11. Sylvie

Chapter eleven

Sylvie

A nd just what the hell did that mean?

My wolf rubbed up against my skin. She had no problem with Maxwell chasing us. Nope. None at all. The little traitor. She remembered the way he’d looked at us that night in Portland, like we were something precious and wild and worth protecting. Not like Levi and his crew, who’d looked at me like I was just Grace’s kid sister, someone to be used and discarded.

Maxwell’s scent was overwhelming, filling up the kitchen with memories I’d tried so hard to forget. That night in Portland. The way his hands had felt, calloused but gentle, so different from the rough handling I’d grown used to in the gang. The freedom I’d found writhing underneath him before everything fell apart. For those few hours, I’d remembered what it felt like to be me again. Not Grace’s shadow, not the gang’s punching bag, just … Sylvie.

His arm brushed mine, and electricity shot through me. I missed who I used to be, missed the carefree me, the one before Levi had come into our lives, the one who hadn’t been afraid to take chances. Who danced on top of bars and raced motorcycles through thunderstorms, laughing as the rain soaked through her clothes. The one who’d dreamed of opening a bakery with her sister before Grace discovered that power tasted sweeter than any dessert we could make.

My wolf was restless, pacing beneath my skin. She remembered, too. Remembered the way Maxwell had made us feel—alive, wild, free. The way he’d traced the scar on my shoulder with such tenderness, not asking about its origin but somehow understanding. The way he’d held me after, like I was something worth keeping.

I lowered my eyes to the mugs in front of me, focusing on the simple task of measuring coffee grounds. Like I had every morning for the past two years. Safe. Predictable. The complete opposite of the girl who used to spend her weekends helping Grace plan heists, heart racing with equal parts thrill and terror.

No. I couldn’t go there. I had built a life here. A quiet, safe life. The Three Rivers Pack had given me sanctuary when I needed it most, asking no questions about my past. Here, I could hide in plain sight, could pretend to be nothing more than the shy housekeeper who baked cookies and kept to herself.

Boring , my wolf whispered. Empty .

“Sylvie.” Maxwell’s voice was low, rough. “Look at me.”

I kept my eyes down, focusing on the coffee grounds like they held the secrets to the universe. The last time I’d looked into those eyes, I’d spilled all my secrets. Told him everything about Grace’s plans, about the upcoming heist, about the innocent people who were going to get hurt. One look from him and I’d betrayed my own sister, my Pack.

“Why did you run? At least tell me that. Help me understand.”

Nope. That was definitely not happening. There was no way I could tell him that the night we spent together had changed my life. After two years as part of the biker Pack, after Levi and Grace had killed the Alphas and taken over after it became clear that Grace only wanted power and more power, and didn’t give a shit how she got it or who she trampled over to get it, Maxwell had shown me kindness and tenderness and given me the best, most mind-blowing sex I’ve ever had. He’d shown me a glimpse of what life could be like when people cared about each other and weren’t just looking out for themselves.

I’d made the decision there and then that I’d tell him anything he wanted to know, anything to stop what my Pack was doing. I couldn’t tell him about the next morning, about my last meeting with Grace, or what Levi had done. About them realizing that I had betrayed them in the worst way. No, Maxwell was too good for me. I could never pollute him with the person I was. I was someone who’d done things she was deeply ashamed of, had had things done to her, who’d betrayed her own Pack, her own sister. I wasn’t the sort of person who deserved to be loved after that. And anyone around me would be tarred with the same stigma. I could never do that to him.

“Look at me, Sylvie.”

I couldn’t. Because if I looked at him, if I let myself remember that night fully, I’d do something stupid. Like kiss him. Just one more time. To give me one more good memory to help me through the hard nights. Or maybe I’d take Wally’s advice and drag Maxwell into the pantry and …

Oh.

The thought hit me like lightning, sharp and electric. My wolf perked up, interested. The pantry was right there. It locked from the inside. And Maxwell … Maxwell was looking at me like he wanted to devour me whole. Like he had that night in Portland when he’d made me forget everything but the feel of his hands on my skin.

What was stopping me? Really? The carefully constructed walls I’d built? The safe, predictable routine I’d hidden behind? The fear that one taste of freedom would make me crave more?

