Officer Max

by Abby Knox

  He lets go of my hand. At first I think I said something wrong, but that’s not the case. Instead I feel his arm wrap around my waist, pulling me in closer, flat up against his body.

  “Oh,” I gasp.

  “This OK?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Can I touch your hair?”

  The question squeezes my heart. “Yes, I’d love that.”

  Max pets my hair, sending wave after wave of pleasurable sparks through my scalp, down my neck and lower. I feel like I’m floating. My arms and legs relax while other muscles contract in pleasure and anticipation.

  My hand that is still on his chest begins to travel upwards, across his shoulder, up his neck. My fingers swipe gently up his jawline, along the shell of his ear and up to his forehead. Max’s eyelashes flutter against my wrist while I trace massaging circles to his brow. “Wow, that feels good,” he says.

  I open my mouth to respond, but I’m struck speechless when I feel his lips against the tender skin on the inside of my forearm. The kiss is soft and long, his hand moving from my hair to hold my arm against his lips. It’s such an intimate place to kiss me. No one has ever done that before.

  “Max,” I say.

  “I’m sorry, should I not have—”

  “No,” I interrupt, “it’s lovely. I was just surprised.”

  He places that hand on his chest and pulls me in close with both of his massive arms. I feel like I’m surrounded by a fortress.

  “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop, but I really want to kiss your shoulders.” His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

  This is a man who needs to be touched. And damn if I’m not going to be the one to scratch that itch.

  “Well,” I say, “I can’t have you stretching out the neckline of my pajamas. Here, help me get this shirt off.”

  Max puts just enough distance between us so we can use all four hands to get rid of the pajama shirt I’m wearing.

  “Thank you. Thank you, Valerie.”

  Chapter Eight

  Max

  Any man as starved for touch as I am would go straight for her bare breasts. And I know they are stunning and waiting to be touched. But all I want to do is hold her tight to me and kiss the places I’ve been thinking about kissing over the past few days. Her bare shoulders, her collarbones and the small hollow in between, up one side of her neck and back down the other.

  Val’s soft moans are getting me harder and harder as I worship her skin. If she wanted me to stop I would have to find the strength within me to stop, but fuck I’m so glad I don’t. Kissing her feels like the sweetest treat, and I haven’t even reached her lips yet.

  But I’m not in a hurry. All I want to do is touch her, feel her, kiss her and make her feel safe and protected in my arms.

  If I can manage that, then that’s enough to satisfy me. Then I’ll consider it part of my job. Not officially, but an extension. An extra perk, if I dare think of it that way.

  Our mouths come together slowly but deliciously, like the first taste of honey on warm toast on a cold morning. Her full lips kiss me back when I kiss her. Her arms wrap around my chest and she pulls herself closer as we take the kiss deeper, longer.

  She may be reserved in person, but wrapped up in my arms, in the dark, she comes to life. Her audible sighs intoxicate me along with the taste of her mouth. She does not hold back expressing her pleasure.

  When I dare to nudge her lips apart, she accepts my tongue straight away, no hesitation.

  I could be wrong but she might be as desperate for human touch as I am. Her mouth tastes like I thought it would but even better. Like home. Like something I’ve been missing all my life.

  We keep kissing in a blissful haze for a long time, until her hands at my back begin to grip. I feel an erotic scrape of her nails back there and it kicks my need up a notch.

  “Hmm. What’s going on, Val?”

  She doesn’t answer at first, but rather moans into my mouth—a sound that has changed from pleasure to need. Her kisses grow more urgent.

  And parts of me grow along with them.

  “If you don’t have the words to tell me, then show me,” I whisper.

  I move to let her slip her hand away from my back and take one of mine. She places my palm over her breast and guides me to squeeze it. My heart is now hammering in my chest. The softness of her breasts under my hands is otherworldly. I don’t know why any woman would want my big ol’ rough mitts all over that perfect softness, but she likes it. Her moans increase and she arches her back.

