by Lisa Wells
A sheen of sweat broke out over her body. She mentally encouraged him to take his caress fest toward her center.
As if reading her mind, the tip of his finger settled in the perfect spot. The spot with eight thousand nerve endings.
She sucked in a quick gasp, anticipation paralyzing the rest of her. Man, that statistic told the truth. “I bet you can’t make me come with your finger.” She threw out the taunt in hopes he’d linger there and prove he could.
In an act of cruelty, he slid his hand back to its original path and continued the downward journey until he made it to her feet. “You’re probably right.” Only then did his tongue flick out and touch her skin. “But I bet I can with my tongue.” His tongue dragged across the sole of her foot.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” Her back arched in a silent plea for him to hurry his journey upward.
He simultaneously massaged the inside of her foot at the base of her big toe and at the center of the pad of her foot. “Did you know both of these points are directly and intimately connected to both the male and female reproductive organs?”
She shook her head back and forth.
“By rubbing them, you increase the blood flow to the core of the body. Is your blood all moving toward the center of your body, Aggie?”
She raised her hips in response.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He replaced his fingers with his tongue at the pad of her foot.
The sensation did everything but make her explode. “Who taught you this?” Her voice sounded like she had orgasmed. She might have.
“I’ve been researching trivia ever since I met you.”
His words travelled to her brain like molasses going uphill, but when they arrived, her heart melted. “You have? Why?”
“To someday impress the girl.”
Holy fuck. What a charming thing to say. And it came from Max the Pompous Ass. Had a spell been cast upon him and neither of them were aware? “What other trivia have you learned that will come in handy right now?”
He ran his tongue over her ankle, stopping at a place toward the back of her leg about an inch above her ankle. He poked his tongue there. “Attention to this area promotes the yang. It sends a warming energy through the body.” He dragged his tongue up and down.
“If I get any hotter, I may burst into flames.”
He moved higher. His erection rubbing against her in the sensuous upward journey.
He stopped at her hip bone.
“You missed a spot. Remember, I mentioned the location earlier?”
He looked in her eyes and then, using his tongue, put pressure on the skin right above her bikini line where her hip hinged. “Not yet. Not before I teach you about this zone.” As he held and released every few seconds, a sense of calm floated through her.
Which, weirdly enough, amped up her sensitivity.
…
Wearing a pink condom should have eased Max’s need to explode inside of her. It didn’t. Taking the time to offer her foreplay demanded every fucking ounce of self-control he possessed and a ton he’d never had to call upon.
After a delightful amount of attention to her breasts, he journeyed to her throat. “Did you know the entire area between the jawline and the shoulder is an erogenous zone?”
She gave him a heavy-lidded smile. “I knew that. I’m impressed you do.”
“I also know that this small indention”—he poked his tongue where the neck and collarbone met—“is particularly sensitive.”
Her body pushed up and enticed him to cease with the foreplay and get down to the business of giving her an orgasm.
Having her tied to his bed and completely at his mercy wound him up in ways he’d never been. “Are you ready for me?”
“For a century now.” She ground her hips into his.
He reached between and touched her with two fingers. He rubbed.
“Holy shit.”
And rubbed.
“Oh hell.”
And rubbed.
“Max!” Aggie screamed.
Hearing his name, feeling her convulse, he guided his cock to her center. She was so fucking wet. He struggled not to lose his control as she enjoyed tonight’s first orgasm.
He planned on pushing in slowly. Inch by delightful inch. She had other plans. As soon as he entered her, she raised her hips and took the slow dance into her own hands. Figuratively speaking, because her hands were very much still tied to his bedframe.
She quickly taught him she didn’t need her hands to tango.
She slid her legs around his waist and squeezed.
“You can’t expect a man to maintain when you do that,” he warned.
“We can do slow next time. Right now, I need another orgasm.”
He laughed but obliged. Their movements easily synchronized. As if they’d been forever lovers. He lowered himself enough to rub her tits with his chest as they danced their way toward the frenzied finale.
The most seductive thing of all was the way her eyes stayed opened, and she locked gazes with him the entire time. As if freely, knowingly, giving him a glimpse into her every thought and reaction to their first sexual encounter.
It was only as she came again, they closed, her noise of enjoyment sending him on his own eye-closing journey of pleasure. When they were spent, he captured her lips in a kiss he hoped she could read for what he couldn’t yet say with words.
His heart was still his, but this was the closest he’d ever come to giving it away. All it would take would be for her to say she wanted it. That he could be number seven.
The realization both scared and excited him. He could name far worse things than to fall in love with Aggie Johansson. She’d always keep him on his toes. She’d never bore him. She’d be a wonderful mother to their children.
Son of a fucking bitch. What in the hell was he thinking? She wouldn’t stop at love number seven. That was an average number. There was nothing average about her. If he gave her his heart, she’d turn around and hand it back in a matter of months.
