Nicola reached for the button on his jeans and popped it open. "No . . . " She slid down his zipper. " . . . regrets." Sticking her hands under his waistband, she squeezed his ass then pulled the pants low, kicking his clothes the rest of the way off with her feet until boxers and jeans were shed, until Max lay above her in nothing but his golden skin.
She stretched, pressing her body against his, tracing her hands all over his warmth, into his hair, over his cheek and mouth. He kissed her fingers and nibbled her neck. His cock nudged insistently at her pussy where all the layers of her clothing still separated them.
"This isn't fair." He smoothed his hands up her ribcage to cup her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples again and again, centering her pleasure to those two small spots.
She bent like a bow to his touch, and restrained a moan. "You're my groupie for the night. Remember?" Her bones went liquid as his hands traced over her body, over her breasts and ribs, massaging her legs. "I'm taking advantage of you." She gasped as his hand slid up her calf to settle between her legs. He cupped her sex, pressing his thumb against her clit through her underwear.
He was warm everywhere and firm. Chiseled perfection. But his mouth was soft, tender against her lips and neck. He was perfect. Exactly what she needed. Everything she wanted.
"Don't you think," he said and bit at her neck even as his hand rubbed against her clit, "you might want to lose some clothes here, Nic?"
She writhed under him and her elbows dragged over the carpet beneath them. "If I'm getting naked we're taking this to the bed. I don't need rug burn on my ass."
"Fair enough." Max scooped her into his arms and dropped her onto the queen bed. She bounced into its softness, the blankets and throw pillows flying around her. Luxuriating among the scattered bedding, she admired Max. He was perfect. Like an exquisite statue come to life, except Max was warm flesh and soft hair and laughing blue eyes staring at her as they made love.
He came to her, sinking one knee into the mattress, his cock like iron as it thrust from his hips. He peeled her out of her clothes, smoothing his hands over her skin as he bared each inch of it. He was careful, watchful, as if he were savoring every distinct moment, storing the images up. He bent and sucked her nipple into his mouth, lashing it tenderly with his tongue. She cried out, shuddering at the delicious friction. He eased away, licking down her body until he was kissing her navel. She fisted her hands in his hair, letting the silky gold slide through her fingers. He eased her backwards onto the bed and skinned her pants off her hips so she lay totally naked under him.
Working his way south, he kissed her hipbone then the inside of her thighs, his lips a delicious tickle over her skin, his beard soft and foreign, a tantalizing caress across her most sensitive areas. Cupping her bottom, he spread her legs, his fingers digging into her ass cheeks, then he licked inside her. She practically rocketed off the bed as soon as his mouth laved over the sensitive flesh there. "Oh fuck. Max." She groaned it out, making his name into two ecstatic, disbelieving syllables.
He pressed his tongue against her, his movements skillful, firm – which wasn't nearly enthusiastic enough as a description to convey the head-bangingly glorious sensation of his mouth dipping and nibbling and licking at her. She writhed in his hold and combed her fingers into his hair, holding on as he lapped at her. He stuck one finger into her, then two, pushing deep inside, tickling and twisting as he licked. She shuddered against his mouth and turned her head into the pillow to gasp out a cry. He flicked over her clit, and she felt the tingles starting there, her blood flowing like starlight through her body as her focus narrowed and centered to that delicious pressure, that building release. He stroked her. Again. Again. She twisted her fingers in his hair, holding on as she lost control. The world blacked out, the inside of her head exploding in a burst of starfire and heat and tenderness.
She convulsed underneath him, shuddering with aftershocks furious enough to rock the bed. He kissed her thigh, smoothing his palms all over the skin of her stomach and legs.
After several long, spinning moments of dizziness and delight, Nicola felt herself sink back into her body. She blinked and rolled up onto her elbows. "Thank you."
He smirked. "Good?"
"Oh yes. But then it always was. Is."
He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a bottle of water. He cracked the screw top and indulged in a long drink then he offered the bottle to her.
She took a mouthful then set the water on the nightstand. "Did you put that in here after the costume shop incident?"
