Page 44 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
The logistics prove awkward—removing shoes and outerwear while avoiding eye contact. Max sits on the edge of the couch, unlacing his boots while I busy myself with the blankets, smoothing them unnecessarily.
"Should I—" He gestures vaguely at his jeans.
"Whatever's comfortable," I say too quickly, then add, "Within reason."
A smile tugs at his lips. "Within reason," he echoes, unbuckling his belt and slipping it through the loops with a soft hiss of leather. He leaves his jeans on.
Max lies down first, pressing his back against the cushions and stretching his long frame along the couch. He lifts the blanket, creating a space in front of him.
"Come here," he says softly, patting the narrow strip of couch before him.
I hesitate, suddenly shy despite everything we've already shared. With a deep breath, I extinguish all but one candle, casting the room in flickering amber light, and ease myself ontothe couch. Max's arm wraps around my waist, drawing me back against his chest, his body curving perfectly around mine.
"Comfortable?" he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
"No." Every nerve ending in my body is hyperaware of his proximity, his solid chest against my back, his thighs cradling mine.
"Neither am I." He laughs, but there's a strain in it. His body is rigid behind me, the hard outline of his arousal unmistakable against my lower back. "Truth is, I'm aching."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, guilt mingling with my own frustrated desire.
"Don't be." His voice is gentle but firm. "I meant what I said earlier. I want you to be certain. I can wait." His fingers find mine, intertwining over my stomach. "Just let me hold you tonight. That's enough."
The tension in his body eases gradually as his breathing slows. Mine follows suit, syncing with the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.
"Goodnight, Lily," he murmurs into my hair.
"Goodnight, Max."
Sleep is impossible with him so close, his body heat radiating across the small gap between us. I listen to his breathing, expecting it to deepen with sleep, but it remains as irregular as my own. Neither of us is unaffected by this forced proximity.
"Max?" My voice sounds loud in the quiet room.
"Hmm?"
"Why did you kiss me?"
A long pause follows. For a moment, I think he might pretend to be asleep.
"Because I haven't been able to think about anything else since I met you." His voice is low, honest in the darkness. "You're the most fascinating contradiction I've ever encountered."
"Contradiction?"
"Sophisticated coffee expertise with small-town simplicity. Technical knowledge hidden behind artisanal craftsmanship. Warmth and welcome for everyone except me, at least initially." I feel him shift slightly. "You're a puzzle I can't solve, and I find that... irresistible."
His admission settles in the space between us, too honest for comfort, too compelling to dismiss.
"Well, you did run into me and spill my latte art all over the floor," I say softly, grateful he can't see my face flush in the darkness. "But I'm slowly warming up to you now."
His arm tightens around me, just enough to notice. "Good," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a register that sends heat spiraling through me. The single word carries weight, promise, and just enough suggestion to make my pulse quicken.
His lips brush against my ear, his breath warm and controlled. "Now go to sleep, Lily," he commands, the authority in his voice unmistakable. "Before I forget I'm trying to be a gentleman."
My heart hammers against my ribs, the cadence of his words igniting something primal within me. It's not just the command itself, but the restraint behind it—the promise of what waits beyond his control. I remember his earlier words, the dark, delicious things he whispered he wanted to do to me. Not gentle, vanilla intimacy, but something else entirely—something that makes my skin flush and my breath catch.
I close my eyes, but sleep seems impossible now. My mind races with images of his hands pinning mine, his voice telling me exactly what he wants, what he expects. The promise of surrender, of being completely at his mercy while knowing I'm utterly safe.
His steady breathing eventually slows behind me, but my dreams, when they finally come, are anything but restful—filled with shadows and whispers and the exquisite tension of anticipation.
