mouth from his dick. “No, no more.”

  With a wicked smile, he shoved me back onto the bed and prowled up my naked body with a stare that stole my breath. He settled his cock right against my clit and entwined our hands together above my head. He flexed, stroking my clit with his cock, and I arched up right into his mouth.

  “One more second,” he growled, biting my lip. “And I was going to come between these lips.”

  He flexed again, grinding against my clit, and I lost the ability to speak. “The… the problem?” I panted.

  “Every time you used your tongue on my dick, I thought about my tongue, licking between these thighs.” He thrust, thrust, thrust. I cried out, hitched my legs higher, seeking deeper friction. He laughed darkly, kissed my throat. “So what do you say to that?” He was propped up above me, dry-fucking me fast now, a steady, skillful grind that had me seeing goddamn stars and rainbows.

  “Um… um… oh, fuck, please don’t stop,” I begged. My fingers pressed up against his, but he pinned me down harder. Dry-fucked me faster. I was close, already, so close. I needed… I just needed…

  “Fiona,” he sang at my ear. “Are you going to let me eat your pussy the way I know you like?”

  “Yes, please, please, please,” I cried, smiling when he let me go and dropped his head between my legs. My thighs pressed to his ears, my fingers dove into his hair, and then he was applying the perfect combination of pressure and speed right where I needed it.

  “Oh, fuck… oh, Max…” I was wailing, head thrashing, as he gripped my hips and held me still. He slid one finger inside of me, stroked deep inside, and a tight, hot, wicked orgasm tore through my body so fast I could only scream. His palm came to my mouth, muffled my sounds—although that only intensified the aftershocks for me. I lay panting and sweating on the bed, but he wasn’t done with me yet. Tearing open a condom and working it down his cock, he moved toward me on the bed on his knees.

  I knocked him to his back and gave him a long, long kiss. My hair fell in a waterfall all around us, his fingers caressed my cheeks.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  I sat up, tossed my hair. Lowered myself down, down, down. Took every sweet, thick inch of him. My body stretched, gave in, sang with exquisite pleasure.

  I crooked my finger and Max sat up. Wrapped his arms around my waist and thrust up. Together, we set a pace that was as languid and slow as it was intense. Working our bodies, fucking each other towards a shared euphoria. He dipped his head and took my breast into his mouth as I rode him, our skin slick with sweat. When he lifted his head, I kept our mouths together, kept us breathing together. I listened to him groan and sigh and lose total control. He wrapped an arm around my waist and thrust up so hard and so fast I assumed I’d begun levitating.

  With a frustrated growl, Max flipped me onto my back and fucked me as the bed moved. We kept kissing, kept moaning together—no words able to be spoken, at least not coherently. Every other moment, Max had been a chatty dirty talker. Now, we could only kiss and stare at each other as we neared the same precipice, the same moment of erotic free fall. The burn between my legs was good, and every punch of his hips brought pressure against my clit. I was close, so close, so close to Max I found it impossible to be afraid of our future. Because if it was this incredible between us, then whatever obstacles we faced, we’d face together.

&n
bsp; He reached between our bodies and circled my clit. “Oh, yes,” I sighed. “Just… like that.”

  “Are you going to come with me?” he teased, kissing along my throat. “I need to watch you.”

  I gasped. Closed my eyes. Reached behind me to hold onto the mattress. “… yes,” I cried. “Just… oh, Max… I need… I need…”

  He applied the slightest increase to the pressure while taking me as deep as he could. I flew all the way apart—all the way apart—with an orgasm that shattered my body, shattered everything. My nails raked down his back, and he groaned loudly against my hair, shuddering, sighing, whispering my name.

  He held me for what felt like a really long time. He placed his head directly over my heart, and I lazily stroked his hair. The very, very last song on the album was spinning on the record player, and we could hear the sounds of the city right outside my window.

  Finally, I said, “Did you enjoy our second date?”

  He laughed, and I laughed, and he rolled over onto his back and brought me with him. I half-sat up, amazed at the contentment I saw in his face.

  “How would you rate this in your spreadsheet?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t,” I admitted. Looked him right in the eye. “Because I’ve never felt it before.”

  He stared up at me from the pillow, one arm behind his head. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

  Warmth flooded my cheeks—even after everything we’d just done. “Of course. I’d like that.”

  “My first, first sleepover,” he said. “Well, not entirely. I stay the night sometimes, but it’s more utilitarian, needing a bed to crash in if it’s too late for me to get home. But I guess I’d like to stay the night in a more romantic way.”

  “What strange things do you do in your sleep?”

  “You’ll have to find out, princess.”

  I slowly untangled myself from his embrace. Tossed his shirt over my head. “Are you tired?”

  He shook his head.

  “Me neither.” I walked out and pulled a record at random from my collection. Flipped it over and smiled. “Thoughts on Electric Ladyland?”

  “Have I mentioned you’re my dream girl?”

  I laughed and dropped Jimi Hendrix’s third album onto my record player. His soft voice filled the room—and it was the perfect album for a late night after wild sex and before a little more wine. I picked up the wine and our glasses and shuffled back to bed.

  And we didn’t sleep for hours—not until the bottle was finished and we’d listened to the album all the way through, talking and flirting along the way.

  As second dates went, it was beyond comparison.

  34

  Max

  Fiona’s bedroom filled with warm sunshine.

  It was just after dawn. And I was waking up with a huge fucking grin on my face.

  The reason? The brilliant woman curled against my chest like I was her protector.

  I wanted to do that.

  I really hadn’t ever stayed the night like this. Where both people slept next to each other on purpose—touching throughout the night. Kissing. Cuddling. I woke up alone five days out of a seven-day week usually. I’d gotten real used to it. I didn’t always mind it either. The independence was why I did it.

  It was different waking up with Fiona, though.

