An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)

by Sophie Jackson

  Long-lashed Hershey’s Kisses roamed over her face until, seemingly satisfied with what he saw, Max began moving again, breathing heavily, eyes closing, then opening, then rolling back while his lips twitched and pursed whenever his teeth weren’t worrying them. Seeing the muscles in his shoulders bunch and his neck cord was hypnotizing. He was sublime. Their eyes met and he groaned, dropping his weight to his forearms, and his face to her throat.

  “You feel so good,” he said, lifting her thigh farther up his hip and shoving hard into her.

  He hissed and lifted his face to her jaw. His stubble rubbed her as he moved over and over, hot and eager. He felt divine. He wound his hips in a tantalizing figure eight, pushing into her farther.

  “I want to make you come again,” he moaned. “I want to feel it on my cock.”

  Grace’s eyes rolled back at his commanding tone. “Oh God.”

  She whimpered as they rocked together, sopping and hot. The sensation of him moving inside her made it impossible to think, let alone move or form words. She was beyond coherence, and it was sublime.

  I love you.

  “There,” she gasped as he hit one particularly toe-curling spot.

  He did it again and began to move faster. Grace gripped his shoulders and groaned as her stomach began to tighten. Her thighs held his securely and her back arched.

  “You feel so fucking good,” Max panted. He pushed his hips up so quickly that Grace’s lifted from the bed. “Can you feel how hard you make me?”

  She hummed into his cheek. Max looked down at where their bodies were writhing together. His brow furrowed and his lips pursed. “Holy shit, Gracie.”

  She moved again, grinding down in a circular motion, making Max grip her waist. Grace threw her arms around his neck and buried her nose into his hair, inhaling, taking every breath of scent he had to offer.

  “I missed you,” she said. “I missed you so much.”

  He lifted his head, inches away. He didn’t speak, but his face told her that her words, although surprising, were welcome.

  “I did,” she affirmed. “I thought about you like you asked.”

  He grunted again and thrust, making Grace’s neck elongate, while sporadic moans left him with each drive of his hips. He was so close, his body, his face, his lips, and, without thinking, Grace lifted her mouth to meet his in a desperate kiss.

  His reaction was immediate.

  He froze, pulling away as though she’d burned him. “Don’t!”

  “I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, genuinely stunned by her own actions, while also relieved he hadn’t removed himself from her body. “God, I’m so sorry.”

  Max lifted a hand and thumped it back down onto the bed next to her face. “Dammit, Grace.”

  “I didn’t mean to—I don’t even—I just . . .”

  He swallowed, watching her carefully, jaw clenching. “Just what?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.” Her hand moved from his waist to his ass. “Truly. I wasn’t thinking. Please. Don’t stop.”

  He paused for a moment and then, with a sigh that sounded like he had little choice in the matter, he did as she asked.

  Grace hissed when he tilted his hips and hit her just right. “Yes, like that.” He hummed, his stare intense, cracking her verbal filter into a thousand pieces. “I love you inside me. I missed this. Harder.”

  Her nails trailed down his back, squeezing his ass as he sped up, making his strokes deeper, sharper. He moaned. “Fuck.”

  “I want you like this all the time, Max,” Grace confessed, the roll of his hips between her thighs beyond perfect.

  “Tell me.”

  “All the time. I think about it all the time.”

  “How?”

  “I imagine it . . . I touched myself, you know? Like you asked. I did. I couldn’t help it. I—”

  Her words came to an abrupt halt, eaten up by Max’s ravenous mouth as he kissed her.

  Grace flailed under the unexpected pressure of his lips, his unshaven face deliciously rough, and the air plummeting out his nose against her cheek. Gathering herself, she returned his kiss with all the passion and heat she’d hidden since she’d met him. She gripped his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He growled and pushed his tongue into her mouth, seeking out hers and sucking it. At the same time, he shoved into her harder and harder, skin slapping beautifully, bed creaking, and Grace’s muffled cries rising in volume. His lips chased hers, nibbling and biting, sloppy and desperate, as if he’d been as starved as she was for it, until, with one final thrust, he pulled his head back and roared toward the ceiling, coming with such force, his hips lifted Grace from the bed.

