Page 11 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Maggie

My phone buzzes at midnight. Like clockwork—he always calls after evening practice.

"Hey," Grayson's voice wraps around me like a warm blanket. "Still coding?"

"How did you know?"

"Because you're always coding at midnight." His smile carries through his voice. "What's the project?"

"Teaching AI to recognize patterns in resort bookings." I push away from my desk, the lines of code blurring. "But I'd rather hear about your day."

This is our rhythm now. Daily calls that start about nothing and end up lasting hours.

Sometimes he tells me about training and team dynamics, his voice lighting up when he talks about the upcoming season.

Sometimes I tell him about my AI projects, and even though he doesn't understand the technical details, he asks the right questions.

Sometimes we just... exist together, breathing in sync through the phone.

"Practice was good. Niklas keeps asking about wedding plans."

I twist the ring that still sits on my finger. "What did you tell him?"

"That you're busy running an empire." He pauses. "I haven't told anyone about... you know."

"Me neither." The unspoken truth hangs between us—we both know why we're holding onto this pretense.

"The team's doing well," he continues. "Except..." He sighs. "Kyle's been schmoozing Lenora at every opportunity. Taking her to charity events, playing the devoted player. The whole team can see what he's doing."

My heart doesn't clench at Kyle's name anymore. That surprises me sometimes—how completely Grayson has erased any wound I could have had. To my ego probably, not my heart anyway.

"She'll learn," I say softly. "Like I did."

“She’s not a saint herself. Maybe she deserves it. Maybe she’ll even be the one playing him.”

“But he’ll do it to other women who don't deserve it.”

"That's what I'm afraid of." His voice hardens. "He doesn't change, Mags. He just finds new victims. Yesterday he was bragging in the locker room about some cocktail waitress..."

“Maybe we should do something to stop him.”

“I don’t think we can.”

“Maybe we do. We just haven’t sat to think how.”

“Well, you’d need to be here to work with me on that. Be the brains of the operation.”

The silence stretches between us, heavy with possibility.

"You know," he says carefully, "your tourist visa six-months time limit reset when you got back to Mexico."

My heart speeds up. "Yes."

“So you can come again. Six months.”

"Six months is a long time."

"It is."

"You could..." He clears his throat. "You could stay with me. You know I have the apartment now. Plenty of space."

"Where would I work?"

"You can code from anywhere, right?" His voice softens. "And we're still engaged, technically..."

"Technically?" I try to keep my voice light, even as hope blooms in my chest. "Is that why you haven't told anyone? Because you're hoping..."

He's quiet for so long I check if the call dropped. Then, "I should be noble and say I just want to stop Kyle from hurting anyone else. That protecting other women is the right thing to do."

"But?"

"But honestly?" His voice drops lower. "I don't know if I care about saving the world from Kyle Finley, or if I just need you to come save my heart. And I just found the perfect excuse to convince you."

My breath catches. "Grayson..."

"Too honest?"

"Never." I wipe at my eyes, smiling. "That's what makes you different. You always tell me the truth."

"Is that a yes?"

I look out at the dark ocean, thinking of all the reasons this is complicated. Then I think of Grayson—his strength, his honesty, the way he makes me feel.

"Yes," I whisper. "But not just to save your heart."

"No?"

"We'll save each other’s."

His exhale is shaky with relief. "When can you come?"

"Give me a week to arrange things here?"

"A week." He says it like a promise. "And Mags?"

"Hmm?"

"I've missed you. Every day."

“Me too.”

“I know we can’t be together. I know long distance doesn’t work.

I know that after the six months, when you leave again, it will break my heart again.

Harder. And maybe there won’t be other six months.

I can’t ask you to live like that, coming and going, missing your family, your world.

“You deserve more than scraps of time. More than waiting.”

“But?”

“But can you blame for wanting to be blind to all that for a bit just to hold you in my arms again?”

“I can’t.”

After we hang up, I stay on my balcony, watching the stars reflect on the ocean. We're using Kyle as an excuse, we both know it. But maybe that doesn't matter.

Maybe what matters is that we're done pretending we can live without each other.

Maybe six months with someone you love are a better way to spend your life, even if you know it will have to eventually end, than to never have found a love like this.

The Las Vegas airport buzzes with afternoon energy, but I only see him. Grayson stands by baggage claim, hands in his pockets, looking better than any man has a right to in just jeans and a t-shirt.

The second our eyes lock, everything else blurs. There’s only him.

He takes three long strides and then I'm in his arms, breathing him in. His heart pounds against my cheek, matching my own racing pulse.

"Hi," I whisper against his chest.

His fingers thread through my hair. "Hi yourself."

When he kisses me, it's like coming home. All the loneliness, all the empty nights dissolve. There's just this—his hands cradling my face, his body pressed against mine, the taste of him that I've missed so desperately.

"Show me your place," I breathe between kisses.

"God, yes."

He grabs my hand, fingers laced tight like he doesn’t trust the world not to steal me again, and we race through the terminal like we’re being chased by the days we lost. I don’t even remember the drive.