  I didn’t want to imagine not doing it.

  I held her close, resting my lips in her hair. Her alarm went off a second later. Smiling, I silenced it as my favorite beauty groaned and cursed like a sailor.

  She peeked one eye up at me—hair in her face, gaze bleary. “Oh my god, what time did we go to bed?”

  “After two.” I gently pushed the strands back. “It was your idea to finish that wine, by the way.”

  “Me?”

  I hauled her up and kissed her—firmer and filthier than was probably called for at dawn. “Face it, Fiona. You’re a bad girl now. Staying up late. Drinking too much. Listening to rock music.”

  She laughed before collapsing back on top of me. Until her phone went off, chirping, and she groaned again.

  “I’ll get you coffee.”

  “You’re my fucking hero.”

  I winked at her as I tugged on my briefs. Scrubbed a hand down my face as I wandered back into her kitchen and prepped coffee. As the pot started gurgling, I roamed her sitting area. Smiled at the albums we’d left on the ground. The wall above her desk was a rainbow of perfectly straight notes and lists.

  I saw what I thought was probably that contract she’d made.

  I, Fiona Lennox Quinn hereby commit to finding my soul mate and being married to him within eighteen months of the signing date. I will not engage in any physical affection, including but not limited to kissing, hand-holding, and, of course, sex until I can guarantee his commitment.

  Right above that was a list in slightly younger-looking handwriting. Meet your soul mate and get married by the age of 30.

  The scent of coffee filled the room. But it couldn’t distract from the way I felt, staring at Fiona’s careful goals. I knew this shit was important to her. It was why I’d made sure we were on the same page before, well, before everything that had happened between us.

  Even if she was just now figuring some details out, at the end of the day, Fiona still wanted a husband. She’d relaxed enough to accept me as I was, as long as I was honest and committed to try.

  And I needed to remember she was counting on that honesty.

  I walked back to the kitchen and filled two mugs with steaming coffee. Leaned back against the wall and listened to my instincts for a second, eyes closed.

  When I was younger, I used to take my motorcycle out for winding rides without a map or sense of direction. It was an easy way to get to know a new place, get a lay of the land, a sense for where things were. Getting lost was kind of the point, and at every intersection, I’d just listen to my gut.

  That instinct had been pushing me towards Fiona this whole damn time. Even though seeing those words made me jumpy, it seemed like this whole dating thing made everyone nervous.

  I walked back into the sunny bedroom. Fiona was sitting up in bed, laptop on top of the covers. When she saw me, she beamed a big smile my way. “Guess what?”

  I passed her a mug. “You’re going to play hooky from work so we can fuck all day in this bed.”

  She paused, brows raised. “Not a bad idea, although it pains me to say I can’t play hooky today. But I just got a notification that we sold out of tickets.”

  “What?”

  She tackled me in a hug. “That’s $35,000 for your dad, Max. I think we’re going to do it. I think we’re going to save The Red Room.”

  “You’re serious?” I asked, astonished.

  “I really am.” She pulled back, grabbed her phone. “I need to talk with Edward, see how the sponsorship deal is going. Maybe you could ask some of the bands if they want to donate to the cause, just in case? All of that could take us right over the goal.”

  “Of course, yeah.” I let out a sigh of relief. “I need to call Pop. He’s going to be so happy.”

  “You think he spent the night at his place or…” Fiona asked.

  “I’m sure he stayed at his place,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was taking Angela out to breakfast. Which I would love to do for you too.”

  She groaned, falling back onto the bed. “Clients need me. I’ve got two massive deadlines over the next five days.” She bit her lip, held my hand. “I won’t be around very much.”

  I kissed her palm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll work on final details for the show. And will stay available for late-night sex.”

  She kissed the top of my head before heading toward her shower. I reached for her hand, caught it. “Fiona.”

  When she turned, I could tell she sensed my serious tone. “I leave for L.A. right after the concert. Like the night after.”

  I saw her deflate and try to cover it up. I tugged her until she fell into my lap. “This job,
it’s the kind that doesn’t come around often. It’s a big deal, and I don’t say that casually or anything. I mean it. And most jobs to me aren’t that big of a deal.”

  “I understand jobs being a big deal.” She indicated the framed accomplishments on her bedroom wall. “And I really am happy that you got this one. You’re really talented, Max. You deserve to have something like this in your life.”

  But what if I want you in my life more?

  That was—technically—the truth. I just didn’t know how I did both. How was I suddenly in this position to care about a relationship and a job at the same time?

  “I think… I mean, I need to go. To California,” I said.

  Her smile looked fixed. “I know.”

  “But the first thirty days are a trial period. For them and for me. Who knows if I’ll like it or like the city. That’s up in the air.”

  “You’ll like it,” she said, sounding sad.

  I thought she was probably right. It was likely I’d love this job. But I listened to my gut and tried to be as brave as she’d been.

  “You ever keep dating someone when they live far away?”

  “Not yet.” She bit her lip. “Are you trying to have Skype sex with me, Max Devlin?”

  I wrapped my arms around her more tightly. “I’m trying to have sex with you in all the ways. I think I’ve made that clear.” I ran my nose along her jaw. I’d been right. Fiona was sweet and cuddly and gorgeous in the morning. “But if we’re taking this thing one day at a time… would you do that with me over the phone?”

  I watched the battle on her face. If this was out of control, long-distance dating was probably on another level for Fiona. Future husbands usually lived close to their future wives.

  So I was a little surprised when she said, “I’d like that.”

  My eyebrows shot up. She kissed my forehead. “One day at a time.”

  “I want to keep trying with you,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. Firmly. “Then let’s do it.” She stood up, still holding my hand. “And I’ve got twenty uninterrupted minutes in the shower. If you’d like a quickie before I leave for work.”