Luckiest Girl In The World – Preview
When Max found out that Kyla's summer plans had amounted to "I don't know, hang out in the city I guess, avoid Kate's constant questions, go back to being boring until school starts up", he had called her tragic and told her that instead she would be spending the summer with him, first in Monaco and then the Caribbean, wrapping it up with Labour Day in the Hamptons. It hadn't been a question, so she'd just nodded and let Luna take over her packing.
Now, a few weeks into the best and most torturous summer of her life, Kyla had found one glaring mistake in her plans. Instead of getting over her feelings for Max – the huge, embarrassing crush that she was determined not to have because Max Wolfe would never feel the same way about her – a summer of hot weather, skimpy clothing, and very close proximity had only made them that much stronger.
(AKA an excuse to write gratuitous smut that got out of hand, so for now have 2k of exposition leading into the first smut scene)
notes: rated T – suggestive but not graphic so read at your own discretion (lmk if I should add any warnings or change the rating); title comes from Pretty Woman: The Musical
Tag List: @airwolf92 – want to be added?
“I like being in our super secret bubble,” Kyla said, looking up at Max through dark lashes. “Even Gossip Girl doesn’t know where we are. It’s like... I don’t know, like we’re actually free.”
Max looked back at her, face as unreadable as ever. His cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol they’d been drinking, bringing out the blue of his eyes, and even the sticky humidity hadn’t been enough to destroy his artfully messy hair.
God, she could have stared at him forever. She probably would have, if he hadn’t pulled her out of her thoughts.
“I like it too,” he said. “There’s a freedom here that New York doesn’t have, even before Gossip Girl made a debut.”
It was the most open she’d ever seen him and it was magnetic. She couldn’t look away, could only gaze up at him with wide eyes, leaning just a bit closer —
DING
The elevator reached their floor, and Kyla jumped slightly. Max wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, the combination of alcohol and high heels still giving her difficulty, and she couldn’t help but shiver when his fingertips brushed lightly against the side of her breast.
He guided her down the hall to their suite, his hand burning on her bare skin in a way she knew that she would never be able to forget. Â
It’s not that Max was never sweet in New York — everyone knew just how charming Max Wolfe could be — but their trip had loosened him up and she would always love this beautiful country for giving her this side of him.
He unlocked their door, following her into the dimly lit living room. The suite was, in a word, ridiculous. In another word, extravagant. It took up two floors, each one with a bedroom, living room, and terrace, all glittering opulence and incredible seaside views. Max had told her, back on the first day, that it wasn’t actually the most expensive room in the hotel, but he’d insisted that the jacuzzi — the only thing lacking in the princely suite — was non-negotiable. And really, after weeks of spending her evenings sitting in that jacuzzi trying not to stare at Max, shirtless beside her, she could understand the appeal.
Max had claimed the lower floor for its large office, but spent most of his days working in the upper floor’s living room instead. Kyla liked it better that way, it meant that while she spent most of her time out on the terrace or in the pool, sunbathing or swimming or reading, she could look over at the wall-to-wall windows and see him glancing back at her. She always found herself thinking of Pretty Women, privately thinking of herself as the Vivian to Max’s Edward as she accompanied him on his trip, Max paying for almost an entirely new wardrobe and teaching her the ins and outs of high society. The prideful part of her hated the comparison, but another, secret, part of her almost envied Vivian — at least Edward had wanted her.
Kyla had promised herself that she would get over him. Being together all summer was supposed to officially cement him into the friends category, not add to her stupid, embarrassing crush. But day after day in the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, spending almost every waking hour together? It would have been torture no matter what. But in Monaco? Where they spent hours lounging by the pool, where she could watch water drip-drip-drip down the flat planes of his stomach? Where they spent half of their dinners at beautiful, expensive, intimate restaurants and the other half on their quiet, peaceful, isolated terrace? Where Max was bringing her to casinos and yachts and operas, dressing her to the nines and keeping an arm around her all night, showing her off like she was somehow impressive? Where he flew them to other European cities if Kyla so much as mentioned a passing interest, where he didn’t utter a single complaint when Kyla wanted to visit tourist attractions that he’d undoubtedly seen a hundred times?
Kyla had always known that Max Wolfe was nothing like any other boy she’d known, but Monaco had shown her a brand new side of him. A side that was, somehow, even more captivating than she could have imagined.
There had been a time, once, where she thought he might have wanted her. When she was first pulled into their group, unrecognizable even to herself as Luna and Monet dragged her into Dumbo Hall. She’d been in a short gold dress, almost the same shade as her hair, with gold Louboutin heels that she could hardly walk in. She’d stumbled as they entered, and Max had been by her side instantly to catch her. His arm around her waist, a suggestive smirk on his face, his interest had been obvious even before Monet had told him to “fuck the blushing virgin out of her.”
But nothing had ever come of it. He’d gotten her back to his place, pushing her against a few walls to make out along the way. But once his shirt was off and her dress was pooled around her feet, she froze. His gaze had been intense, heated in a way that she’d never experienced, and without even realizing it, she’d wrapped her arms back around herself and started to shut down.