Which should be perfect, because he didn’t want to do love. At least not until he’d scored his first million and didn’t have a dumb-ass bet hanging over his head. But unlike the average person who fell in and out of love seven times in their life, he’d never even fallen once. Which meant he was the outlier in the number game. He knew as well as he knew the color of Aggie’s eyes, he’d be the one who skewed the statistics by only falling in love once.
He untied her hands, rolled off of her, and stared up at the ceiling. He should say something but didn’t trust his mouth to say something neutral. Something he’d said a hundred other times to women after sex. Like…that was fun. Shall I take you home?
She rolled onto her side and leaned up on one arm.
He turned his head to stare into her eyes. Her orgasm turned them to the color of ripe plums.
“That was—”
Suddenly needing to stop whatever she meant to say, he sat up quickly. Afraid her next word would be “fun.” The most vanilla of all vanilla things one could say after sex. And for him, it hadn’t been fun. It had been spectacular. It had been mind-blowing. It had been life-changing. Not plain old “fun.”
“Let me go dispose of the condom, and then we can indulge in pillow talk.” He shot out of bed and headed toward the bathroom, desperately needing a moment to regain his senses. Understandably, she’d want to go home. She didn’t have an overnight bag with her. He’d take her. But he didn’t want her to say the word “fun.”
Behind the door, he heard mooing. His shoulders bunched, and his gut tightened.
Who in the fuck just texted her?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Fog clouded Aggie’s brain like someone had stuffed it into the center of a cotton-filled pillow. Tonight met every fantasy expectation she’d ever had about having se
x with a man. And not just any man. A man she could spend her future with. Yes, call her a sap, but she’d spent more than one minute over the years dreaming about that man.
You know…that unrealistic list of everything a man would say and do before you gave them your heart. The very list you created to protect yourself from ever falling in love, because no one, absolutely no one, could ever live up to the expectations on that list.
The sound of mooing had her scrambling off the bed and into the living room to recover her phone, happy for the reprieve from thoughts of that man, and read the text. It was from the P.I.
As promised, I’m giving you an update. Discovered your mom is an addict and a felon. She’s currently on parole and not living at the address listed with her parole officer. Should know more soon.
She fumbled the phone but caught it before it hit the floor. Mom’s a felon. I’m the daughter of a felon. Not just a bastard child, but the bastard of a felon.
“Everything okay?” Max wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her into him so her bottom nestled nicely into his magical hips.
She quickly lowered her phone so he couldn’t read the screen. Heat, the crazy overwhelming, non-sexy kind, flanked her on all sides. She stepped out of his arms. “Fine. Fine. Everything’s fine. I’m fine.” Where was an air conditioner vent when she needed one?
“You don’t sound fine.”
She twisted and glanced at him. “My ride will be here in a few minutes. I need to get dressed.”
The joking left his gaze. “Stay.”
She wanted to smile and tell him to stop being so perfect, but she couldn’t. Her fear of eventual rejection still sitting front and center in her brain right next to the bold black word “felon.” “Don’t be silly. Meemaw knows an Uber took me to the dinner. She’ll expect one to bring me home. Anything less and she’ll fantasize we’ve fallen in love.”
He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled a kiss into her neck. “And we didn’t…right?”
Now, his voice had all kinds of weird nuances that, under different circumstances, she would have loved to analyze. Or…her ears were still stuck in a cotton cloud and the nuances didn’t exist. “Neither of us do love. That’s why tonight was doable. We can still work together, and it’s not a big deal. Besides, remember, I’m an Enthusiast and you’re a Reformer. Keep me around long enough, and I will cause your world to implode.”
“Not if I don’t give you means to light the dynamite.”
The minute he let her into his life, he’d given her the match to do the job. But she wasn’t going to stand here and argue her point. “At the very least, you’d eventually find me an embarrassment to be around.”
“I don’t give a fuck that you came from poverty.”
He said that now, but in the cold light of day, everything always looked different. “Not because of my economic status, but because I’m an Enthusiast and you’re a Reformer. Read up on them. You’ll see in black and white where it clearly says Reformers eventually find it embarrassing to be around Enthusiasts.” Especially when they discovered their Enthusiast came from felon blood.
“Not if the Reformer learns to chill and enjoy the idiosyncrasies of the Enthusiast.”
Her phone mooed.
“Who keeps texting you?”
“Relax. It’s just my ride.” She stepped out of his arms, grabbed her dress, and slipped it on. Max handed her shoes to her, and she wiggled her feet into them. “Be a doll and bring the rest of my items to work on Monday.”
“Why not tomorrow?”
“I’m taking tomorrow off. Compensation for dumpster diving for my boss.” She needed time to wrap her head around this latest news of Mom. Before he could respond, she hurried out the door and into an open elevator.
It was best if their relationship never moved past a one-night stand. She’d use the long weekend to get her shit together, and then on Monday she’d play it calm, cool, and uninterested. Better to be the pusher than the one pushed.
Her phone mooed. She glanced at the screen.