Goddess, I was so tired of being safe. I wanted to be that wild, free spirit again. Just one more time. I wanted to be the girl who’d laughed without fear, who’d believed in the possibility of happiness. I didn’t want to be the reliable, shy housekeeper. I wanted to throw caution to the wind …

Before I could think too hard about it, I grabbed Maxwell’s wrist and yanked him toward the pantry. His eyes widened in surprise, but he followed, a cocky grin spreading across his face as I pulled him inside and clicked the lock.

“Well, well,” he murmured, backing me against the shelves. “There she is. The girl I remember.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He laughed, soft and deep, but then his mouth was on mine, and I wasn’t thinking about anything anymore. Just the taste of him, the feel of his hands sliding under my shirt, the way my wolf howled in triumph as we finally, finally got what we’d been craving for five long years.

A bag of flour tumbled down somewhere to our left, but I didn’t care. “Fuck, babe,” Maxwell growled as I worked at his belt. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.”

“Less talking,” I demanded, shoving his jeans down his hips. “More touching.”

His laugh turned into a groan as I wrapped my hand around him. “Yes, ma’am.”

For the first time in years, I felt alive. Wild. Free. Like the girl I used to be before everything went wrong. Maxwell’s hands were everywhere, and I wanted more. Needed more.

He seemed to read my mind, yanking off my jeans and panties and lifting me easily. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he pressed me harder against the shelves. Something else fell— cinnamon and the dried orange by the smell—the clash of spice in the air making everything more intense.

The shelf behind me dug into my back, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was him—his touch, his scent, the way his body fit perfectly against mine.

“Now,” I breathed against his mouth. “Please, now.”

His hands slid up my thighs, gripping them tightly as he ground against me. I could feel him, hard and ready, and it sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine. My wolf growled low in my chest, eager and impatient. She wanted this as much as I did.

“Max,” I gasped, tearing my mouth away from his. “Please—“

He understood my plea, reaching between us. His fingers brushed against my sensitive flesh, and I jolted at the contact, a soft whimper escaping my lips. He chuckled, the sound low and husky, before positioning himself at my entrance.

Then, with one swift thrust, he was inside me.

I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. Each thrust was deep and powerful, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me.

The shelves dug into my back, and the scent of spices filled the air, but all I could focus on was Maxwell. The feel of him, the taste of him, the sounds he made as we chased our release. This was reckless and wild, and I loved every second of it.

His mouth found my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he pounded into me. I could feel my climax building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my core. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, and my heart beat wildly in my chest. He was relentless, holding me up as his cock filled me completely with each stroke.

“Close,” I managed to choke out, my voice barely more than a whimper. “So close—“

Maxwell increased his pace. The world around me blurred, the pleasure overwhelming and all-consuming. Then, with one final thrust, I shattered. The orgasm ripped through me, intense and explosive. I cried out, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me. Maxwell followed me over the edge, his body shuddering as he found his own release.

We clung to each other, our breaths coming in ragged gasps as we rode out the aftershocks. Max pressed his forehead to mine. “Don’t you dare run from me again,” he whispered.

Reality crashed back in. Oh, the ever-loving Goddess. I’d just had sex in the pantry! With Maxwell Bishop. While there was a house full of werewolves with enhanced hearing just rooms away.

“Sylvie.” Maxwell’s voice was firm. “I can hear you panicking. Stop it.”

“I just … I don’t usually … this isn’t—“

“Don’t even try it. This is exactly who you are,” he cut me off. “Brave enough to take what you want.” He kissed me softly. “And I’m not letting you hide from it anymore.”

“Max …”

“I’m coming back for you. When this is all over, I’m coming back. And I’m going to court you properly this time. Take you on real dates. Show you that you don’t have to hide who you are anymore.”

My heart stuttered. “I don’t know if I can—“

“You can. You will.” He smiled, that dangerous, beautiful smile that had first caught my attention in that dive bar. “Because you’re not just the quiet housekeeper, Sylvie. You’re the woman who danced on a tabletop with me till midnight. Who takes chances. Who saves lives.” He kissed me again, deep and thorough. “And I’m going to remind you of that every chance I get.”

He stepped back, helping me straighten my clothes. Just before he opened the door, he turned back to me.

“And Sylvie? Next time we do this? It won’t be in a pantry.”

He slipped out, leaving me standing there with swollen lips and a racing heart.

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the wild beat there. This was crazy. This wasn’t my life now, wasn’t who I was anymore. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that for the first time in years, maybe—just maybe—I could be that girl again. The one who wasn’t afraid to live.