Endgame Romance, page 50
Really, it’s just the perfect way to ditch his tech.
That’s all I want to do right now anyway, throw technology out the window and do things. I love gaming—it’s built into my identity—and I can learn and execute a viral TikTok dance like nobody’s business, but the feeling of being watched and monitored all the time, I can’t deal with that. Anyway, the more I get out and try new things, the more I’m thinking that I might actually like them.
“Acting too cute for words,” he says, and I bite my lip so hard that it hurts. “Telling me it was love at first sight in the coffee shop and expecting me not to think about that comment obsessively for, like, years.”
“It’s the first and only time I’ve ever felt that way,” I explain, looking down at my lap and forcing myself to breathe normally and not pant like a crazy person. “When I met Parrish, when I met Chasm, there were strong emotions there, but not the butterflies-in-a-spring-garden-inside-your-heart-thing.”
“Do you purposefully make shit like that up or does being cute come naturally to you?” he asks me, sounding breathless. Maxx turns left up a bumpy hill, and tree branches scrape the sides of the car as we plunder over potholes. This road isn’t well-kempt which means it isn’t well-used which means privacy and no people, thank the gods. “Anyway, I want you to be my girlfriend—officially. Even if Justin doesn’t want us to be public about it, we can hide it until we deal with him. I only care about how you and I feel, and how Parrish and Chasm are responding to it.”
“I want you to be my boyfriend, Maxim Wright Men’s Magazine,” I tell him, and he stops the car right then and there. He puts it in park and then turns to look at me, and I find that I’m leaning away from him because the urge to kiss him and then crawl into his lap is just there, and it’s strong, and my entire body is having a wild, desperate reaction to touch his.
Yeah, no wonder we were so uncomfortable around one another before; our sexual chemistry is off the charts.
“Okay, it’s official. You’re mine; I’m yours.” He reaches out to take my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles and stealing away my will to live. You’re a boy crazy nut, Kota. I never thought I would be one. Actually, I don’t think that I am. I think I’m a hopeless romantic who just happened to be pushed into a high-stakes situation with three really awesome dudes, and fell hard and fast. “If Parrish or Chasm has a problem with it, we’ll talk it out with them, but I don’t want that to be what ends us. If we’re enjoying being together, I just want to keep doing it.”
“You’re saying you don’t mind sharing?” I ask him, and he snorts. His grip on my hand becomes something more. A tad possessive, a lot sensual, an invitation.
“Oh, I mind,” he tells me, and his tone shifts enough that I lift my gaze from our joined hands to his handsome face. “I just don’t think it’s a deal-breaker is all.” He releases me, and I feel that blazing heat of his touch go with him, leaving me in the cold.
We continue on for a ways after that, but neither of us is talking. I do notice when I glance over at him that he’s smiling to himself and, when I flip the visor down on my side of the car, I see that I’m smiling, too.
We’re into each other.
That’s a straight fact.
When we arrive at the parking area, I’m surprised to see a wide dirt path that disappears into the trees. I’d expected something a bit more rugged, but there’s a sign nearby that claims the trail itself is upkept by a local bicycling club.
“This is amazing,” I admit as I climb out and look around the lush vegetation, the soaring trees, and the distant trickle of water that turns out to be a small stream under a bridge. The wooden bridge is the start of the path, and then it winds casually and lazily through the woods until it disappears from sight.
I’d be worried about riding on the back of the bike if, you know, Maxx didn’t have the body of Adonis. I learned today that it’s not really a good idea to go two-up on a dirt bike, but this is a compromise I can live with.
“Helmet,” he says, passing one over to me. It’s black, and it fits perfectly, even with my mass of black and green hair cascading out from underneath it. He puts one on himself—this one is lime green—and then flips open the seat on the back of the bike. As I watch, X unloads a small cooler with two metal water bottles, and a glass container that I’m pretty sure came from Chasm. The food inside is different though; I see veggies. “Lunch,” he explains as he fills the seat up and then snaps the cushion closed, locking it in place.
