Max’s breath catches, and he releases me. Cold air blankets me as he steps away, his broad chest rising and falling beneath his shirt.
“You nearly fell out of a Ferris wheel.” His jaw tightens, and he clenches his hands at his sides. “You almost died.”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “It’ been a hell of a night.”
“And now…” He shakes his head. “Lila, you don’t know what you’re asking.”
Irritation burns through the haze of lust. “Excuse me?”
He winces. “That came out wrong.”
“It came out like I’m too hysterical to understand that I asked you to touch me.”
“I don’t think you’re hysterical.”
“No, you think I had a fright and lost all sense of agency,” I fire back. “I’m a grown woman, Max. I know what I want.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and the hunger in his eyes is so intense my knees weaken. “What do you want, Lila?”
“I want you.”
A rough sound leaves him, but he doesn’t move closer. “I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and find out you were only trying to outrun what happened.”
“I’m not trying to outrun it.” I cross the space separating us. “I don’t want you to make me forget. I want you to remind me I’m still here.”
I place my palm over his fast-beating heart.
“I want to feel my body doing something I choose. I want to feel safe and alive and wanted.” My voice softens. “I want to feel you.”
“Fuck, Lila.”
His jaw works, and I can practically see the argument raging inside his head. The protective man who carried me all the way home is locked in combat with the fox shifter who’s been staring at my mouth since we met.
“I want you so badly I can barely think,” he finally says. “But if you change your mind… If you want me to stop?—”
“Max.”
His bright green gaze locks onto mine, mossy around the edges.
“Touch me.”
His mouth claims mine with enough force to send me stumbling backward. One arm bands around my waist before I can fall, hauling me against him.
The first touch of his tongue is electric. I moan into his mouth, and Max answers with a growl. His hand slides into my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper.
This is our first kiss. I should be cataloging the details for future reminiscing.
The softness of his lips. The scrape of his stubble. The way his thumb softly strokes my cheek despite the pressure of his mouth.
Instead, all I can think ismore.
I push onto my toes and kiss him harder.
Max’s control slips, and he lifts me.
A squeal escapes me as he deposits me on the kitchen island between a stack of cupcake wrappers and nearly empty bowls of frosting.
His hands settle on my thighs. “Is this okay?”