Just the way his thumb stroked mine on the center console.

The way he kept glancing at me like he still couldn’t believe I was here.

Grayson unlocks the apartment. The door clicks open and slams shut behind us.

Before I can even look around, he’s on me.

My back hits the wall. His mouth crashes into mine—hot, needy, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

One hand cups the back of my head, the other grips my ass, squeezing hard through my jeans like he’s claiming every inch of me.

His hands roam like he’s starved for the feel of me—because he is. Because we both are.

“Fuck, Maggie… I can’t wait.”

“Then don’t.”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he growls against my neck, kissing a line down to my collarbone as I tug at his shirt, lifting it up, desperate to touch skin.

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” I whisper, breathless, nails dragging down the taut muscles of his back.

He lifts me fast, and I wrap my legs around his waist, kissing him back like it’s oxygen.

His cock is already thick and hard, pressing against me through his jeans.

We stumble blindly down the hall, too desperate to care if we bump into a wall, too consumed to stop, heading to the bedroom, leaving a trail of bumped walls and breathless laughter.

The second we hit the bed, I yank at his shirt. He pulls it over his head in one swift move, muscles flexing, jaw tight.

I drink him in. “God, you’re hot.”

He smirks. “Still think about my abs when you code?”

“No,” I pant, dragging my nails down his chest. “Your cock.”

“Show me.”

He strips me rough—buttons popping, fabric tearing, like he can’t get to my skin fast enough. He drags off my bra, and my tits bounce free. His mouth is there in a heartbeat, sucking one nipple deep, then biting gently, making me cry out and arch against him.

“You’re here,” he breathes. “You’re actually here.”

“Make me feel it,” I whisper. “Don’t hold back.”

“I won’t.” His eyes darken. “Fuck, I love your tits,” he growls, palming them both, kneading hard. “Missed how they feel in my hands. In my mouth.”

I slide my hand down, gripping his cock. “Then take them.”

He just stares for a moment, chest rising like he’s trying to steady himself. Like he’s afraid if he blinks, I’ll disappear.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” he says hoarsely, voice thick with need.

“Then stop remembering and keep touching me.”

He shoves his briefs down with one hand, kicking them off, then drags my panties down too, spreads my thighs, and groans at the sight of my pussy—wet, swollen, aching.

“You’re dripping,” he says hoarsely, dragging two fingers through my folds. “You missed me too.”

“I’m ready,” I gasp, hips bucking at his touch.

“Not yet.”

He slides a thick finger inside me—slow, deep—while his thumb circles my clit. My back arches off the bed.

“Grayson—fuck—”

“I need to feel you come first,” he says, watching my face. “Need to see you fall apart.”

He curls his finger and rubs my clit in tight, perfect circles. I clutch the sheets, gasping, trembling.

“Oh my God—don’t stop—”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Pleasure explodes, hot and electric. I cry out as I come around his hand, my whole body shuddering, pussy clenching tight.

He kisses me hard. “Now I can fuck you.”

He lines up, thick head pressing against my soaked entrance. He pushes in slow—inch by inch—stretching me wide until he bottoms out.

We both moan.

“Jesus, Mags,” he groans. “You feel fucking insane .”

I rake my nails down his back. “Then move.”

He starts to thrust—deep, grinding strokes that send fire licking up my spine. His hips slam into mine, his cock hitting that spot that makes me see stars.

Every thrust is a promise.

Every gasp, every moan, every filthy word is a thread tying us back together.

“I thought about this every night,” he whispers. “You. Me. Just like this. I’d close my eyes and pretend my hand was your mouth. That the cold sheets were your skin.”

“Grayson…” My hips rise, aching for him. “I need you.”

He grips my hips, fucking me harder now, sweat slick between us, our bodies slapping, his cock pounding into me over and over. I wrap my legs tighter, needing him deeper. Needing all of him.

He lowers his head, kisses my mouth, my throat, my tits—sucking one nipple hard as he drives into me.

“I love this pussy,” he growls. “So wet, so tight… fuck, Maggie.”

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

I’m close again. The second orgasm building fast. He knows. He feels it.

“Come again,” he demands. “Let me feel you milk my cock.”

His words push me over the edge. I scream, body tensing as I break again, pussy pulsing around him. I cry out his name as the world goes white behind my eyes.

He follows with a roar, thrusting deep and stilling as he empties inside me, cock throbbing, sweat dripping off his chest onto mine. His arms wrap tight around me, holding me like he never plans to let go.

We collapse together, breathless and tangled in sweat-damp sheets.

For a long moment, we just lie there—breathing hard, skin against skin, silence stretching soft and warm.

He kisses my shoulder. My jaw. My temple.

Then, quietly: “This… us… it doesn’t feel temporary.”

I don’t answer.

Because it does.

Because we both know it is.

So I close my eyes.

Not to lie.

But to pretend—just for a little while—that love is enough to make time stop.

And for now… maybe it is.