I remember how our first hike went, how the dude had everything but the kitchen sink in his bag.
A warm thrill takes over me as I watch him, strong and confident and capable. That’s what he’s sensing in himself: his competence and his capabilities and his natural tendency toward leadership. He perceives those things as somehow making him this hulking cave-bro who drags women around by the hair. He’s afraid of that, but fortunately for us both, that isn’t the case.
He’s just a planner. He’s a caregiver. He’s a leader. He allows Parrish to take control because Parrish is like a shark fin in the waters of Medina; he knows when to strike and bite and bleed. Maxx would prefer to be up on the boat looking down with a spear in hand. Chasm is the first mate, charting the course, taking over in rough seas, and swabbing the deck.
“Alright, Kota, climb on,” X says, and he can’t hide the thrill in his voice. The guy just spent over an hour riding around a dirt track in the hot heat, and he’s excited all over again at the thought of exercising.
“You’re so weird.” I chuckle as Maxx swings his leg over the bike and then turns to watch as I climb on behind him. There’s only one way to sit, and that’s with my arms wrapped around X’s hard, warm body. Extra bonus that he’s wearing the t-shirt I bought him. Parrish did, too. Now all I need is Chasm to don that BTS merch like an ARMY fanboy to make things right.
“How so?” Maxx asks, and then off we go. I can’t help but notice the muscles in his arms and upper back as he steers the bike, or how powerful his legs are; he has absolutely no problem peddling me around, not even when the terrain gets a bit rougher around the corner. We approach a moderate incline and still, he doesn’t slow.
“You make me feel cared for. I like that. I’m not somebody who gets up early to make breakfast and lunch for myself, who remembers to pack a towel on a hike, who sets up a bike with a special passenger seat just to make a day out that much more comfortable.”
“You like that sort of stuff?” he asks absently, and I push up a bit of his shirt so that I can see a hint of the angel wing tattoos that he has on his broad back. Delicious. “Is that attractive to you? It just sort of seems … normal to me.”
“It’s weird to me, and I love it.”
He rides for a few minutes before responding.
“You’re weird to me, and I love you.”
Oh. Um. Okay. I’m not at all embarrassed and freaking out and obsessing over his words.
We go quiet for a while, and I rest my cheek against his back, wishing I didn’t have to wear a helmet so I could rest more comfortably. The sunlight falls through the trees in a dappled dance, stirred by a gentle breeze that’s offset by the warmth of the day. There are birds singing in the trees and several small waterfalls that surprisingly still have a trickle, even in an especially hot, dry summer.
We bike for nearly an hour before X pulls over and sets up our picnic. There was no room for a blanket, but there’s an old picnic table seated beside the creek. The water weaves back and forth beneath the path, covered with metal grates or sometimes proper bridges. Even with the picnic table as an option, we opt to sit on the moss-covered embankment instead.
“How do you feel now compared to when we sat in front of that waterfall and talked?” he asks me, biting into an apple and staring into the woods with those brilliant green eyes of his. They truly are jewel-like, two emeralds in a classically handsome face. “Last time, you said you were afraid that Tess would never feel like a mother, and that you might go back to New York and not fit in there either.”
“You listen,” I say, and I’m impressed. A lot of people hear but they certainly don’t listen, and even if they do, they don’t commit what they learned to memory like that. “And you told me that I shouldn’t wait for the world to make space for me, that I had to carve some out for myself.”
He smiles at that, letting his gaze slide my way as I open the lid on the glass container to find sliced cucumber, baby carrots, cherry tomatoes, and hummus. I dip a carrot and snack on it as X watches me.
“You listen, too,” he replies, and then we both go silent, enjoying the relative solitude and the absence of traffic, plane, or people sounds. It’s more refreshing than you might think. I see now why the insult go touch grass is so popular on the internet. Maybe more angry people need to go outside? Who knows?