  She asks the question at the same time she cups my balls and squeezes. “Can I? Please?”

  I swear to god if she says please one more time I will nut everywhere this second. “Yeah, sweetheart. Rub it. Touch it. Jerk it. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  “It’s just been so long, I think I’m going mad.”

  “I’m right there with you, honey.”

  “Don’t call me honey, I might die of happiness.”

  “Don’t talk about rubbing my dick, just do it.”

  Val squeezes my hard length over the top of my pajama bottoms while I’m attending to her breasts with both hands and my eager, hungry mouth. My rough thumb teases both her nipples into taut peaks. As I do so, I think I sense the temperature of her lips against mine grow hotter.

  I cover each breast with tender kisses then circle each nipple with my tongue. It does something to her because she pushes me onto my back and slides her hand down my pants. Now there’s no more barrier between her hand and my cock. Her hands are cool and small, but firm. They know exactly what they want.

  “That’s it. Squeeze me. Fuck, that’s so good,” I say.

  Val squeezes and strokes me up and down while my face basks against the jostling of her tits, her sweet nipples, my hands dipping back to cup her ass. Over her pajama pants I slide my hand to the split of her ass, and once more she is lifted to a higher plane of arousal on a louder moan.

  My body wants more. More skin against skin. More everything. “Here,” I grunt, tugging up my tee shirt. Her free hand glides over the fuzzy skin on my stomach and chest.

  “Big yummy gorilla.”

  A laugh escapes me before I can control it. Her hand pauses pumping my dick.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that. It just fell out…”

  I shush her mouth with mine then say, “Baby, I thought it was cute. I’m just glad you don’t mind touching this big hairy beast.”

  Relieved, we resume kissing and petting in our delightfully disheveled, half-dressed state. I only pout for a second when she lets go of my dick to pull down her pajama bottoms. “Feel me, Max. Find it and feel it.”

  I smile and kiss her teasingly on her mouth. “By ‘find it’ you mean…”

  She growls into my mouth and her sexy voice creaks with lust. “You know exactly what I mean.”

  I laugh and nip her earlobe. “I got you.” My hand dips low and keeps going lower until I find her sensitive folds. Her entire body jerks when my fingers find her clit. “Oh god,” she says on a breathless whimper. My fingers explore her wetness, painting her lips with it, soaking themselves in her juice, penetrating her opening. She’s warm and wet and everything feels like it’s been waiting, preparing just for me.

  Her hands go back to grasping my cock, and she pumps it. Hard. I’m nearly blind with ecstasy between her touches and my massages between her legs. I want to taste her so fucking much.

  “You ready to come, sweetheart?”

  “I’ve never come from a man’s touch before.”

  I pause for a moment and look into her eyes, shining in the dark. “If you want to come, I’m gonna make it happen for you.”

  She arches her back close to me and whispers, “Then show me what you can do.”

  The nudges, swirls, and plunges of my fingers have her built up even beyond where I’m at, although I’m awful close.

  The rapid panting, writhing and kissing fill me with a greedines
s I’ve never felt before. Greedy but also like I want to give her the world.

  God, her hands, her body, her kisses feel so incredible that if she wanted me to stop right now I’d be so high from her touch that I could go and build her a house with my bare hands.

  That’s it, champ. Think about hitting your thumb with a hammer and get your shit under control. No way am I going to come first. That would just be rude.

  I swipe at her tight little clit, alternating with deep dives of two soaked fingers into her tight little hole. I keep this up until she writhes, so lost in the moment she lets go of my rod, falls off of me and lands back against the pillows. I begin a consistent rhythm, rubbing my thumb against her clit while keeping my two digits buried in her channel.

  The orgasm slams into her; she releases a stream of curses as the muscles of her pussy bear down on my fingers. The hot squirting into my hand is exquisite. I grip her close, feeling the need to hold her as her aftershocks barrel through her.

  But no, she chooses to ride them out with her hands pumping me again, this time harder, faster.

