He’d been clear on his terms when they agreed to help each other, clear on what he was open and closed to, and Grace had accepted that. And not just accepted it, she’d been of the same damn opinion. He just had to trust that she could keep behind the lines they’d marked in the ground between themselves when they shook hands. Max really wasn’t sure what he’d do if she didn’t. Maybe they needed to talk about it.
Resolute, he pushed from the sink and opened the door back into the bedroom, losing all ability to think or fucking speak when he saw Grace lying on the bed, faceup, head on the pillows, in nothing but that damned red underwear. And fuck him sideways if it wasn’t the hottest thing. He noticed her dress in a puddle by his feet along with her shoes.
She smiled, buzzed, her right hand meandering across her stomach. “Hey.”
Max cleared his throat, his gaze devouring her from the tips of her toes to her tits. “Hey.”
“You about done thinking so hard in there all by yourself?”
He pressed his lips together, fighting a smile. Oh, yeah. She was even feistier when she drank. He crossed his arms over his chest, because fuck, what else was there to do but look? “Maybe.”
“Good.” She nodded toward his crotch, where he knew he was sporting a righteous hard-on. “You gonna come over here with that?”
“Behave. I’m not fuckin’ you while you’re drunk.”
“I know. Besides, I wasn’t thinking about that,” she murmured, her eyes closing while her fingertips whispered across her chest.
Sweet Jesus.
“What were you thinking about?” Max took two steps toward the bed, pulling his T-shirt over his head and launching it across the room.
Grace hummed when she saw his chest and pressed her teeth into her bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful.”
“I guess beautiful is an improvement on pretty. How much have you drunk, exactly?”
She giggled. “Enough.” Yeah, Max knew that. He’d been keeping a watch on every drink that she’d bought or had bought for her all night, making sure she was okay. She licked her lips. “Enough to know I want your hands on me.”
Max kneeled on the bed by her feet. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I want my hands on you, too.”
Max reached out and trailed his palm up her shin. It was as smooth and as soft as he’d imagined. Her breath left her in a ragged whisper.
“Where would you want to touch me?” he asked. Her gaze drifted from his face to his jeans and as God was his fucking witness, Max’s cock jumped. “I told you,” he grunted, placing a hand on the outside of both of her feet. “Touch me wherever and whenever you want.” He unfastened the button on his Levi’s and slid the zipper down, showing a glimpse of gray underwear. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on the inside of Grace’s knee. She whimpered. He did it again and she moaned at the same time her legs dropped open.
Fuck, he just wanted to bury his face in her, lose himself for days in her wet and heat. Instead he kissed her inner thigh, noting the way her breathing hitched. She never flinched. He did it again and she arched her back. “Oh, God.”
Max hummed into her skin, smelling and tasting that damn cocoa butter that he liked so much. His tongue traveled the inside of her thigh.
“Oh, God,” she repeated, her hands shifting on the bed.
“You’re okay,” Max whispered, rubbing a gentle hand against her stomach.
“No, I—”
“I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
“No, Max.”
He nuzzled the crease where her thigh met her hip. “Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Move. I need you to move.”
“Move?”
“I’m going to be sick.”
Max sat up as though his ass were on fire, narrowly dodging Grace’s swinging arms and legs as she dropped clumsily off the side of the bed and veered into the bathroom, smacking into the doorjamb before making it through and emitting the most fuck-awful gagging noise Max had ever heard.
After a beat of disbelief, he cupped a hand to his forehead. Talk about a libido killer. He looked down at himself and his now half-flaccid cock and grunted. “Jesus,” he muttered while clambering off the bed and zipping himself back up. He peeked around the door of the bathroom and saw Grace kneeling on the floor, head in the throat of the toilet. “You okay?”
She groaned. “No.” She sniffed and heaved some more.
Approaching cautiously, Max gathered her hair that splayed down her back as well as the parts that had fallen forward in her haste to get to the john and sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding it clear of any rogue chunks.
“Crap, I’m sorry,” she garbled before she hurled again.
Max chuckled at the sight of her in her sexy underwear, upchucking the night’s festivities. “Don’t worry about it.” Of course, it wasn’t how he’d imagined tonight to go, but that didn’t matter.
Keeping her hair in one hand, he rubbed her back softly with the other.
Rhinos.