“Tess and I are making headway,” I admit. It’s true. And it’s also surprising considering the intensity at which Justin has tried to sabotage our relationship. I had to beg her to tell me about Justin Prior right after Parrish went missing, painting myself as a callous asshole. I had to look her right in the face as she admitted that Justin raped her and do nothing. I had to ignore her pleas the day after the fire when she begged me to see what a crazy fucker he is. “I, um, want to show you something.”
I sit back on the grass and then I shimmy out of my pants just enough so that X can see my fresh tattoo. When I glance his way, I see that his eyes are wide and that he’s looking not at the tattoo but at me with my pants shoved down like … well … um.
“The tattoo.” I point at it wildly, and his eyes finally land on the square of plastic stuck to my thigh. He looks at it for a moment before his gaze drifts to my panties, and I yank the pants back up with a huff. “Parrish gave me my first tattoo.”
“Parrish is selfish for firsts,” X growls out, and I shiver all over. “Tess knows about this?” He does his best to soften his voice, but I’m not sure that it’s working. There’s a brand-new tension in the air that’s clinging to my skin like bits of dandelion fluff. I swipe at my arms, but it clings stubbornly.
“She found out on accident when she walked in on me and Parrish in bed together.”
X groans and puts his face in his hand.
“I like the tattoo, but I don’t like the idea of that, you and Parrish having sex.” He bites into the apple again, finishing off the last of the pale flesh, and then chucks the core into the woods. He offers me up an explanatory look. “It’s biodegradable; I wouldn’t otherwise litter.”
“The fact that you found that information immediately pressing to relay to me tells me all I need to know about your personality.”
There’s a brief lull there as I set the container aside and put the lid on it.
And then Maxx is rolling over, and his huge body is positioned above mine, and we’re kissing like we’ve been separated for eons. My hands roam over his back and shoulders as he sears my mouth with the promise of heat and pleasure.
“Could we actually … right here?” I ask, and X pauses, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a condom. The smirk that stretches across his face is an easy yes to that question.
“You told me to prove it. This is me, fucking proving it.”
Um.
Wow.
“Did you really just say that?” I breathe, and then he’s looking at me with an almost painfully serious expression on his handsome face.
“I really just said that,” he whispers, lips hovering close to mine. He leans in and captures my mouth with a fierce, hungry kiss, one that speaks volumes more than words ever could. I want you to be mine; I wish you were mine; you always should’ve been mine. X pulls back before I can even fully register the power of that kiss, and then he puts his forehead to mine. “I thought I was going to break that day at the coffee shop, after you ran Maxine off and made her cry.”
“Justin …” I start, but Maxx knows. He knows everything, and I know I wouldn’t have made it this far without him by my side. Not only has he been solid and reliable and comforting, but I’d be four siblings short if he hadn’t intervened.
If he hadn’t wanted me so badly that he went back to get his damn tux.
“When you grabbed me, Kota, I felt it everywhere.” He offers me up a look and then uses his right hand to push against my chest until I’m falling back into the soft bed of moss, listening to the gentle trickle of the creek, staring up at his face silhouetted against the lush canopy. “It hurt to untangle your arms from around my waist.”
When I move to put them around his neck, he stops me, grabbing my right wrist with his left hand and locking his fingers around it. He presses it down into the moss, and I suck in a sharp breath.
His green eyes are deadly serious right now.
“What are the chances of somebody stumbling on us here?” I ask, and Maxx offers the slightest shake of his head.
“I have no idea. Unlikely?” There’s a clear question mark attached to the end of that word. “Does it matter? I want you right now.” He exhales, expression set and determined. “If you don’t want this, you can tell me, and I’ll back off.” X lifts his brows, and all the things he said to me after our first night together come drifting back.
“I pulled your hair and flipped you over to do you from behind during my first time, and that was only a fraction of the things I wanted to do.”
“I know you’re afraid of yourself, Maxim, but I’m not.” I relax and exhale, closing my eyes as Maxx releases this growling sound of frustration under his breath, putting his lips to the side of my throat and breathing hard against my skin. I can smell that sporty fragrance of his, but I’m too scared to ask if he’s wearing cologne or body spray or something.