He shrugged and settled on the foot of the bed. "Sex for us was always pretty athletic. I thought last night if, by some miracle, I managed to get you into The Bunkhouse alone – and willing – then I had better have the necessary supplies on hand. So I stocked all of the bedrooms with a couple water bottles. And some other . . . items." He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed.
Max was still crouched between her bent legs, and he leaned one cheek against her inner thigh while he stroked her knee and calf. He smiled at her, tender, shy somehow, happy. Her heart squeezed, and she reached to put two fingers under his chin, pulling him toward her. "Now, Maxim, let me remind you what I can do."
***
Nicola climbed on top of him, and Max nearly came his brains out right there. Her soft thighs bracketed his hips and her warm, wet pussy hovered above the head of his cock. It had been so long. Yes, the costume shop had been hot, but there had been no time to savor then, to tease and taste. His skin felt as if it were straining, stretched to the breaking point trying to contain this arousal. Nicola leaned over him, reaching into the nightstand for a condom. Her breast hovered, a ripe apple, and he sucked her nipple into his mouth.
Her gasp broke in half and she arched into him. He danced his hands over her body as he suckled, reveling in the texture of her skin, the smell of her hair, the moans breaking from her mouth. Nicola. A sharp thread wound inside him, like a rope being coiled, a snare pulled taut as he remembered a thousand nights like this, touching her, holding her, having her. Back then he'd thought it impossible those nights should end, unthinkable that there could ever be a "last time" to make love to Nicola.
She eased away from his mouth and the foil on the condom crinkled. Max blinked and swallowed. Focus on now. Yes, he would fill his cup with now. With Nicola here in this moment with him.
She rolled the condom over his cock, and he jumped at the feel of her fingertips touching him. She lifted her hips, her hands pressed against his stomach, and he strained to keep himself from bucking against her, from just pulling her down onto him.
"Ready?" she asked.
He was flexing every muscle he had, rigid, waiting for her.
Ready?
Nothing could make him ready for this, not again. His want for her was like a craving that had crawled under his skin and made every cell in his body ache. He gritted his teeth. Ready?
Fuck yes.
But all he could do was nod.
She sank onto him, biting her lip, and whispered "Oh" in a voice of choked ecstasy.
Warmth and wetness surrounded him. She rocked her hips against him and Max locked his jaw, palming the ripe peach of her ass, savoring the flexing of her firm muscles as she moved over him. "Nicci. You feel so good." He strained and arched, pushing up deeper into her. So. Fucking. Good.
"Oh God. Max."
She increased her rhythm and he gazed down to see his cock arrowing into her, to see where their bodies were joined. She pressed on his shoulders, riding him, grinding against his hips. A bolt of pleasure ripped through him, exploding outward from the epicenter of their joined bodies. He groaned.
"Max," she panted and rocked, and then she gasped and fell onto his chest, her hips still making small, exhausted thrusts.
He grinned into her hair, enjoying the softness of it against his cheek. "Orgasm number two?"
Nicola laughed into his neck. "Orgasm number two." She pushed herself to sit straight, sinking onto h
im, taking him deep inside her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, the muscles in her face jumping. "You feel so good."
He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her, a warm, open kiss as sweet as vintage wine. He tipped her into a sitting position with him on the bed, and she tangled her arms around him, pressing their bodies together, her breasts crushed against his chest. She rained kisses over his face and eyelids, his hair, on his shoulders, and then she bit the side of his neck.
He pinched his eyes closed, and a warm wash of gratitude flowed though him in tingling waves. Nicola. Nicola. Mine. A part of him lost and mourned. But now reclaimed, reunited. He kissed her and eased her backwards onto the mattress. Her ankles dug into his thighs and she tilted her hips to take him deeper. He shook as he positioned himself between her thighs and buried himself in her body again. And again.
Over and over, he thrust into her with a pleasure so immense it felt catastrophic, as if he would totally obliterate himself in this consummation. He didn't want to stop. To separate. To leave her again, lose her.
