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My orgasm must trigger his own because he speeds his thrusts and grips my skin like he can’t hold on well enough. “Ava,” he whispers into my ear, his jaw stubble tickling my skin.
“Come for me, Maddox. Hard,” I urge, my voice begging as I lick his shoulder, doing everything to help his pleasure along.
“Want me to pull out?”
“I’m on the pill.”
He thrusts harder, gripping my hips so that he’s buried inside of me. He sighs the most delicious sound I’ve ever heard a man make before he buries his face in my hair and says my first name one last time.
You’re a What?
Maddoxisalreadyoutof his sleeping bag, and his arms are behind his back, working a runner stretch as he faces the sunrise. “Morning, Calvert,” he says, and his breath clouds in the cool air.
“Why are you a morning person?” I ask, trying to move.
“I always have been. Make hay while the sun shines, I always say.”
“You probably do a lot of early mornings as a fisherman, I guess.”
He stops stretching and straightens. A cloud passes over his eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something, bites his lip, and blows out a breath. “Yep. Fish don’t wait for anyone.”
That was weird.
“Ready for breakfast?” he asks, clapping his hands together. “We can hit the café again before heading to the bus station to get back to Alice Springs.”
“Fine, but I’m buying. I insist.”
He shrugs and smiles, but he walks closer to me. Stalks, really. Like a panther. My hands slide down his chest as soon as he’s a few inches from me, and he presses his nose to mine. “I haven’t had a night like that in a long time, Calvert.” He pauses and kisses me gently on the tip of my nose. “Actually, I can’t ever remember a night like that. What have you done to me?”
“I’m not doing anything to you until I brush my teeth and shower, Brewster.”
He laughs, spins me around, and smacks me on my butt as I huff off to the campsite shower area to wash my face, use a real toilet, brush my teeth, and clean the sweat and his scent from my skin.
I smile to myself as I think about Maddox. I can’t remember a night like that with anyone, either. What hashedone tome? As scary as it is, I’m thinking picket fence fantasies and wondering how I can learn to fish so I can fish with him. My dad showed us all how to bait a hook, but I was a kid the last time I fished. Ryan fishes, but I don’t see my little brother often enough to get a refresher lesson. Maybe I can get him to come to Chicago and do some Lake Michigan fishing to show me the basics so I don’t make an ass of myself.
I finish my business, grab my luggage, and meet Maddox in the café at the front of the line. I hip bump him and run my hand up his back, leaving my hand at the nape of his neck. Just the warmth of his skin makes me smile, and I smile bigger when he snakes his arm around my waist as we wait. It’s like we’re a real couple, something I haven’t had in years. Even though he lives in in Alaska, I’m going to enjoy this closeness to him while I have it.
And I feel so close to him. I could tuck my head into the place on his chest that seems carved out just for me and rest my head on it every night if the stars aligned and the universe made it possible.
He’s just…right.
“My word,” a voice says behind me. “Is that Maddox Brewster with a woman?”
What the fuck?
I turn around and find a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a polka dot shawl draped around her shoulder. Her eyes are wide behind pink glasses, and she’s holding up a phone, obviously recording Maddox and me. “What the heck?” I mumble. Why is this woman recording us? “Maddox, do you know this woman?”
Maddox stares at the woman and shakes his head. He reaches out and puts his hand over the camera. “Ma’am, if you’d be so kind to lower the camera, I’d be appreciative.”
She stops recording, and her mouth lolls open like she just met an A-list movie star. Maddox is a fisherman, though. Why would anyone be fascinated so much with a fisherman? People don’t go around recording fishermen. Then again, maybe they’re big shit in Alaska.
“I’m sorry,” the woman finally says, shaking her head. “My friends would never believe it if I didn’t at least get a picture.” She leans forward like she’s conspiring with Maddox and whispers. “I get it. You want to fly under the radar in a foreign country. Probably came here to get away, huh?” She buttons her lip like she’ll keep a secret. “It’s just so nice to meet you. I mean, what are the odds of running into a Juneau Brewster so far from home.”
Maddox waves his hand like he wants her to shut up, but he doesn’t look around the café. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye like he doesn’t want the woman to talk to me.
“Maddox,” I squeak, “what is she talking about? Who is this woman, and why does she want to take your picture? How does she know who you are?”
The woman looks at me and back to Maddox like she’s confused. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You are Maddox Brewster, right? Not a long-lost cousin that looks like him or something?”
