“Maxim,” I scream, my hoarse voice tearing through the privacy of our night in this maze. Wave after wave of ungovernable pleasure overwhelms me, overtakes me, until I’m quaking with it, shaking and sobbing into the warm curve of his neck.
He keeps going, every thrust more aggressive and deeper, my bare breasts grazing his shirt, the nipples piquing while he takes his own pleasure. A growl tears from him when he comes, going impossibly harder and bigger and stiffer inside me.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he chants, his hands like steel, his breaths harsh and fast. He groans long and rough, emptying himself inside me, a hot, wet rush of passion. I receive him, trembling with wonder at the blend of our bodies. I don’t want to move because he’ll run out of me. I want to keep him, to keep these moments and these emotions as long as I can.
He was my first. Ten years ago when we made love, I didn’t know a passion like this was rare, something to be coveted and chased and clutched, but tonight, I know it’s a comet shooting across the sky and all we can do is ride its fiery trail.
Now I know.
47
Lennix
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Kimba says.
I study her face on my phone. It’s our third FaceTime of the day. She’s been holding it down in DC, and I’m in San Francisco, about to fly to Ohio. Owen won’t make his official presidential announcement until February, but I’m running ahead and laying tracks for our ground game in some purple states where we’ll need as much of a head start as possible.
“Change of plans?” I frown and mentally review my meetings for the next day with volunteer coordinators in Ohio. “If we’re gonna stay on track for February, we have to stick to the schedule.”
“I’m well aware,” she says dryly.
I’m handpicking volunteer coordinators in our most crucial battleground states and starting to strategize. We’ll use technology to reach voters in as many innovative ways as possible, but I learned early on to never underestimate the importance of a strong ground game.
“I’m on my way to the airport now,” I say. “I’m so confused, and you know I hate being confused about as much as I hate Peanut Butter.”
“I’m not sure I trust people who don’t like Peanut Butter.”
“It sticks to the . . . never mind! What is the change of plans? I need to tell this driver what to do.”
“Oh, he already knows.”
“Excuse me, sir?” I catch the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Where are we going?”
“We’re here, ma’am,” he says.
I look out the window of the SUV and realize we’re at an empty tarmac. Empty except for a jet with CadeCo emblazoned on the side.
“I’m going to get you both,” I tell Kimba when I look back to my screen and find her grinning. I’m grinning, too, though, so she can only take my threat so seriously.
Maxim was called away literally on New Year’s Day, almost as soon as the party was over because of some explosion at one of his Asia-based companies. A week into our “second chance” and we haven’t been in the same room once, not since the garden, and I leave for my service trip with Wallace in a few days.
“Get me?” Kimba pretends to consider it. “I think you mean thank me later.”
The driver, already carrying my suitcase, opens the door for me. I hesitate. Yes, the jet says CadeCo, but my Cade is nowhere in sight.
I’m about to dial Maxim when a hybrid SUV pulls up. Maxim opens the door and strides toward me with a grin I can only call wolfish—wide and wily, and like he plans to eat me. Scruff shadows that protractor jawline and his dark hair curls around his ears. I mentioned liking it longer. I hope he’s not growing it out for me. I love the silky hair any way I can feel it.
He’s wearing a cable-knit sweater the color of oatmeal, which should be illegal contrasting with his tanned skin that way. Dark-wash jeans and boots make him look so rugged and sexy, my thighs immediately clench with the need to clamp around him. I don’t know what he has planned, but sex better be on the agenda, or I’m making a motion to amend.
His arms encircle me and he dips his head for a kiss. His hands rove over my back, gripping low on my hips, just short of my ass, and urge me up onto my toes. He plunders my mouth, the heat of the kiss burning through my self-consciousness in seconds. I’m straining up, folding my arms at the elbows behind his neck, opening my mouth greedily under his, sucking his tongue in as deep and hard as humanly possible. I forget about our audience of two and grunt and moan and whimper the longer we kiss. He finally pulls back just enough to lay his forehead to mine, our labored breaths tangling between our lips.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I smile up at him and settle my hands on his shoulders.
“Keep kissing me like that and we won’t even make it to the plane.”
My cheeks warm as his words and our surroundings—the two watching, waiting men—sink in.
“You’re in trouble,” I tell him as sternly as I can feeling this turned on. “Nobody rearranges me.”
“I did.” He takes the handle of my suitcase from the driver, and pulls it toward the idling plane. “I mean, with the help of Kimba of course.”
“I have to be in Ohio for a meeting at nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” I say, trying to hold on to my sense of humor and adventure.
“And you will.” He takes my hand.
I squeeze his fingers and decide to enjoy myself. “Where are we going, Doc?”
“On a date,” he says, the boyish grin that unravels my heartstrings in evidence.
“I said where, not what, though thank you for telling me we’re going on a date. Some guys just ask, which is so boring.”
“Who are these guys who’ve had you making all those pesky choices about where you’ll go and what you’ll do? Don’t they know you have better things to do than think about dates? I handled all of that for you. You’re welcome.”
“Something about that isn’t right. I hate it when you charm the logic out of everything.”
He shrugs. “It’s a gift. And we’re flying to Ohio because that’s where you need to be. Our date will have to be in the air. I’m just getting you where you need to go and stealing some of your time.”
“You flew here just to pick up lil’ ol’ me?” I bat my lashes at him. “You’re supposed to be Mr. Clean and Green. I’m really disappointed in your carbon footprint.”
“You know what they say about a man with a big carbon footprint,” he says toggling his brows suggestively.
“Oh, God. That was awful. Your conservation jokes suck.”
“Who needs to make jokes when I can make money?” he asks, laughing when I roll my eyes. “And I’m manufacturing sports bras from plastic bottles. I think I’m okay flying every once in a while.”
“You are? How did I miss this? I need a good sports bra.”
“We can’t keep them in stock. Mill loves them, but I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you won’t be needing a bra tonight.”
“Wow.” I lift both brows and try to ignore how his words are flirting with sensitive spots on my body. “Aren’t you confident?”