He Came Back Running (Maya and Mason) novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

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Maya’s POV

I had come upstairs with the specific purpose of ending the evening… drawing a line under it, filing it, converting the accumulated weight of the past several hours into a manageable form that could be set aside until morning. The dinner. Richard’s voice in the corridor. The water on my dress. The doorway. The driveway

I changed out of my clothes, washed my face, sat on the edge of the bed.

Tried to think about the Rivaldi filing. The board resolution. The Calloway file still in my bag, still unopened, still waiting for the time and space it deserved.

Thought about the driveway instead….

I stepped back immediately.

I lay down.

Closed my eyes….

Told myself I was tired and the tiredness would do what tiredness did and the morning would be cleaner than tonight.

I rolled onto my side and hugged a pillow to my chest. This is fine, I told myself. Keep it light. Keep it surface. You’ve done it before. But the words tasted like ash. My mind kept replaying the way his hand had brushed mine by accident in the hallway last night, how he’d pulled back like I burned him.

A soft click…

The door opened.

I sat up fast. Alex stood there, shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. No knock. No warning. His eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry.

“Maya.” His voice was rough. “I can’t do this anymore.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Do what? Alex, you shouldn’t….”

He crossed the room in three strides, cupped my face, and kissed me like a man drowning. Hard. Urgent. No hesitation. His tongue pushed past my lips, tasting like mint and desperation. I froze for half a second, hands flat on his chest, ready to shove.

But then his fingers slid into my hair, tugging just right, and something inside me snapped.

I kissed him back.

Messy….

Angry.

Needy

All the walls I’d spent weeks rebuilding crumbled in seconds.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against my mouth, breath hot. “Say it”

I bit his lower lip instead. “Don’t you dare.”

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Clothes disappeared in a blur…. my tank top yanked over my head, his sweatpants kicked aside. His hands were everywhere, rough and sure. He pushed me back onto the bed, mouth trailing down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone. I arched into him, gasping.

“Alex…”

His fingers dipped between my legs, sliding through wetness I couldn’t hide. Two fingers pushed inside me, curling, stretching. I moaned loud, hips bucking.

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Been thinking about this too?”

“Shut up and do it”

He chuckled darkly, added a third finger, thumb circling my clit until my legs shook. The pressure built fast, too fast. I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging in.

Then he pulled his hand away. I whimpered at the loss.

He positioned himself between my thighs, cock thick and hard, pressing at my entrance. His eyes met mine— stormy, questioning for one heartbeat

I wrapped my legs around him. “Now.”

He thrust in deep. One smooth stroke, filling me completely. I cried out, half scream, half sob of pure pleasure. He groaned, forehead pressed to mine.

“God, Maya…” He started moving…. hard, relentless. Every thrust hit that spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. Made me forget the walls I had built, made me forget the reason why I built the walls in the first place. He dropped his head, caught my nipple between his teeth, biting just hard enough to sting sweet. I screamed again, back bowing off the bed as pleasure ripped through me.

“Yes…. fuck… Alex…”

He switched to the other nipple, sucking hard while pounding deeper. The bed creaked. My nails raked down his back. Everything narrowed to heat and friction and the sound of skin on skin. I was close, so close….

Everything stopped.

My eyes flew open. I was alone in my bed, sheets tangled around my legs, heart hammering like I’d run miles. Sweat slicked my skin. My core throbbed, aching and empty.

A dream….

Just a fucking dream…

I pressed a hand to my mouth, breathing hard through my fingers. The room looked exactly as it had…. same cracks in the ceiling, same dim morning light. But my body remembered every touch, every bite, every thrust. My nipples were tight, sensitive against the sheet. I could still taste him.

“Shit,” I whispered.

I pressed the back of my hand against my mouth.

Looked at the ceiling….

The room was empty.

Of course it was empty.

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I had asked him to give me space and he had given it to me, was giving it to me, was currently giving it to me so thoroughly that the house felt different without the specific ambient presence of him in it, which was a fact I had been refusing to name for three days…

The dream was not a mystery.

The dream was my own mind, doing what minds did when they had been given instructions that contradicted the available evidence….. producing the honest version in the only space where the honest version was permitted to

exist.

I sat up.

Put my feet on the floor.

Looked at the ring on my hand in the dark room

The question I had been circling since the bedroom floor at midnight… since the bar’s private hallway, since a restaurant table, since a harbour dock a decade ago…. sat in the room with me with the particular, patient quality of something that had been waiting and was not going to stop waiting.

Was I protecting myself?

Or was I punishing him for the crime of another?

The silence offered no answer.

Neither did the ceiling

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