Page 61 of My Dearest Mackenzie

Mack had a million-course dinner delivered and we used some fancy china dishes I wasn’t even sure why he owned. And we finished a bottle of wine in front of the fire, sitting on a blanket, our backs to the sofa, legs in front of us, thighs touching.

“Actually, you should thank Corey,” Mack joked, smoothing his palm down my thigh, goose bumps lighting up my leg. “He ordered the food.”

Running my hand down his arm, I inquired, “More important, tell me—why do you have more kitchen and dining stuff than a bridezilla?”

Mack turned to face me, smirking, and asked, “Jealous?”

I squeezed his arm. “No…no, I am not…”

“I feel wounded. You really know how to make a guy feel like he’s on top of the world…” We teased back and forth for a bit until Mack admitted, “My designer. I had nothing to do with any of it. I bought the place on spec. I used to live in a pre-war place down in the Village, and when I relocated my offices up here, I decided to move myself. Bought this based on the floor plan and let her do her thing.”

Sipping my wine, I listened.

“I mean, Sherry, interior designer to only the most selective clientele, said I needed ‘all the trimmings.’ Corey gave her my American Express card, and she had at it. I think this was the first time I used those fancy plates.”

I couldn’t help my hand reaching out and running down his cheek. “I’m honored to have been the one to use the fancy plates, as you call them.”

He took my wineglass and set it behind him on the side table, disposing of his right next to it before cupping my face. “Paper plates, expensive shit, it doesn’t matter. I’m honored to have spent this day with you, Frances. Beautiful Frances, it’s the first holiday in a long while I’ve spent with someone who mattered.”

I mattered.

It was the kindest thing anyone had ever told me—after feeling discarded by everyone in my life.

Mack ran his lips along my chin. “I can feel your brain working overtime—don’t. Enjoy the moment. It’s Thanksgiving and I’m thankful for you.”

Our lips met. At first, the kiss was soft and tender, two people showing feelings rather than telling. Our mouths picked up fervor as we slid toward the floor, my back resting on the soft rug, Mack hovering over me. His hand slipped under my silk blouse, his thumb and pointer finger finding my nipple. A low moan escaped my chest as he twisted and plucked the tender spot, my legs squirming under him, seeking friction.

“Mack,” I whispered.

“I got you,” he said, his hand traversing south, leaving my nipple cold and lonely until he found my heat.

As my body temperature soared, Mack took me there with a hand shoved between my velour leggings and my core. It wasn’t a scene out of a movie where the couple is naked and the flames are flickering off their smooth skin as they make love in front of the fire. It was raw and wicked and decadent. I pitched myself up a tiny bit to yank Mack’s shirt over his head. Thankfully, he’d gone with a Henley rather than a button-down. My lips sucked harder on his nipple as I began to reach a crescendo, thanks to Mack’s fingers.

“I want you,” he drawled while sucking on my earlobe, his thumb pressing down on the exact right spot, stars clouding my eyes.

“I’m there.” I half whispered, the other part shrieked. He didn’t let up as my climax hit, rather wrung it out of me before shoving my pants down, fast as hell, my small thong going with them. I’d been barefoot for hours so there were no shoes in the way.

I tried to help with Mack’s pants, but he wouldn’t have it. “In a hurry,” he grumbled, standing and shucking them down.

I couldn’t help the smile that broke out on my face. Mackenzie Miller is in a hurry for me…

And he was. Without pause, Mack was back down on the floor, ghosting over me, his hot breath on my neck. I felt butterflies swimming in my gut and a pulsing tingle in between my legs.

“Please,” I spoke, my voice raspy with want and need. He entered me slowly, decadently, taking his time with each draw until the veins bulged in his neck. Running my hand over his stubble, I mumbled, “Faster.”

I wanted it and knew he needed it. He didn’t wait to oblige.

Picking up speed, Mack slid in and out at a brutal pace and it wasn’t long before the stars hit me again and he was shaking inside me. We waited out each sensation, Mack pulsing, me drawing every last wave from him—happily.

Afterward, we lay there for a while, neither of us speaking, only touching, quietly savoring the moment. Our breaths started to even, and our damp skin began to cool and dry. It was the most fulfilled I’d felt in a long time, or forever. Sated from sex, not starving for affection, and complete in a way I hadn’t known existed for me…

The following morning I woke up tangled in Mack’s sheets. Turning, I caught the man who’d left me feeling all kinds of ways before falling asleep, his features still and content. While watching his chest rise and fall peacefully, I felt something deep in my chest. I wondered how anyone could have hurt him so much…

“Morning,” he grumbled with his eyes closed. “I feel you watching me, and I like it.” His voice was still sleepy.

“It’s becoming a bad habit of mine. Staying over, never knowing if I have a clean pair of panties and not caring. And of course, surveying you while you sleep.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I growled. “Ugh, I didn’t mean that to come out like that, asking for more. Everything is perfect as is. I’m not probing.”

Sitting up, he pulled me into his arms. “Shhh,” he whispered into my forehead, his breath tickling my hairline. “More is what I was thinking too.”

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