“Yes, yes, yes,” she starts to chant and that right there adds fuel to my already blazing fire.

I start driving into Jules with an abandon I’ve never felt. I lurch into her body, possibly wanting to crawl all the way in and brand myself inside of her. Fuse us together.

Make what we have infinite.

I’m caught off guard when Jules’ pussy clamps down tight on me and her back bows clear off the bed. Her eyes squeeze tight and her teeth dig down into her lower lip and she orgasms so fucking beautifully that I’m completely enthralled.

And when her back relaxes and sinks back down to the mattress, she opens those eyes that are now brighter than ever . . . looking like the sun, and she whispers, “I love you” I feel those words all the way through to my balls and straight through to the end of my dick, which slams into her one more time before my entire body seizes up.

Extreme pleasure grabs ahold of me, and the most exquisite and explosive orgasm I’ve ever felt ricochets through me. A massive shudder quakes up my spine, ripples back down, and when Jules’ pussy contracts again on me, a second wave of pleasure hits me so hard, I pull my cock back involuntarily and slam it in again.

I feel myself shoot off again inside of her.

“Oh, fuck,” I groan as I pull her leg from my chest so I can drop down onto her, grinding the last of my orgasm out.

Causing her hand that’s caught in between us to press back against her clit, and she gives a cry as I feel her body shudder again. I lay there, still in her, completely on her, and wait for our bodies to quiet.

“Mother fucker,” I gasp as I move my forehead to rest against hers. “That was . . . that was fucking unbelievable.”

“I can’t even—” she says and then doesn’t say anything else because apparently she can’t even.

It takes every bit of strength I have to lift my head so I can look down at her. She smiles back up at me, her eyes now glowing softly with complete satisfaction.

“You know the bad part to what just happened, right?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

“You and I just set the bar incredibly high for ourselves,” I point out.

“I am quite sure we can outdo that,” she returns confidently.

I grin down at her. “I look forward to trying.”

“Me too,” she agrees.

Chapter 22

Jules

“Any idea if Max has a pie pan?” Marilyn Fournier asks me from across the island counter of Max’s kitchen.

I look up from the green bean casserole I’m putting together, the last item on my list of dishes I’m making for Thanksgiving. I nod toward the stacked set of cabinets beside his refrigerator. “Try in there.”

She turns and walks two steps to the cabinets, opens up the top set and hits pay dirt. “Hot damn,” she says as she reaches inside. “He actually has a pie dish.”

I laugh and return to my task, sprinkling french fried onions on the top of my casserole.

Max’s mother is nothing like I thought she’d be. When he told me she was a public speaking coach, I just assumed that meant she would be professionally sedate. Instead, she’s an absolute firecracker, and while I haven’t met his father because he’s at a medical conference, I totally see he gets his humor from his mom.

Marilyn’s just a tad shorter than I am with golden blond hair that’s worn a few inches above her shoulders in big barrel curls. Her face is so youthful, I can’t believe she has a twenty-seven-year-old son, and about the only thing that gives her away as a mom is that she does wear mom jeans that sit high on her slim waist.

I only met her yesterday but that was not the first time we’d talked. Max had put me on the phone with her the night he called to invite his parents in for Thanksgiving, and I was at an utter loss as to what to say. Turns out, Marilyn was chatty enough for the both of us and she was very excited for the opportunity to come see her son. Since that first talk, she continued to text me, including several times this week so we could iron out the Thanksgiving meal.

Marilyn is American so she’s all on board with the traditional turkey and side dishes, but she’s also making some classic French-Canadian dishes for Max and his brother Lucas, who should be arriving very soon from the airport. Max left to go pick him up about half an hour ago and he’s beyond excited. He’s super close to Lucas, and given that he’s just a short plane ride from New Jersey, he also jumped on the chance to come to Raleigh to see his mom and brother.

I am beyond excited as well, to get to know his family better. I’m not quite sure the extent of what Max has told them about me but they’ll figure it out soon enough.

Glancing into the den that bleeds right into the open air kitchen, I see the kids are still firmly rooted to the couches, watching The Incredibles. They’ve been angels today and I can’t decide if it’s because they’re in Max’s house for the first time or that they have sensed something’s changed between me and Max or even that they’re a little shy because of Marilyn being here, although she’s been quite engaging with them. Still, she’s an older authority figure and maybe that’s it.

“I’m going to make a tourtière for Max and Lucas,” Marilyn says. “It’s one of their favorite dishes.”

“What is it?” I ask companionably as I pull a piece of Saran Wrap off and cover the casserole. It won’t go into the oven for a few hours yet, once the turkey’s done.

“It’s a meat pie with ground beef and pork, sage, thyme, garlic, cloves. I’ll give you the recipe if you want and you can make it for Max.”

She smiles at me as she starts pulling items from the refrigerator. Marilyn had arrived last night, and first thing she did this morning was hit the grocery store so she could make her dishes, which include obviously the tourtière, but also sucre à la crème, a sweet, creamy treat the consistency of fudge, and pouding chômeur, which is a vanilla cake with maple syrup sauce.

Because it was me and Marilyn doing the cooking and because I had to work yesterday, I went with store-bought pies even though that brings me a little shame. Still, her homemade desserts will more than make up for it, and we’ll just have to suffer with Mrs. Smith’s pumpkin pies.

“So how’s the painting going?” Marilyn says as she moves to Max’s spice cabinet. I wet a washcloth and start to wipe down the counters. “Your work is just stunning.”