Max: I wanted your last moo of the night to be from me.
…
Max fixed himself a scotch on the rocks and strode onto his balcony. The sky sparkled as if it were hosting a grand ball for all of heaven’s angels. Hell, he was in such a great mood, if he saw a shooting star, he’d for sure act like a kid and wish upon it.
He sat down on a chaise lounge and Googled love between an Enthusiast and a Reformer on his phone.
Tonight gave him an inkling of how sweet it would be to give his heart to another. Spending time with Aggie made him question his five-year plan. Would having a woman in his life really upset his professional goals to grow his business? It’s not like loving her would prevent him from hustling business.
Or would it?
He chose the first article listed that also included the word Enneagram and read all about the potential trouble spots between the two.
…Enthusiasts deeply resist feeling trapped by Reformers.
Was that why she’d been through so many jobs? Fallen in and out of love so many times? If so, he should give her space. Treat her like a spooked animal. When animals were spooked, they ran. He didn’t want her to bolt.
When he saw her on Monday, he’d act like nothing happened between them. He’d let her make the next move, wait for her to nudge him, before he initiated an I-might-be-falling-for-you conversation.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Between sex with Max and discovering her mother was a felon, too many emotions were crowding Aggie’s brain to go home, so she had the driver drop her at an all-night diner. She had to get her shit together before letting Meemaw see her. Under no circumstances could she let her know the truth about Mom. Or that she and Max had sex. Or that…
Over a cup of coffee, she did what she always did when unsure of her next step: write an updated life plan.
She dug her lucky pen and a tattered notepad out of her purse. At the top, she wrote Aggie Johansson’s start-over, reinvent-herself-as-the-daughter-of-a-felon, life plan. Number one: possibly move to New York City.
Hell, the only reason she’d stayed in Kansas City this long was so Mom would be able to find her. But if her parole got revoked, Mom didn’t have to find her; she could find Mom in the state penitentiary.
Back in the day, when Aggie first mentioned wanting to live in the big city, Meemaw confessed that she, too, had always dreamed of living there. They could go there on a grand adventure. Start a new chapter in their this-is-my-life books.
Gah. Max and his damn tendency to read the last page first. Once he learned her last page included felon blood, he’d for sure not want to read any more of her chapters.
And by going to New York, she wouldn’t be tempted to stay around and try to have a sex-only relationship with him. Leaving would result in a clean, clinical cut.
Her phone mooed. She glanced at the screen.
Meemaw: Everything okay? Expected you home by now.
Aggie glanced at the clock on the wall. Two a.m. What possible reason could she give Meemaw for being out this late?
Aggie: Spending some time with my boyfriend.
Meemaw: Max? Is he your new boyfriend?
Aggie: No. He’s my boss. The law frowns when those lines are blurred.
Silence followed.
Pulling her thoughts back to her life plan, she took out another piece of paper and along the top wrote the word “Manifesto.” If a company could have one, so could she. Closing her eyes, she thought about what she believed.
What she stood for.
She opened her eyes and placed her pen onto the paper.
The words flowed from her fingertips as if they’d been bottled inside of her, waiting for a chance to escape like a genie does from a bottle.
Stilettos are the devil’s playground. Stilettos are a w
ink from God. Crocs have no deity. Secrets seldom stay under a rock. Never settle. People will come and go from your life, trust none of them. Except one.
Love. Doesn’t. Survive. Between. Opposites.
Your parents will love you only if you’re lovable.
Always sing in the shower. Never in the tub.
Always do the one thing that most scares you.
Search until you find but hope for less than your soul desires.
Knowledge slays.
Felon.
When the words stopped pouring, she lowered her pen and analyzed each bit of her manifesto.
Shoes. There were worse things in the world than being an out-of-the-closet shoe snob.
Secrets. Would Meemaw discover Mom’s secret? Aggie hoped not.
Trust. Did she have trust issues? That would be a big fat yes. Were there times when secrecy had a place in a trust relationship?
Loveable. She squeezed her eyes shut. She’d known forever she wasn’t particularly loveable. A mom didn’t abandon a loveable child. Not after four years of getting to know her.
Singing. People who couldn’t sing learn early; the acoustics were horrible in a bathtub. If you wanted a decent shot at sounding like Beyoncé, take a shower.
Scare yourself. Tonight, she’d done that. She let herself momentarily consider love with Max.
Hope. She would keep searching for Mom, but her soul would be braced to receive less than it hoped for. It hoped for a motherly declaration of love and heartfelt apologies.
Knowledge. While it made her sad to realize she and Max should never be anything more than a one-night stand, knowledge did slay false hopes.
Knowledge kept her from careening down a pathway to heartache. Knowledge told her it was time to make another career change.
Felon. The word that would cause any man like Max to run.
Aggie rubbed at the spot over her chest. The spot where her heart lay beneath. Who knew writing a manifesto could cause simultaneous pain and comfort?
All in all, not bad for her first one.
She closed her eyes again.