To his credit, Max had been incredible. He’d immediately grabbed a robe for her, and another for himself, gently guiding her away from his bed and towards a couch instead. He’d told her that they didn’t have to fuck, he wasn’t into sleeping with anyone who wasn’t willing, and he’d have no problem lying to the girls to keep them off her back.
At the time, it had given him a certain Prince Charming allure, cementing his position as possibly the only person in the Upper East Side that she could actually trust. But as time went on, as she found herself more and more curious about the Max Wolfe Experience, as he never gave her another look, it had begun to sting. How was it that Max could be interested in every single person he met except for her? She hated to care so much about one boy’s opinion, but his lack of interest left her constantly doubting herself. Was she not attractive enough? Was she so undesirable that even the biggest playboy in the city didn’t want her? Or had her initial panic locked her into his mind as just a stupid little girl, someone he needed to babysit, not someone he’d want to fuck?
Usually, after a late night out, they would return to the upper living room together, where Kyla could kick off her heels and Max would remove his tie, sharing a bottle of champagne and a platter of chocolate covered strawberries, before eventually retiring to their respective rooms.
But as he closed the door behind them, Max looked down at her. There was something heavy in his gaze, something heady, intense in a way she’d never seen him. She stared back at him, barely breathing as she waited for — whatever was coming, she really didn’t know.
Kyla had no idea how much time passed, just staring at each other, breathing in each other’s air, chests rising and falling in sync; it might have been an hour, maybe only a minute. Then, Max brushed a finger beneath her chin, tilting it up ever so slightly, and pressed his lips to hers.
The world vanished in a primal haze. All Kyla could do was melt into his touch, gasping softly when he slid his tongue into her mouth, parting her lips and letting him take whatever he wanted.
That seemed to encourage him. He fisted her hair, tugging gently, tipping her head back to bare the soft flesh of her neck, and trailed bruising kisses down, down, down to her collarbone — teeth grazing her skin, sending a jolt of heat through her body. As he did, his other hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, slipping beneath the fabric of her backless dress.
She was on fire, burn-burn-burning under his ministrations. Every touch felt like white hot needles pressed against her sensitive skin, too much and not nearly enough. He moved down to the jut her collarbone and Kyla finally came to her senses enough to move, tangling a hand in his hair, the other finding a place on his chest, curling into a fist around the fabric of his shirt.
“Max,” she whined when he pulled back, humming contentedly when he pressed another kiss to her swollen lips.
“Bedroom,” he said, voice rough in a way that made her knees shake.
She stumbled, catching herself with one hand on the wall and the other still gripping his shirt.
Max smirked at that, the same smug smirk that had always made her feel like a particularly cute pet, equal parts hot and condescending. But where it usually left her frustrated, irritated and wanting to prove herself, this time it only added to the heat in her belly. And this time, she could use her hold on his shirt to tug him down and kiss it right off of him.
When she pulled back, it was her turn to smirk at the look of shock on his face.
“Menace.”
“What are you going to do about it?” she retorted.
It was the wrong — or very right, really — thing to say, and before she could quite realize what was happening, he’d lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, certain that the heels of her shoes had to be digging into his back, but he didn’t seem bothered as he carried her down the hall towards his bedroom.
Kyla hadn’t known that he was that strong, but god, if it wasn’t doing something to her. She definitely wouldn’t be forgetting how it felt, his arms wound firmly around her and his abs flexing against her stomach. With Max focused on opening the door, Kyla dropped her head down to latch onto the crook of his neck; if he could cover her in bite marks, she could give him one too.
He groaned, and Kyla could feel the vibration all the way through her body. She tightened her legs around his waist, punctuating the hickey with another bite.
He set her down on the edge of the bed, standing in between her legs.
“Menace,” he repeated.
Kyla smiled up at him innocently, before taking advantage of his tie to pull him down for another kiss. He was quick to reclaim control — really, Kyla could definitely have predicted that Max Wolfe would be the type to take charge in bed — and she was happy to let him. Â
Max pulled back first, silk tie slipping through Kyla’s fingers as he did. She sat, frozen, watching him. Was he about to leave? Going to call it a mistake, call it a night, pretend it never happened? Had she been an idiot for ever thinking—
Oh. Oh. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed him unbuttoning his shirt until it was hitting the floor along with his blazer and the oh-so-tempting tie.
She had seen Max shirtless before. Several times. When she’d crash with him after parties, when they’d all spent New Year’s in Hudson, and every single day since they’d landed in Monaco. Safe to say, she was familiar with the view.
But she’d never been able to appreciate it before, not really. She’d never been able to just look, to stare unapologetically at the flat planes of pale skin, or to touch, to reach out and trace her finger over the faint lines of muscle, to place her palm flat on his stomach, sliding it up-up-up over his chest until she could feel his heart beating fast against her hand. She could feel his nipple stiffen under her hand, and couldn’t resist the urge to tweak it lightly.
He gasped.