Her only answer was another kiss. Fierce. Deep. Reckless.
I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. My hands found skin, the hem of her dress. We didn’t undress fully… didn’t have the time, the space, the calm. Everything was too frantic, too wired. My shirt was open. Her bra pushed aside.
She was warm and real and in my arms, anchoring me to the world.
I couldn’t tell what part of it was anger and what part was need. I didn’t know whether she kissed me because she despised me or because she didn’t know how else to say don’t go. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
Maybe this whole thing was fucking doomed.
But when she gasped against my neck and clutched my back like she was afraid I’d vanish, I thought that perhaps it didn’t have to be. Maybe this could work even if it scared the shit out of me. Even if we didn’t know how to stop breaking each other’s hearts with our mouths.
We moved together on the couch in a mess of tension and want and words we couldn’t say, limbs tangled and touching each other hungrily. Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of my neck, and I pressed my forehead to hers.
And for one brief, breathless second, I stopped thinking and just felt.
I lay on my back, lungs still working overtime from the storm that had just torn through us. My chest rose and fell like I’d run miles, but I hadn’t moved. Maggie had done that to me with nothing more than her mouth and a few brutal truths.
Sunlight striped across her shoulders as she hovered above me, casting gold into the hollow of her throat and the bend of her waist. Her hair was a mess-wild and falling into her eyes-and her lips were parted just slightly, still pink from kissing and biting and telling me exactly who I’d been to her tonight.
I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve her. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her like I’d never wanted anything else.
She shifted lower on the couch, the heat of her bare skin dragging against mine as she moved. I sucked in a breath when her fingers slipped under the waistband of my jeans. Her hands were unhurried. Gentle but sure. She pushed the denim down my hips and freed me from my boxers, her knuckles brushing the underside of my cock with just enough pressure that my entire body tensed.
I looked down at her-half desperate, half wrecked already-and her eyes caught mine, holding. No shame. No hesitation. Just quiet intensity. As if she wanted this. Wanted me.
When her mouth touched me, my brain went quiet.
It was like being submerged in heat. Her lips were soft, slow, almost teasing at first, like she was figuring out exactly what I liked and how I liked it. Her tongue dragged along the tip, just a flick at first, then a steady, deliberate swirl that made my hips twitch. A groan clawed its way up my throat at the sensation.
She wrapped her hand around me and took me deeper, tongue pressed to the sensitive spot at the underside of my cock.
I gritted my teeth. “Maggie?-“
My name on her lips always undid me. But my cock on her lips? That was a whole different kind of destruction.
Her cheeks hollowed out as she took me deeper inch by slow inch. Her tongue swirled around me as she sucked, her lips tightening around me as she worked me over. Each motion was smoother. More confident. More devastating.
I couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. I dug my fingers into the couch cushions to keep some semblance of control.
My hips flexed without permission. She didn’t pull away. She moaned around me, the sound vibrating through her throat and down my spine like an earthquake.
“Jesus,” I gasped, head slamming back into the cushion. I threaded my fingers through her hair, not pulling, just needing to touch her. To tether myself to her. “You’re gonna kill me.”
She didn’t stop. If anything, she got bolder, taking more of me in one fluid motion, her nose brushing my stomach. I choked on air, every nerve in my body lighting up like a flare.
And still, she kept eye contact.
That was the part that shattered me. She watched me while doing it. She wanted to see me fall apart. She needed to see it.
And I gave it to her.
My thighs trembled. My abs tightened. I was trying- fighting
-to hold on, to make it last. But every slick, warm slide of her mouth pulled me closer to the edge. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t take, twisting just right, keeping perfect rhythm with her tongue as she sucked me back in.
My whole body locked up. “Maggie,” I groaned, helpless now.
My hips lifted off the couch, her name breaking on my lips. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull back.
And I broke. Hard.
The world narrowed to the heat of her mouth and the sound of her breathing and the overwhelming rush of her. My climax ripped through me in a violent, glorious crash. She kept her mouth on me until I was shaking, ruined, chest heaving like I’d run through a thunderstorm.
When she finally let go, lips swollen and chin slick, she looked up at me with that same unreadable expression on her face.
I felt bare in a way I never had before.
Not because I was physically undone, but because I wanted more.
All of her. Every stubborn, smartass, wild-haired inch.
I was too far gone.
And I didn’t want to find my way back.
I was still naked, blanket twisted around my hips, chest bare, breath barely starting to level out. The couch cushion had a permanent dent from where I’d clawed into it minutes ago, and my legs were a little numb, but I didn’t care.
Maggie was glowing.
Literally glowing. Not in a sparkly, glitter-magic kind of way, but in that flushed, wrecked, soft-light-around-her-skin way that made my throat tighten just looking at her. Her hair was a halo of chaos around her head, her lips kiss-bruised.
I was gone for her. And I didn’t even want to come back.
My eyes traced the slope of her neck, the curve of her hip under the fabric, and all I could think was: mine. Not in a territorial, overbearing sense, more a quiet, aching, please – stay way that I didn’t know how to articulate yet.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My whole body tensed like someone had fired a gun through the floor.
I shot Maggie a look, voice barely above a whisper. “Please tell me that’s not Doris.”
Panic slid into her eyes like she’d just remembered we lived in the real world and not in the emotional and sexual haze we’d built on this couch.
She yelped-quietly, but definitely yelped-and scrambled up, pulling her dress over her head. She padded to the door on silent feet. I ducked deeper under the blanket, like that might protect me from being turned to stone by our eighty-year-old landlady.
Maggie cracked the door open.
I held my breath.
“You look… glowy,
” Doris said in that dry, deceptively neutral tone that usually preceded unsolicited wisdom or direct threats.
Maggie panicked and slammed the door.
A wheezing, full-body laugh bellowed out of me. “You one-hundred percent looked glowy. That woman has witch radar. She probably smelled sex from the hallway.”
Maggie tossed a glare at me, but she was fighting a smile. “You are not helping.”
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