  Eyes squeezed shut, he moaned with each exhale and twitch of his cock in her, finally collapsing onto Grace, his head burrowed under her chin, panting against her collarbone. Welcoming his weight, she wrapped herself around him, clinging to him with every part of herself and kissing his hair as his body vibrated with aftershocks.

  “I’ve got you,” she whispered, her lips against his forehead. “I promise. I’ve got you.”

  He shuddered, his breaths heavy and shaky, and when he spoke, it was through a thick, overwhelmed throat. “Wh-what are you doing to me?”

  Grace closed her eyes and stroked the side of his face. “What does it feel like?”

  He shivered. “Terrifying.”

  Grace’s heartbeat tripped over itself. Gradually, Max lifted his head. The brown of his eyes shimmered with unshed emotion. She cupped his face and leaned up to kiss him again. There was a hint of hesitation before he returned it gently, the tremor in his body prevalent.

  “Don’t be scared,” she told him as she rubbed the side of her nose against his. “Not of me. I only want to love you.”

  His face collapsed as though it was the worst news he’d ever heard. “Don’t,” he begged. “Gracie, don’t. Please.”

  She smiled a melancholy smile before she stole another kiss. “Too late.”

  She was surprised that he didn’t argue. He simply pulled out of her and laid his head on her chest. Although his silence was better than the row she was positive was coming, it still made her decidedly uneasy. She was proud that she’d been so brave, so honest and open with him, and the relief that seized her was as exhilarating as it was welcome. Max lifted himself from the bed and cleaned up, shocking the hell out of her when, instead of dressing and leaving as he normally did, he crawled back in, snuggling up and holding her closely.

  She was even more surprised when, a few hours later, he woke her to make love again. It was heartbreakingly slow and tender, just like the kisses they shared, his voice hoarse with emotion as he talked her through her orgasm, holding her face in his hands, before calling out into her mouth when his followed soon after. It was beautiful and perfect, which made it hurt even more when she awoke again, just before noon, to find his side of the bed empty, with no sign that he was ever there at all.

  His time in rehab notwithstanding, Max was more than aware of the stupid shit he’d done in his life. He’d fucked people over, treated them like crap, made impulsive decisions that always came back to bite him, and threw people under the bus with no regret, always making sure that he was the one who came out untarnished when shit hit the fan, no matter who got hurt. Yeah, he was a prize asshole, but that shit wasn’t news. What was news and what really had his brain on fast spin while he lay on his bed in the boardinghouse, his body aching in all the ways it should after a night of incredible sex and very little sleep, was that Max knew he’d finally outdone himself.

  Last night.

  Shit. Last night.

  What had happened between him and Grace had been . . .

  He exhaled.

  It had been amazing.

  Plain and simple. There was no point in denying it. Sex with her always was and last night was no exception.

  Christ, he’d been livid on Friday after stumbling upon her and the asshole cop laughing and touching as they went into her house
, and he’d had every intention of calling the whole thing off. Standing in the pounding rain, hidden by the trees and watching them like some cheap film cliché, he’d realized he wasn’t prepared to share Grace with anyone, least of all that dick-with-a-badge deputy. He’d run back to her house at 2 a.m. to tell her just that, letting the storm stir his fury further, grumbling to himself about what a stupid decision it was to get involved with anyone, and promising himself that he was going to stay away from women indefinitely to avoid the stress of it all.

  Nevertheless, as determined as he had been, somewhere along the line Max’s plan had dissolved into oblivion. It may have had something to do with how hot it was seeing Grace fired up, standing tall, not being intimidated by him, and, strangely, Max couldn’t help but feel that in some small way, he was responsible for the confidence she had to go toe-to-toe with him. Her fire was sexy as hell and when her eyes flashed, challenging him and his accusation, he knew he was fucked.

