Page 180 of Headstrong Like Us
A great feeling: Kaden isn’t here. He was fired. So there’s no chance of accidentally running into him. And Maximoff did ask for a play-by-play of what he said before I punched him.
I rehashed the conversation, and it was hard seeing the hurt flash in Maximoff’s eyes. His anger and frustration, I expected. I held him for a while.
The rehearsal dinner has been lighter. And as we’re in the quiet corner, I watch his eyes descend to my fingers. I’m peeling foil off a piece of gum, and he spaces out for a second.
Where’d you go?I wave a hand.
He blinks into hard focus.
I smile and put gum in my mouth. “Dreaming of your lips around my cock?”
“Your hands,” Maximoff says under his breath in tender want and hot affection. “On me.”
“Yeah?” I sweep him, my blood cranking up. “On your ass.”
“My ass, my face, my cock.” He’s unabashed, his eyes on mine in desire that swells my veins. “Everywhere.”
Damn.Many facets of our relationship are rock solid, and our physical attraction is definitely among them. A candle that can’t flame out.
“Okay.”
“But not tonight,” Maximoff says. “Let’s wait for…you know.”
I raise my brows. He either can’t say the words or he just wants to hear me say them. “You want your husband to touch you?”
His chest collapses in an aching breath.
I laugh. “Too easy.”
“You’re the one who’s hard, man.”
I suck in a breath. “Not yet, but nice effort.”
He almost glances at my cock, and he growls, irritated. I watch him scan the tables, trying to ignore me. It lasts a millisecond. “You think Ripley is doing okay over there?”
I pop a bubble in my mouth and locate our son with the parents, aunts, and uncles. Ryke cradles the sleeping baby, lips parted in breathy snores.
They all wanted to spend time with Ripley during the dinner, and thankfully he’s more used to the families. But he has his favorites.
Ryke and Lo.
It’s clear to me why. They have the most similar energy as Maximoff, and so Ripley is the most comfortable in their arms.
“He’s good; he’s sleeping…” My voice tapers out as I eagle-eye an old woman, a strand of pearls at her wrinkled throat. “Shit.” I chew gum slower and watch Grandmother Calloway play tug-of-war with a microphone Jack is holding.
Maximoff sees. “Fuck.”
We push away from our spot. About to approach and resolve that shit, but Donnelly, Jane, and Thatcher cut us off.
“We have this handled,” Jane assures. “Just go enjoy yourselves.”
Maximoff’s brows knit. “Is she trying to make a toast?”
“She’s been trying the past five minutes,” Donnelly admits.
Jane is wide-eyed like he revealed shit he shouldn’t have.
“Paul,” Thatcher snaps.
