Page 9 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Maggie

The Cancún breeze carries the scent of jasmine through the open terrace of my parents' beachfront home. Grayson fits here perfectly, like he belongs—laughing with my sister Gaby, my brothers, charming my mother, earning approving nods from Papá.

"Kyle?" Papá asks, pouring more tequila.

"Actually, sir, it's Grayson Kyle, but I prefer Grayson."

"Ah, hijo gris ?" Papá's eyes twinkle. "Gray son?"

"As long as you consider me your hijo , you can call me any color you like." Grayson's Spanish is terrible but his smile is perfect, and my father laughs deeply.

Later, Mamá pulls me aside while helping in the kitchen. "I worried about you, mijita . When you spoke of your gringo boyfriend before, there was no spark in your eyes. I feared you were just following expectations."

I focus on slicing limes, avoiding her knowing gaze.

"But now..." She touches my cheek. "Now you glow, mi amor . The way you look at each other—that's real love. I saw it in the photos and video you sent, and now in person it’s even more… intense."

"Mamá..."

"And such a gentleman! So different from what we imagined." She lowers her voice. "Though we understood why he couldn't visit—his poor sister."

"About that," Grayson appears in the doorway. "She's actually doing much better. Met a doctor during her last hospital stay. They fell in love, so he'll take care of her now. No more canceled visits."

I hide my smile in my coffee cup. He's smooth—I'll give him that.

The week passes in a blur of family dinners, beach walks, and stolen kisses. Grayson learns to make tortillas with Mamá, discusses business with Papá, and never once makes me feel like I need to be anyone but myself.

One night, watching him charm my entire extended family at dinner, trying to understand my culture, our language, my world, I realize I'm not pretending anymore. Maybe I never was.

I'm in love with him.

Later that night, we walk along the moonlit beach behind my parents' house. The waves whisper secrets, and his hand in mine feels like an anchor.

"Your family is amazing," he says softly. "They make me feel..."

"Like you belong?"

He stops, turning to face me. The moonlight catches his eyes, making them silver. "Yeah. Exactly that."

"Because you do." The words come from somewhere deep inside me. "Belong. Here. With..." With me .

His thumb traces my cheek. "Maggie..."

"I know this started as pretend." My heart pounds. "But I don't want to pretend anymore."

His breath catches. “You mean that?”

Instead of answering, I rise onto my toes and kiss him—slow, deep, with every ounce of the fear and want I’ve been carrying since Vegas.

He responds like a man who’s been starving, his hands sliding to my hips, anchoring me to him.

Our mouths move together like a match finally lit, and it feels like exhaling after holding my breath for weeks.

“I don’t want this to be a lie,” I whisper against his lips. “But I need to know you’re not just here because you believe he hurt me.”

He frames my face with both hands. “I’m here because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Even when I couldn’t admit it.”

The wind picks up, salty and warm, but all I feel is the heat between us as he leans his forehead to mine.

“Come inside,” I say, voice barely above the ocean’s hum.

He follows without a word. We sneak through the house like teenagers, but the tension is nothing like it was when we were young. This is adult. Intense. Deliberate. In my childhood room, with the door shut behind us, the air shifts. Heavy. Sacred.

I reach behind and unzip my dress, letting it slide down my body like a whisper. I step out of it, standing in nothing but matching champagne lace panties and a strapless bra. “No more pretending,” I say again, firmer this time.

His eyes darken, gaze devouring every inch of me. “Fuck.”

He strips slowly, his shirt, then his jeans, until he’s standing in just his briefs, the bulge of his erection straining against the fabric. My breath catches, heat curling in my belly. He comes toward me like I’m gravity.

His hands start at my shoulders, tracing down my arms, igniting a shiver. “You’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you.”

“Then touch me,” I whisper.

He kisses me again—this time deeper, hungrier. His hands roam my back, unclasping my bra, letting it fall. He steps back just enough to look at me, mouth parting as he takes in my bare breasts.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he says hoarsely, brushing his thumbs across my nipples, watching them harden under his touch.

I arch into him, moaning softly. “Then make it real.”

He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking, licking, teasing with his teeth. His hand cups the other breast, kneading gently, reverently. I gasp and grip his hair, already trembling.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I admit, barely able to get the words out. “I need you inside me.”

He slides down, kissing my belly, then my hip, then the inside of my thigh. He lifts me effortlessly, placing me gently on the bed. My panties come off next, and he groans when he sees how wet I already am.

“You’re soaked, baby.” He spreads me open with his thumbs, then licks a long, slow stripe up my center.

I cry out. “Grayson—”

“Let me take my time with you,” he says, voice rough. “You deserve that.”

And he does. His tongue moves in circles, in flicks, in slow deliberate strokes that make me writhe. He alternates between sucking my clit and teasing it until I’m begging.

“Please—please don’t stop—”

“Not until you come for me,” he says, thrusting a finger inside me. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

I come fast, crying out, thighs shaking, back arching off the mattress. He doesn’t stop until I’m boneless beneath him.

When he finally rises, his briefs are gone, and his cock is thick, flushed, and glistening. My mouth waters.

“Do you want me?” he asks, the tip of his cock brushing my entrance.

“Yes. Now. All of you.”

He pushes in slowly, letting me feel every inch. I gasp at the stretch, the perfect fullness. We lock eyes.

“You feel like heaven,” he groans.

He starts to move, deep and steady, grinding in circles before pulling back and thrusting again. Each motion hits just right. I clutch his shoulders, wrapping my legs around him, tilting my hips to take him deeper.

Our bodies find a rhythm—like we were made for this. For each other.

“I love you,” I say, tears in my eyes. “That’s why. That’s why I’m here.”

His whole body stills. He cups my face.

“I love you too. I think I have since the first second I realized you were trying not to laugh at my Spanish.”

I laugh through the tears, lifting my hips to meet him again. “Then prove it.”

He thrusts harder, deeper. “You’re mine, Maggie. Every fucking inch of you.”

“Yes. Yours.”

He flips us suddenly, pulling me on top. I straddle him, guiding him back inside. The angle is new, sharper, more intense. He watches me ride him, hands on my hips, then cupping my breasts, then finding my clit.

“Come again for me,” he commands, rubbing tight circles. “I want to feel you fall apart around my cock.”

I come with a scream, collapsing onto his chest, clenching around him as he follows with a guttural groan, pulsing deep inside me.

We lie tangled, breathless, bodies sticky and warm.

“I never expected this,” I whisper, tracing patterns on his chest.

“What?”

“I’ve always fallen for the wrong kind of man,” I whisper, tracing circles on his chest. “The ones who wanted to win me, not keep me. You’re the first who ever made me feel safe and seen. Like I don’t have to shrink or perform.”

His arms tighten around me. “That’s because I don’t want a perfect version of you. I want you .”

And I know, in this moment, that whatever comes next, this is real.