  Of course she hadn’t gone to bed with the prick. Deep down Max had known that all along, stubbornly refusing to investigate why he’d assumed such a thing in the first place. Was it jealousy? Was he so involved with Grace now that jealousy factored in to it? He couldn’t tell, but he knew that seeing that piece of shit put his hands on her had made Max seriously consider homicide.

  And then there was the kiss.

  He rubbed his hands down his face, trying his damnedest not to think about the taste of her lips, her eager mouth, and her passionate tongue, which lapped at him as if he were some kind of precious elixir or something. He’d promised himself not to let anyone get that close, but hearing her words, her begging, her pleading, her dirty mutterings, after being teased by her impulsive kiss, it was all too much for him to take. The urge to have more had risen through him like a tidal wave. He’d been so fucking foolish to let that happen. Kissing blurred things, created feelings, and that was a minefield Max had no intention of navigating again. And he hadn’t, not for a long time.

  He’d not kissed a woman like that since . . . Lizzie, and even then, he struggled to pull to memory a time where the two of them had been that frantic to taste one another. He’d come to the conclusion that, somehow, that was different. He’d loved Lizzie, spent years with her where, over time, as was the case in most relationships, their passion and need for each other morphed from explosive flash-bang fireworks into something quieter, calmer, but no less hot.

  “Fuck,” he muttered toward the ceiling. He had no idea what his next step was. He’d crept out of Grace’s bed, avoiding looking at her so warm and beautiful as she slept, and left the house like the coward he was. He didn’t even leave a note, but then, what the hell would he have written? His head was a hot mess, and until he decided what he was going to do, he needed to stay away from her.

  It was almost too much for him, an addict, to cope with. His cravings, for the most part, stayed relatively quiet, but that could all change if he didn’t sort his shit out. His eight-month NA coin dipped and flicked between the knuckles of his right hand. Thank God for his anti-anxiety meds, he thought wryly. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but a knock at the door had them snapping back open.

  Panic seized him.

  Grace.

  What the hell would he say to her? He’d already beaten himself up for slamming the door in her face once, he couldn’t do that again, but he didn’t have any answers to the questions she’d have and deserved to ask. The knock came again, firmer and not sounding at all like the polite, timid knock that Grace always gave. Max cleared his throat and heaved himself off the bed, approaching the door and resting his forehead against it for a brief moment, trying to gather what courage he could to face whatever was standing on the other side.

  Holding his breath, he unlocked it and swung it open. “Carter!”

  He was so surprised to see his friend, and even more relieved to find him and not Grace standing there, that he was unable to keep himself from pulling his buddy in for a huge hug, slapping his back and smiling.

  Stumbling into the embrace, Carter hugged him back. That was reassuring; at least he wasn’t there to deliver bad news.

  “What the hell, man?” Max asked. “What are you doing here?” He stood back, clasping Carter’s shoulders. He looked okay, dressed casual in a gray Henley, dark blue jeans, and a beat-up brown lightweight motorcycle jacket. It looked to be more for fashion than function, but it was still badass.

  “I thought I’d come and see you,” Carter grinned. “You know, see how you’re doin’.”

  Max narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit. You’re here hiding from Kat, aren’t you?”

  Carter snorted, rubbing a palm across the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

  Max waved a hand. “Well, whatever, come in.” He stood back for Carter to enter and closed the door behind him. It was so good to see his best friend, especially in light of the fact that shit was not at all copacetic. Maybe a little normalcy was what Max needed to pull his head out of his ass.

  With his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Carter looked around the room, his gaze spending time on the canvases in the corner of the room. He approached them and dropped to his haunches as he took a closer look. Carter’s finger moved over the lime-green patterns of one particular piece. “These are great,” he commented.

  “They’re all right,” Max muttered, reaching to grab a pair of worn blue jeans to change into. He’d been slopping in sweats since his shower after he arrived back at the boardinghouse that morning.

  “Modesty doesn’t suit you,” Carter said over his shoulder. “This one would look sweet in my apartment.”