  It’s so good that my irrational brain thinks I might go blind from too much pleasure. I barely notice when she pushes me onto my back again. Then to my shock, she pauses, wipes her juices off my hands and then uses that to lubricate my junk.

  Holy shit. I feel like I just struck gold. Gorgeous, kind, talented, funny and dirty? I must be dreaming.

  The pumping combined with her full-body quivering is more than I can take and I feel it’s necessary to give her fair warning.

  “Baby, I’m gonna come. Really hard.”

  “Here,” she says. I don’t know what she’s trying to show me because I’m thrusting like mad into her hand, my whole body getting into it, the bed creaking like a son of a bitch. I’m so close. So fucking close. The precum is long past, it’s now time to jet.

  And then I feel it. Something soft and silky over my dick. She’s pumping me with…gloves? What?

  “Honey, what is that.”

  “My undies. I wrapped my panties around my hand so you can come in them.”

  The knowledge that this idea came from her head is all it takes to send me into orbit, and I let loose.

  “Fuck!” I shout, roaring out my orgasm.

  Val’s sweet, strong hand generously continues to pump until she milks out every last drop into those panties.

  Talking is a struggle. “Holy…holy shit, honey.”

  Her tiny body latches on to me, wrapping her arms and legs around me like a spider monkey.

  “If you think that was good, just wait until you try my blueberry pancakes in the morning.”

  I have no energy left to ask if blueberry pancakes is a euphemism for something else dirty she’d like to get up to.

  Chapter Nine

  Val

  I have to call Millie.

  I wait until I know it’s time for Emily to go to school before I pick up the phone, because we have some serious things to discuss.

  “First of all, how is this man not married with twelve kids by now?”

  “Excuse me? We are talking about my brother Max, right? The same butthead who nearly broke my husband’s back when he came to rescue me the night I got attacked at Southfield Mall?”

  “Yes, that’s the one. I did his star chart and it is…whoa, sister.”

  There’s a pause and I can practically hear Millie smiling even though she’s not saying anything.

  “What?” I persist.

  “You did Max’s star chart? That’s so cute!”

  “I did yours and Dave’s for your anniversary, remember? And I did Emily’s when she was born. It’s not a big deal, I do them all the time.”

  Millie squeaks. “It is a big deal; it’s my brother and he doesn’t go in for zodiacs and star charts or any of that, normally. If he went along with it, that means he really likes you.”

  I bite my lip. “Yeah. I know.”

  “Listen,” Millie says. “Be aware. He’s a bit overprotective. But don’t let that scare you. He’s nothing like Ross. Max is the real deal. Just promise me one thing.”

  Smiling, I ask her what that might be.

  “Let me know when you get pregnant so we can raise another set of playmates together.”

  Chapter Ten

  Max

  In the morning, I wake up with an aching back, but I don’t mind, because the whole apartment smells like blueberry pancakes and bacon and fresh coffee.

  I barely remember leaving Val’s bed in the early morning, but it makes sense that she would have shoved me onto the couch at some point; she would not want Shane asking questions about the man in mommy’s bed. Although my arms miss holding her, I completely understand.

  My spidey sense picks up another presence in the room. My eyes remain closed, but someone is definitely staring at me. A small figure with little feet that scuttle excitedly around the room like a squirrel.

  I lie still a minute and listen to the chatter in the kitchen.

  Shane’s sleepy morning voice asks, “Mommy, who is that man on the couch?” His dad must have dropped him off in a hurry as soon as the kid woke up.

  “Uh, oh, listen, honey, come on into the kitchen and have your breakfast.” Val’s voice is breezy.

  I hear the kid pad around the kitchen. A water dispenser hums. “But, Mommy, why is that man here?”

  “Uhm, well, he…he’s a friend of Mommy’s and we were talking really late last night and he fell asleep, so I let him sleep. Does that make sense?”

  I smirk to myself and open one eye, watching the popcorn ceiling while I listen.