But his hips and his cock and the aching need in his body whipped him onward and he lost himself in the feel of her warm skin against him, her muscles flexing under him, the fragile beauty of her bones, the softness of her hair against his wrist. A tidal wave of pleasure and feeling and regret crashed over his head and tumbled his thoughts like a toy ship in a hurricane. He cried out and rocked against her. One second more. More. More.
And then the tide rolled over him, away from him, and he could breathe again and think. Mostly.
He'd collapsed onto Nicola at some point, squishing her body into the mattress. Alarmed, he started to roll off her, but she twined her legs and arms around him, holding him in place above her, inside her. He blinked, feeling dazed and tingly and happy. So fucking happy.
Her mouth twitched in a grin. "Good one?"
He bent and licked into her mouth, massaging her tongue, drinking in her taste. When he pulled back, she was the one who looked dazed. He kissed her nose and beamed. "You have no idea."
***
Nicola hadn't meant to sleep with Max after she'd slept with Max. She thought it would be more discreet if they occupied separate bedrooms, especially if Lachlan woke in the night and went exploring. But, after that fantastic bout of sex with Max, she was pretty much boneless, a melted pile of satisfied womanhood, and moving was the last, the very last, thing she wanted to do.
Max was snoring by the time she returned from the bathroom. He was warm and big, his body firm and beautiful, so she just sort of snuggled up to him and closed her eyes to rest them. On the cusp of her falling asleep, a low rumbling voice, not even awake, murmured, "Ich liebe dich, Nicci . . . "
Nicola smiled and slept.
***
The next thing she knew she was awake, wallowing in that warm soupy sea of not-quite-consciousness. She glanced at the dark window and wondered what had disturbed her, but then the bedroom door opened, and a beam of light lanced into the room to blind her and dance over Max's naked body.
Max stirred and rolled to his side, slinging an arm around her waist to spoon her back against his front. "Go away, Lachlan," Max muttered.
But the man who stood silhouetted in the doorway was buffer than Lachlan. Familiar . . .
"What the fuck is this shit?" the man in the doorway said.
Yup. Familiar. Nicola flinched and Max jerked beside her, jolting wide awake. His muscles went rigid, and the erection that had been starting wilted against her bottom.
The man flicked on the bedroom light. Max groaned, rolling away from her, and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the piercing light, or the newcomer's presence. Or both.
Nicola offered the newcomer a tentative grin as she kept the sheet pinned against her chest. "Hi, Peter. Long time no see."
Chapter Eighteen
Max and Peter didn't look much alike. That was always her first thought when she saw the two together. Max was fair and blue-eyed with a cheerful heartiness about him that made people take him for a dumb blonde. Peter had thick dark hair and hazel eyes and a concentrated intensity which made you want to stay on your toes.
Or at least Nicola always imagined she was tip-toeing on eggshells when she was around Max's brother. She could easily imagine the wafer thin, sharp little shards sticking into the pads of her feet as she and Max dressed while Peter waited in the hall. Feeling ridiculous, she bounced on one foot, hopping to get into her leggings. "What is Peter doing here?"
"I don't know." That one muscle in Max's jaw kept flexing and his right eye was twitching. He'd kicked into his jeans – sans underwear – and zipped the pants without buttoning them, leaving his hipbones showing. The sight would have been downright drool-worthy if only Peter weren't loitering outside.
Max stomped toward the door, had his hand on the knob then turned back and rushed toward her. He caught her mouth in a firm, wet kiss she had to bend her head to take. As they eased apart, she fought for breath. Max cupped her neck and leaned his forehead against hers. "I had a good time, Nic."
She traced his cheek, concerned. Why did he look so solemn? So worried? "Me too."
Max kissed her again, softly, then he broke away and stomped to the door, throwing it open.
The brothers faced each other, framed by the doorway.
Peter was as insanely tall as Max with the same broad-shouldered, slim-hipped physique. Max was buffer than Peter these days, but Peter had a better tan, his skin a deep burnished bronze. Peter also had a boyishly good-looking face, while Max had a more classical sort of handsomeness – the teen heartthrob meets the Greek God. Equally attractive in their own way but very different.
"Nothing going on with Nicola, huh?" Peter glanced at her over Max's shoulder and gave her a small wave. "Hi, Nic. Sorry about barging in. I wasn't expecting naked people."