It’s been well-established at this point that I have a scent fetish, and that I smell dewy clovers, mint chocolate ice cream, and Cool Blue Wave mocktails when there no such things around.
“Your personality smells nice.”
That’s what comes out of my mouth, on this dream-like romantic afternoon with Maxim Wright, a dude who’s built like a fitness model, who’s overprotective but fiercely gentle, who picked up a knife and considered taking the rap for a murder he didn’t commit.
“My personality?” Maxx starts, and then he shakes his head, and the motion causes that dark chocolate hair of his to brush against my skin and make me writhe. I dig my heels into the soft earth, close my eyes tight, and arch my back. “I’m going to fuck you, okay?”
“Are you asking me?” I whisper, but I don’t open my eyes. I keep them shut so that I can focus on the sensation of his hand as he lets it drift down to the apex of my thighs. Maxx flicks a finger across my aching heat, and an involuntary gasp escapes me.
“Not exactly.” He retreats a bit, tearing off my shoes before he goes about yanking my pants entirely off and tossing them aside. Still, I keep my eyes closed. I hear birdsong. I feel the heat of his palms. I sense the frenetic energy brewing inside of him.
He likes to be in charge. He likes to make snacks and plan hikes, to gripe at Chasm and Parrish for not doing things the way he likes things to be done. And to be fair, he’s good at all of that. If we listened to Maxx as much as we ignored his advice, we all might be in a better place.
When his mouth presses up against the skin just north of my bellybutton, my eyes fly open and I fist my hands in his hair. Shirt, off. It’s the only thing I can think about, shedding my clothes so that I can touch him more, feel his muscular body pressed tight to mine.
But when I try to grab hold of it, he snatches my hand in tight fingers.
“Leave the shirt,” he tells me, eyes glittering. “I like the fangirl thing.”
Maxx lifts up onto his knees and undoes his pants, opening the condom package and unrolling it over his shaft as I sit propped on my elbows to watch. Our first time, we were in a rush, harried and afraid for Parrish, pressured and lacking necessary privacy. Our second (and third) time, we were in the arcade, and it was more hormonal and needy than anything else.
This is … I’m not sure exactly what this is, but next time, I’d love to do it in a bed, alone, in the dark, and without any time constraints.
“Thoughts?” he asks me, exhaling heavily and wrapping his fingers around his dick. I’m mesmerized by the sight of that, and it takes some effort to look up at his face.
“I was thinking about the next time we have sex.”
“Already?” Maxx asks, and the smile that he gives me is devastating. He’s a heartbreaker, this one. I just hope I caught him early, cutting off that career right in its tracks. There shouldn’t be any hearts to break if he only ever holds mine in his hands, right? “I love that.”
He drops back down, straddling me on all fours, palms on either side of me, knees on either side of my own. The heat between us seems to burn, that tension we carry twisting and morphing into an impossible monster.
“I don’t want you to be engaged to Chasm,” he murmurs, annoyance coloring his voice as he gets up close and personal with my lips, talking against them more so than he’s kissing me. It’s almost frustrating, but I like the anticipation too much to complain. “You deserve better than some rich asshole. You and me, Kota, we’re from the same planet. We don’t eat risotto quenelles and garden snails for dinner; we don’t think it’s normal to get a BMW for a sixteenth birthday present; I went to public school once upon a time.”
“Are you saying us middle-class folks should stick together?” I murmur, wishing that he’d just kiss me and knowing that he’s holding back on purpose. “Because if so, I support that idea. Eat the rich.”
“I’d rather eat you.” Maxx says it. Then it’s happening. His mouth is on mine, fierce and protective, claiming me. In that kiss, I see his intent to win, to beat the other boys, to come out on top. He’s willing to sit and wait and hold on.
The fingers of his right hand slide across the back of my neck, pulling me close as he nips at my lips and tongue. The way he kisses is punishing; he won’t let me get enough. He keeps drawing back just slightly out of reach, forcing me to push up onto my elbows, to lean into him, to chase him.