  “Then take it,” Max uttered dismissively. He wasn’t fond of the green anyway.

  Still crouched, Carter turned at the waist. “Really?”

  “Call it a birthday gift.”

  “My birthday was in March.” Carter smirked.

  “Shit, really?” Max paused. “Then it’s a belated birthday gift. Surprise!”

  Carter laughed, shaking his head. “Thanks.”

  After a silent moment where Carter’s stare on him began to make Max nervous, Carter stood and wandered closer. “You okay?”

  Max ran a hand through his hair, debating quickly whether to simply spill. He settled for giving a lackadaisical shrug. “Sure.”

  Carter tilted his head in the way that Max recognized. He was looking for a lie. “Well, you look good, dude. The West Virginia air is working its magic, huh?”

  Max coughed an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, look, what do you say we go and get some coffee?”

  “Food, too. I’m starving. Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “You drove?”

  “From the airport.” Carter grimaced at Max’s questioning frown. “Company private jet.”

  “Shit, man.”

  “I know,” Carter said with a shrug. “But it was that or drive for four hours and I need to head back tonight.”

  Max nodded as he grabbed his keys and wallet. “Flying visit then.”

  “Seems that way.” Carter walked out in front of Max and waited as he locked up. “So how are things?”

  Max pocketed his keys and walked shoulder to shoulder with Carter down the hallway toward the stairs of the boardinghouse. “I’m . . . okay.” Carter didn’t look convinced, lifting a curious eyebrow, which Max tried to ignore. “It’s nothing major. I’m just a fucking idiot.”

  Carter snorted. “That’s not news, man.”

  Max laughed as they reached the foot of the stairs and pulled the boardinghouse door open to let Carter through. A fast-moving body who exclaimed, “I’m so sorry,” careened into him.

  Max gripped soft arms, smelled cocoa butter, and immediately let go, stepping back. “Grace,” he blurted.

  Christ, it was just like the first time they’d met, she bumping into him, all nervous and flustered. Except now she didn’t look flustered. She looked tired and unhappy. She gazed up at him, her green eyes expectant, but Max had no words of comfort for her. H
e had no words at all. The silence in the small vestibule became suffocating, before she glanced over to Carter, who smiled and held out his hand.

  “I’ll introduce myself, shall I?” he said, knocking his shoulder against Max’s. “Carter.”

  They shook hands and Max watched a perfect smile crease Grace’s face.

  “Max’s best friend,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “None of it’s true,” Carter replied. “Well, some of it. Okay. Maybe all of it.”

  Grace gave a little laugh at the same time Max shifted on his feet. Carter looked back and forth between the two of them, noticing the tension. Jesus, Max could barely look at her. Not that he didn’t want to; she was gorgeous. But the shame that clutched his chest, along with something that was both heavy and foreign, kept his eyes stuck resolutely to the floor. He wanted nothing more than for that sucker to swallow him whole.

  “We’re just heading for a late lunch,” Carter added. “Do you wanna come?”

  Max threw him a look that would have rendered any other man dead on the spot. “No,” he said before Grace could answer. “She has stuff to do.” He finally looked at her. “Don’t you?”

  Guilt and frustration burned up his back when he saw the wounded flicker in her eyes. “Sure.” She took a deep breath and looked to Carter. “Sure. You two have fun. It was nice to meet you.” She pinned Max with a look that defied argument. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Max nodded. It wasn’t until the door closed behind her that he felt he could breathe.

  Carter whistled low. “Dude, what the fuck was that?”

  Max rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers. “I can’t— It’s not what you think. It’s not what it looks like.”

  Carter smirked, seeing through Max’s lie. “Really? Because from your face I think it’s exactly what it looks like.” He glanced toward the door as though he could still see Grace through it. “Why the hell haven’t you mentioned her before?”

  Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Max lifted his shoulders toward his ears, opening his mouth to say something, but nothing came. He exhaled on a growl and yanked the door open. “I’ll tell you everything over a strong coffee.”