Page 18

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

DELANEY

I didn’t ask.

A whole week has passed, and though my entire body has been humming with need, I haven’t said a word.

Honestly, I’m getting a little pissed. Why hasn’t he brought it up?

Not once. And yes, I realize it’s irrational to be mad at someone for something I haven’t done either—but that’s neither here nor there.

At this point, I’m actually starting to wonder if I’m going crazy. Which is never ideal when your job is to keep a child safe.

A voice cuts through my internal spiral as I finish wrapping up what’s left of the charcuterie and toss the remaining bags of cheese and meat into the fridge.

“You okay, honey? You seem… bothered.”

Closing the refrigerator door, I blink at my mother, who’s standing in the middle of my kitchen wearing a neon green sweater she claims is “festive.” I told her already—that color is nowhere near Christmas green.

In fact, she looks like she’s headed to a senior citizen rave.

Not that my mom is old, but she definitely dresses like it.

Her earrings are tiny tabby cats with their heads stuck through miniature holiday wreaths—a look that should only be legal past the age of ninety.

I sigh. I’m being a moody bitch. Her questionable fashion choices aren’t the problem.

I know what the problem is.

Forcing a smile, I say, “I’m fine.”

She gives me a look, not buying it. “Well, I appreciate the invite. It was a nice night. I really like Max, and the baby is adorable.” She reaches out and gently takes my hand. “You are happy here, right?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I am. I must be PMSing or something. I’m sorry. Please don’t worry. I love it here.”

The mention of my impending period satisfies her concern.

Growing up, I learned that to my mother, PMS is an acceptable excuse for just about anything.

I don’t feel guilty using it either—I know she’d worry if I gave her a hint of the truth.

She’s always found my career choice odd, never fully understanding why I choose to live in someone else’s home, caring for someone else’s child.

She thinks I’m stalling, avoiding starting my own life.

Maybe she’s right.

From the living room, I hear Max’s voice. He’s FaceTiming his family. His parents are calling in from Paris, where they’re spending the holidays, and his sister joins from her New York apartment.

“She’s getting so big!” a woman’s voice says through the phone.

“So,” my mom turns back to me, “you had a good Christmas morning with Max and Caroline?”

“Oh, yeah. It was fun. I mean, of course Caroline didn’t really understand any of it, but she had a blast chewing on wrapping paper, so I’d call that a win. I made your famous cinnamon rolls for breakfast.”

Her eyes light up. “You did?”

“Yep. As usual, they were a hit. Max loved them.”

He really did. He raved about them, even though they’re the easiest thing in the world. Store-bought cinnamon rolls, doused in heavy cream and coated in a butter and brown sugar mixture. Practically foolproof.

“Oh, good. I love that…” She starts to say more, but I hold up a hand to stop her.

I press a finger to my lips. I just heard my name from the living room. I tiptoe to the side of the kitchen closest to the open space and listen in.

“Oh, she’s great. Yeah. Caroline absolutely adores her,” Max says.

“That’s good. And it’s not weird having a random stranger living in your house?” a woman—his mom, I think—asks.

“Not at all. We get along really well. And she’s not a stranger,” Max replies. “Honestly, she’s more like family.”

There’s something in his voice when he says that. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it sounds like a hint of… sadness?

Because I’m more family to Caroline than his actual family is.

My mom taps me on the shoulder, pulling me out of my eavesdropping. I glance back to find her smirking.

“You like him.”

I blink. “I do not.”

She puckers her lips. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

I cross my arms. “I heard my name. I was just curious what they were saying. That’s totally normal.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I could tell at dinner, too. The way you looked at him? It’s the same way I used to look at your father.”

My mouth drops open. “Okay. Number one—please don’t ever compare me to anything related to Dad. And number two—you have no idea what you’re talking about. He’s my boss. And, I guess, my friend. End of story.”

She tugs gently on a strand of my hair. “Just be careful, okay? If you do like him, that changes things. You need to be aware of that.”

I let out a long breath. “I’m fully aware, Mom. Trust me. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t like him.” I lower my voice on the last part.

“Well, I like him.” She pops a brownie bite into her mouth. “I think he’s really charming.”

“Good for you. I think he’s my boss. And I also think it’s time you headed home.”

