Page 79 of Moving Forward

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

MAX

“The coast is clear.”

I glare up at Cain, gripping tight to the shirt he insisted I wear. At least he’s wearing clothes, lucky guy. He peeks over his shoulder at me, then goes back to scouting out the street from the alley beside Ruth’s. “I don’t believe you,” I say tightly.

“Does it really matter?” he asks. “I’m pretty sure the whole town knows about us. We’re probably street-side gossip.”

“I know they know, but what I’m wearing implies something different.”

“Does it really matter what they think?”

I shake my head, pushing around him to see the alley for myself. “No. But it matters if I see them thinking it. Besides . . . what if my family sees us? Sure, they know I’ve been out all night with you . . . but seeing me in this . . .”

I trail off. Really, I’m worried about the Millers. Even though I’m moving on, I don’t need to shove it in their faces. I don’t want Tom or Debbie to find me strutting half naked through the streets—that would probably be like a slap in the face. They need time to digest Cain and me together, especially after getting a gander at Tom’s face when Cain kissed me.

“Okay,” I agree. “The coast is clear.”

“I don’t believe you,” Cain mimics. He cuts off when I grab his hand and yank him across the street. He stumbles behind me as he attempts to regain his footing, then barrels past me to open the door. Anyone wandering the street would think we’re crazy. Me laughing and Cain yelling at me to “hurry my sweet ass up.” We probably resemble crazed, lovestruck teenagers.

I dart past him and break into a fit of laughter. I lean against the refrigerator, holding onto the handle so I don’t double over and really crack my skull open this time. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard, but I couldn’t care less because it feels absolutely amazing. I forgot how healing laughter can be, and just how much fun it is too. For every day I’ve been without Ethan, I feel like I’ve aged a year. Laughing right now, it’s like I’m gaining all of those years back and then some.

I’m almost to the point of peeing myself when I realize Cain’s throaty chuckles have stopped. My laughter dies as our eyes meet. His are burning with an intensity I’ve never witnessed before—no, not intensity, desire. Intense desire. The kind that makes my knees go weak, butterflies dance in my belly, and an insistent need pulse between my thighs. With all of this happening in my body, I’m pinned in place. Cain tilts his head, jaw popping, as if weighing his options. I tug my lip between my teeth, my body starting to tremble. I need one of us to make a decision and just do something.

Cain zeroes in on my lip. “Holy fuck.” In less than a second his hand is in my hair and he’s pulling my lip from between my teeth to his, making me moan. “The things you do to me, Peaches.”

More like the things he does to me. I swear I was never a sex-crazed freak before, but he could bite my lip all day long and I’d probably orgasm.

“Tell me when to stop,” he reminds me as his hand kneads the back of my neck.

I wonder what it’ll be like when there aren’t any boundaries. Will he still look at me like I’m the only thing in the world he wants? The only thing he sees? Or will he not want me? Will he see me as a hurdle he’s already surpassed and go back to the life he led before me? God, I really hope not. I want him to look at me this way forever. I want to feel this way with him forever, even if I’m never able to breathe again.

A low noise rumbles from him as he stares down at me, his chest rising and falling against mine, waiting for any sort of acknowledgment from me. I stutter something unintelligible, but it’s enough for him to understand that I’ll tell him when to stop. He grips the curve of my hips and, in a slow, calculated manner, closes the remaining distance between us. We’re touching everywhere, even the tips of our toes. His hard length is pressed against my lower belly. What I wouldn’t give to be a few inches taller, to have him centered against my softest area. The need for relief is overpowering. The need for him—all of him—is even worse.

My hips involuntarily shift against him and I let out a pleased sigh. His cock twitches, prodding against me. A dark smirk transforms his face as his hands move back to my butt to grip it. He lifts me, forcing me to grind against him. Well, force is an operative word. I turn into a madwoman, possessed, throwing my head back against the refrigerator and crying out.

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