  “Does that make him your boyfriend?”

  The sound of Val nearly spitting out her coffee almost has me in stitches. She opened herself up for that. I know she didn’t want to scare the kid by telling him the real reason I’m here. But still, this is cracking me up.

  “No, I don’t think … well, no, honey,” she says.

  “Oh. Well, could you make him your boyfriend? Georgia at daycare asked me to be her boyfriend at school and I said yes. So it’s pretty easy to do. If you want.”

  Val chuckles. “You’re too young to have girlfriends.”

  “Oh. So I have to break up with them?”

  I hear the scrape of plates being set out on the table and silverware drawers opening and shutting.

  “Them? Plural? What’s going on?”

  “Well, Emily said I was her boyfriend. And then Jordan too.”

  “Oh my, how are you even hearing about boyfriends and girlfriends? Disney Channel is banned. I always knew those kids were all brats.”

  I’m biting my lip so hard now, I might split it open.

  Chapter Eleven

  Val

  Max is pretending to still be asleep, but I let him off the hook.

  It’s kind of cute, I think to myself as I flip a blueberry pancake and add it to the stack that’s building up on the platter on the breakfast island. I checked on him a minute ago to bring him some coffee, and his eyes were closed but he had this goofy grin on his face.

  Whatever. I get it. Shane is pretty cute to listen to sometimes.

  I pour another helping of batter onto the griddle and sip my coffee, listening to Shane talk about which would win a fight, Captain America or a T-Rex.

  “Good morning.” I startle at the sound of a man’s voice in my kitchen. Max had approached me without me noticing while my back to the great room.

  I spin around and pour him a cup of coffee and hold it out to him. He takes it with a grateful nod.

  “Cream or sugar? Right over there.” I point to the containers on the counter.

  “Thanks,” he says, and loads up his coffee with about three heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

  “I made pancakes and bacon,” I say when I turn back to the griddle.

  “Thanks, it smells amazing,” he says.

  Moments later when I’m finished at the griddle, I turn and get a view that squeezes my heart even though it shouldn’t. Shan
e is at one end of the table, his short legs swinging back and forth under his chair because he’s now too tall for booster seats, or so he insists. He’s doing his best to cut up his pancakes the way that I do with a knife and fork.

  Max is wolfing down his bacon and making unconscious yum-yum noises. “Your mom is a good cook, but you probably know that,” Max says.

  Shane lifts one shoulder. “She’s pretty good.”

  Typical honesty. He doesn’t like it when I cook Brussels sprouts, even though I make them extra tasty with balsamic and honey.

  But that’s OK. He’s four.

  “Her pancakes are good. She makes really good spaghetti and meatballs.”

  Max lifts his eyebrows at me in curiosity. “I like homemade meatballs.” Something in the way he says it sounds like flirting.

  I slide into my chair and watch him over the rim of my mug while I sip my coffee. “Sounds like you’re fishing for an invite to dinner as well as breakfast,” I say.

  He smiles. “I don’t care for fishing. As you know, I straight up ask for what I want.”

  I feel guilty about the heat that’s growing in my belly when he looks at me like that. I don’t want Shane to think we’re a couple unless this is a real thing. And yet, when he looks at me like that, my skin feels hot and my head goes cloudy.

  When he finishes his breakfast, Max leans back in his chair, pushing his plate away and rubbing his slightly soft belly, which makes me smile.

  “I already have a dad bod, I should probably have some kids to justify it,” he says with a chuckle.

  I grin at him. “Don’t even pretend you have a dad bod, for real.”

  My eyes take a trip from one shoulder to the other, taking in the broadness that doesn’t just come with a large frame—which he’s got in spades—but from a lot of time spent in the weight room at the station. I can only imagine what size of kevlar vest they had to order to fit over those pecs. True, his belly is soft but only a little. And it wouldn’t matter if he was soft all over from head to toe. This man is a kind, protective, oversized teddy bear and he’s going to make some lady very, very happy one day.