Her brows knit. “That’s rude.”

I laugh at her offended expression. “I’m not trying to be rude. Max is still on the phone, and after that, I’m putting the baby down. Unless you want to stay here and enjoy the ambiance of the Christmas lights with Mr. Charming.”

“Very funny.” She scrunches her nose. “Fine, I’ll go.” She leans in for a hug. “Merry Christmas, my girl.”

“Merry Christmas, Mom. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course. I’ve been dying to see what’s going on over here. You’ve been very mysterious lately.”

“I have not. You’re so dramatic.” I scoff.

She waves a hand. “At least now I can match faces to the names when you talk about Max and Caroline.”

“Yep. That’s a bonus,” I say, guiding her toward the foyer. Max is still talking in the background.

“Tell Max thanks for having me. And make sure to let him know that you rushed me out before I could say it myself.”

“You got it.” I tick the points off on my fingers. “Thank you and rushed. Noted. Bye, Mom.”

She zips her coat and hugs me again. “Bye, love. Don’t be a stranger.”

I close the door behind her and return to the living room just as Max ends his call.

“How’s your family?”

“They’re good,” he says, smiling. “Did your mom head out?”

“Yeah, she wanted me to thank you for having her over today.”

“Oh, of course. She’s welcome anytime.” He rises from the couch, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Caroline is snuggled against his chest.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, “I’d like to do bedtime tonight.

I want to read her The Night Before Christmas .

My mom used to read it to me and Olivia every Christmas Eve…

which I know was yesterday, but she reminded me about it just now, and I felt bad I forgot.

Thankfully, Caroline’s not old enough to call me out on being a day late. ”

“Nope. She hasn’t mastered the concept of time yet,” I say with a soft smile. I step forward and squeeze Caroline’s hand gently. “Good night, Care Bear. Love you.” I press a kiss on her cheek before Max disappears down the hallway.

I busy myself around the house, picking up stray items from our fun day. The urge to sneak upstairs and stand outside Caroline’s door just to hear Max reading to her is strong. I know the experience would break my willpower. It would turn me feral.

And I hate that word— feral . I used to roll my eyes when my friends said it about a guy.

I thought it was silly. What are we? Animals?

But oh-em-gee, do I get it now. I’m so feral for Max, and it’s ruining my entire day.

Feeling him inside me is all I can think about.

It’s a problem. A big one. One I need to figure out—soon.

It’s far too early for bed, but I decide my best bet is to retreat to my room and… take care of myself. Tossing the throw blanket into the basket beside the sofa, I turn to leave—only to find Max standing there.

“That was quick,” I say, a hint of annoyance in my voice.

“Yeah, I didn’t get halfway through the book, and she was out. Busy day.”

I start fidgeting, avoiding his gaze. I suddenly decide the couch pillows need fluffing.

It feels like I’m going about it normally, but I must be hitting them a little too hard because Max steps closer and places his hand on the pillow I’ve rearranged three times already.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

“Hey,” Max says gently, taking another step forward. His hand presses against the back of the pillow I’ve been abusing. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m going to head up to bed.”

“Laney. Stop.” He takes my hand. “Look at me.”

I do, locking eyes with him. The depth of those blue irises guts me. “What?”

He lets out a short laugh, almost disbelieving. “Seriously, what is it? You’re mad about something.”

“I’m not.” I yank my hand from his and cross my arms.

“You are. Did I do something wrong? Did you not like your gifts? You can exchange them if you want.” His eyes search mine.

“Yeah, that’s it.” I give a sharp nod. “The Louis Vuitton bag and Tiffany’s necklace you got me weren’t up to standard. You guessed it.”

I know I sound like an utter bitch. But the anger and tension and unrelenting need pulsing through me won’t let me stop. I can’t rein it in.

His eyes widen. “Seriously, Laney. What did I do? I…” He glances around, clearly thrown. “I thought today was incredible.”

“It was ,” I shout. “Your gifts were beautiful and thoughtful. Everything was perfect. But I’m just so very… angry .”

“Angry? Why?”

“Because the one thing I want, I can’t have. That’s why, Max. That’s fucking why.”

I try to step past him, but he grabs my wrist, stopping me.

