“What if I am, though?” I challenged softly. “Not looking at you this way would be the opposite of helpful, wouldn’t it? Inauthentic, really.”
He huffed. “Makes it damn hard to think straight.”
I licked my lips thoughtfully. “Maybe. But consider whether morethinkingis really what you need.”
Maddox tilted his head. “You saying I’m overthinking?”
I moved a few inches closer. Close enough now that I couldfeel more body heat, see the slight tremor in his hands. “Your word,” I teased, throwing back his comment. “Not mine.”
“Shut up, Hayes,” he murmured, but there was no heat in it.
I sucked in a breath and held it. “Make me.”
Maddox hesitated, conflict visible in his expression, and his eyes searched mine.
Apparently, he found what he was looking for.
A heartbeat later, he closed the distance between us, one hand came up to curve around the back of my neck, and his lips found mine.
The first touch was hesitant, almost questioning. His lips were softer than I’d imagined, warm and slightly chapped. When I responded, leaning into him with a small sound of approval, the kiss deepened, becoming something hungry and certain. His mouth was warm from the whiskey, his hand firm against my skin.
His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling slightly as he angled my head for better access. I gripped his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his flannel shirt, anchoring myself as the world went sideways.
I’d kissed plenty of men in my lifetime, but something about this felt different—as if we’d been building to this moment since our first meeting in the hardware store. All the banter, the tension, the resistance—it had led here, to this confluence of fire and snow and touch.
When we finally broke apart, both breathless, Maddox’s eyes were wide and glazed. But just when I worried he might go back to overthinking, he lunged at me, kissing me more deeply this time. His weight pressed me back into the sofa cushions, one hand caressing my jaw while the other gripped my hip. The kiss was desperate, almost angry, like he was trying to prove something to himself or me.
I held him tighter, daring him to pull away. My fingers foundthe hem of his shirt, slipping underneath to touch warm skin. Maddox groaned into my mouth, and the sound vibrated through me, making me arch even closer.
The storm raged, piling snow against the windows, sealing us in our private world of firelight and heat. And I didn’t waste a second thinking about angles or lighting or hashtags. I was simply present, every sense attuned to the man clutching me like I was something surprising and necessary.
There was no doubt in my mind Maddox would second-guess this later and go right back to overthinking, but I’d be damned if I didn’t take as much of him as I could before he threw cold water on a fire this hot.
#SullivanSurrender #ProductPlacement #CityBoyMakeFire #FuckingFinallyWithTheLips #AThousandFanningWomen
10
#THESTORMINSIDE
MADDOX
The storm howled outsidelike a living thing while something equally fierce raged inside me. Adrian’s lips were insistent against mine, his body warm and solid beneath my hands as I pressed him deeper into the sofa cushions.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I keep my mouth off his?
Even as I thought this, my hand came up to grip his jaw and hold him in place, changing the angle of our kiss. His stubble rasped against my palm, a delicious friction that sent heat spiraling down to my groin.
Adrian made a sound—half whimper of surprise, half groan of pleasure—that vibrated against my lips. His fingers were hot against the skin of my back, and I shuddered. The way he touched me was nothing like I’d expected. Not calculated or performative, but hungry.Desperate.
“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he murmured against my neck, dragging his teeth across my skin.
“That makes two of us,” I admitted, sliding my hand into his hair to tug his head back. As soon as his throat was exposed, I latched onto it with a deep suck. His pulse raced beneath my lips, proof that his polished exterior was hiding something wilder.
When my teeth grazed the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, he cursed and arched against me, grinding his hard cock against mine. The friction was maddening, even through our clothes. I wanted more. More heat, more skin, more Adrian.
“Too much goddamned flannel,” he complained, already working at the buttons of my shirt with fumbling fingers.
I should have stopped him. Should have remembered all the reasons this was a terrible idea—Adrian was temporary, he would leave, this was just another experience for him to collect and discard. But my body refused to listen to logic as his hands made short work of my shirt buttons.