She swallowed and raised her hand. "Hi, Pete. Um, it's all right."
Max folded his arms, his voice was like a whiplash, sharp, cracking with anger. "I thought you were in Vancouver, Pete. You said you would call. I didn't think you would be in town for weeks."
Nicola shifted on her feet, pressing against the wall. It'd been years since she'd seen the two together, and years since she'd played bystander to one of their fights. She grimaced. I didn't miss it.
Peter folded his massive arms, mirroring Max, and glowered. "They cut my last scene so I wrapped the shoot early, and I wanted to come for a visit." Peter shifted on his feet, his posture more unyielding, and now he did include Nicola in his glowering. Great. "What's going on, you two?"
"Is that your business?" Max said.
Peter rolled his eyes. "We talked about this, Max."
Nicola frowned. "You two talked about me?"
Max cast her a quick, unreadable glance then faced Peter. "Yeah, I kissed Nicola."
Peter scoffed. "And then some."
"And I'm planning to do it again," Max fired back.
Good. Nicola's stomach wobbled with a shaky sort of thrill.
"Sooooo," Max drew the word out as he leaned on the doorframe, clutching the door with one hand– ready to slam it shut in his brother's face. "You can punch me later, Peter."
She blinked. "Why is Peter punching you?"
"Don't worry about it." Max shouldered past his brother into the hallway. He flung open a linen cabinet and hauled out lilac floral sheets and pillowcases. Apparently, Max had never bought his own sheets after his mother left. He shoved the girly sheets at Peter. "I promised Nicola could have the spare room tonight. You can take Lachlan's room." He leaned forward, his voice a low growl. "Be grateful I'm giving you clean sheets."
Peter caught the sheets against his chest with one hand. "Lach's room?" He wrinkled his nose. "Everything smells like cigarettes in there."
Max rolled one shoulder, shrugging, his face set. "Call first next time. Or go to a hotel."
"Did you forget who owns this place, Maxi-dear?"
"Did you forget you're an asshole?" Max said, lookin
g mulish.
Peter made an exasperated noise in his throat then smiled politely at Nicola. "Nic, would you excuse me while I talk to my brother?"
I should leave, let them sort it out. She didn't have a claim on Max anymore. Leaving would be the mature thing to do. Right. Yes. She glanced over at Max. I don't wanna leave.
Peter seemed to sense her hesitation, and his scowl deepened. Max grinned at her, the laugh lines around his eyes showing, and Nicola thought, Yeah, I'm not going anywhere.
Peter wheeled toward Max, unleashing a stream of low-voiced, livid German, "Was machst du mit ihr?" What are you doing with her?
Max groaned and replied in English. "That's rude, Peter."
"Es ist mir scheissegal. Max, das ist verrückt. Du kannst nicht – " I don't fucking care. Max, this is nuts. You can't –
Nicola shifted on her feet then said, "Um, Peter, habe ich dir jemals gesagt, dass ich drei Semester Deutsch auf dem College hatte?" Um, Peter, did I ever tell you I had three semesters of German in college?
Peter flinched, and – from the stuffed expression on his face – she rather thought he'd be blushing if he didn't have such a great tan. "I didn't know that," he said, in English, then started across the hall. But, before Peter reached the other room, he stopped and turned back. "Wait a minute, if you two started up again then why is Nicola sleeping in the guest room?"
Nicola opened her mouth, then froze. Good question. She jerked her head over to meet Max's irritated gaze.
He ran a hand over his face and rubbed at his temples. "You're kind of a mood killer, Peter."
Peter brightened at this and marched himself into Lachlan's room. He closed the door.
"Nic – " Max started toward her, reaching for her hand.
The other door popped open and Peter stuck his head out, grinning. "Gute Nacht!" he bellowed, the German making the words extra bombastic.
Max flipped Peter the bird over his shoulder. Nicola stood on her tiptoes and stuck her tongue out at Peter over Max's shoulder too.
A Midsummer Night's Fling (Stage Kiss Series Book 1) Page 19