“What can’t you have?” His voice has changed—less gentle, more commanding.

I try to pull away, but his grip tightens. “Forget it.”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m afraid that’s not an option. Tell me .”

My chest rises and falls with the weight of everything I’ve been holding in. My entire body aches with need.

“You!” I shout, my voice breaking. “You.”

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his voice drops to a husky whisper that sends a shiver down my spine.

“How do you want me?”

My core throbs between my legs. “Hard,” I pant. “I want you inside me, fucking me so deep I feel it for days.”

He crashes his mouth against mine, our lips moving in a frenzied rhythm as our tongues twist and tangle—exploring, tasting, devouring. Insatiable. I could kiss this man forever, but the pulsing between my thighs grows too intense to ignore.

Still kissing Max, I begin removing my clothes, and he does the same. When only our tops remain, we pull apart to rip them off.

He bites his bottom lip, inhaling through his nose, eyes scanning my body. Lust radiates from him in molten waves. I take a moment to drink him in too, committing every inch of his sculpted body to memory.

My mouth parts in a soft, shaky breath as I eye-fuck his perfectly beautiful cock, already imagining the way he’s going to stretch me—fill me.

“Bend over against the sofa and spread your legs,” he commands.

He leaves the room, and I obey without question. Seconds later, I hear the foil crinkle as he tears open a condom. He positions himself behind me and, without warning, thrusts deep inside, pounding so hard I feel the pressure in my belly.

I cry out as he does it again. And again. My fingers dig into the back of the sofa.

“Like this?” he groans between thrusts.

“Harder,” I whimper.

“Oh, fuck me,” he growls, gripping my hips as he slams into me with brutal intensity.

The room fills with the sharp slap of skin on skin and the breathless sound of our moans.

I feel every thrust echo through my entire body—radiating from the soles of my feet to my fingertips, up my spine, to the prickling heat across my scalp.

My mind goes blissfully blank, overcome by the sheer, blinding sensation of it all. So good. So needed.

That tingly warmth that signals release begins to build.

“I’m so close,” I breathe.

Max reaches around, his hand sliding between my legs. He continues to fuck me, deep and relentless, while his fingers flick across my clit. Just a few strokes—and I’m gone.

I cry out, trembling as wave after wave of orgasm crashes over me, every muscle tightening and releasing in utter bliss. It’s everything I knew it would be. Strong. Intense. Mind-shattering. Max and I have insane chemistry, and I was right—sex with him is earth-shaking.

Through the haze of my own high, I feel his body stiffen. The guttural sound that rips from his throat tells me he’s coming too—and it wrecks me all over again, knowing he felt it just as hard.

My body slumps forward, boneless. I collapse onto the cushions as Max slips out of me and disposes of the condom. Seconds later, he joins me on the couch, spooning me from behind.

He wraps an arm tightly around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His mouth finds the side of my neck, kissing a lazy path across my skin.

“Was that what you wanted?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I sigh. “Exactly what I wanted.”

“I’m not so sure it was,” he says, biting playfully at my shoulder.

“No?”

“I’m not confident you’ll feel that tomorrow—and I was very clearly instructed to make you feel it for days .”

“Oh, yeah?” My body’s barely recovered, and I already want more.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you said,” he replies. “Just give me a minute, and I’ll be ready.” He slides his hand between my legs and groans when he feels how wet I still am. “I think you’re ready now. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I moan as his fingers tease my clit. “I’m so ready.”

I feel him harden against my ass. He grabs another condom and rolls it on in seconds.

Still on my side, I hook my leg over his, and he slides inside me from behind. We both groan as he begins to move. The angle isn’t as deep as before, but it’s just as delicious.

Max thrusts slowly, deliberately, one hand fondling my breasts, his thumb brushing over my nipples. His mouth trails along my neck, kissing, sucking, biting—sending intense jolts of pleasure through me.

He brings me to orgasm again and again. Hours pass in a blur of pleasure, only ending when we’re both too spent to continue.

I fall asleep wrapped in Max’s arms, our bare bodies tucked beneath a soft blanket. The lights from the Christmas tree glow across the room, casting everything in warm, golden magic. The entire day was wonderful—but this moment, right here, was all I wanted.