by Lexi Ryan
Max skims his gaze down the front of me then slowly lifts his eyes back to my face. I can’t help but compare the experience to Cade doing the same thing moments ago. I felt almost nothing when Cade looked at me like that, but when Max does it, it sends my skin tingling.
My mind spins with thoughts of getting my hands on him, rubbing down the tight muscles between his shoulder blades, then opening my hands to work the tension from his lats and farther down to his waist and lower back. He’d let me pull his pants from his hips and knead his glutes. Then he’d roll over and I—
“Want to see it?” he asks.
My eyes snap back up to his face as I realize I’ve been staring at his crotch. “See what?”
His lips quirk and he nods toward the yard. “The tree house?”
“Oh. I thought . . .” I shake my head. No need to share what I was thinking. “Yes, I’d love to.”
He sets the beer on the patio table. As he leads the way to the tree house ladder, I stay a few steps behind, shamelessly drinking him in.
He reaches the top of the ladder, turns, and offers a hand to help me up. When our hands touch, his eyes lock on mine and electricity crackles in the air. Today they built a platform and framed out the walls, a door, and a couple of windows. There’s enough room up here for Claire and a few of her little friends to play with dolls or pretend they’re the Swiss Family Robinson.
I do a slow spin to take it all in. “She’s a lucky kid.”
“I like working with my hands, and I don’t get to do much of that running the gym. Who knew owning a health club would require me to put so many hours behind a desk?” He shrugs. “Anyway, it’s been fun, and she’s worth it. Coolest kid ever.”
“You miss her.”
“So much my chest aches.” He takes a breath, studies the half-built structure, then says, “Wait here a minute?”
I obey, watching as he climbs down. I have nowhere better to be, and going inside will just bring up all that who-sleeps-where awkwardness we’ve been dancing around for the better part of the week. Maybe it’s safe to sleep in my own house. Like I told Cade, nothing new has happened since the night he walked me home from Asher’s bonfire. That’s a relief, but I’m reluctant to leave.
Max returns with two beers and a basket. He hands me a bottle and pulls a blanket from the basket to spread on the tree house floor. “Watch the sunset with me?”
Seventeen
Nix
I could decline and head into the house, but I don’t want to. I want these quiet moments with Max while I can have them. I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m not sure what to hope for. So I nod and lower myself to the blanket. Max takes the spot beside me, and we sip our drinks in silence.
When I’m alone with him, the air tightens with tension—the kind you feel when there’s something within your grasp that you aren’t allowed to have but want so much it’s hard to breathe. I wonder if it’s like that for him, even a little bit.
I look over at him and catch him rubbing the back of his shoulder. I put down my beer. “Let me.”
He doesn’t say anything, just drops his hand and lowers his head as I lift to my knees and move to sit behind him. I’ve never been a touchy person. Maybe that comes from being raised by a woman who was too busy being a prisoner in her own mind to cuddle with her children, or maybe my time with Patrick fucked me up for life. Kent wasn’t touchy either, consistently preferring smiles to kisses, and conversation to cuddles. The sex was rare, and I suspected a bit more like a chore for him than a pleasure he sought, so we just didn’t do it often.
Never in my life has physical affection come easily to me, and yet when I’m with Max my hands itch to touch him, to stroke and hold.
“Damn, that feels good,” he says when I dig my thumbs into the knot at the base of his neck. He rolls his head to the side, giving me better access to the spot.
His eyes are closed, his face soft, and I bite back the urge to follow my fingers on his neck with my mouth. He’s been working all afternoon, and I want to taste the salt on his skin. He’s the kind of guy who builds a tree house for his kid—seems to give all of himself for everyone else, and I want him to be on the receiving end of that kindness for once.
Say, “Fuck it. Life’s too short.”
“Do you want to lie down?” My voice sounds almost husky, colored by my own arousal and embarrassment. Max has made it clear how he feels about me, but still—even if it’s irrational—I can’t help but worry he might change his mind and reject me at any moment.
He turns his head, and his eyes meet mine for a breath before he lowers to his stomach on the blanket.
I straddle his hips and start at his neck again.
My hands slide lower, kneading the muscle and rubbing out the tension. I hold my breath against the arousal tightening between my thighs. He’s motionless while I massage him, his breathing and the knots in his muscles my only clues as to where he needs more attention.
When I reach the base of his spine, I slide lower so I’m straddling his thighs more than his hips, and slip my fingertips beneath the band of his athletic shorts to find the muscles there.
A curse bursts from his lips on an exhale, and he flips onto his back. I don’t have time to think before he’s pulling me down on top of him. His mouth connects with mine, and his hands tunnel into my hair.
This is the danger in touching. A few minutes of my hands on his skin, and now I want him too much to stop a kiss I would have denied him fifteen minutes ago. I open for him, let his tongue rub against mine. When he rolls again, this time he takes me with him. Now I’m the one with my back to the ground, and he’s on top of me.
I moan at the delicious weight of him and draw up my knees so he can settle between my thighs. The thick length of his erection presses into my aching center, and I arch my back at the pleasure. He groans against my mouth, then cups my breast through my shirt as he kisses his way to my neck and down.
I cling to him, hold him close, and curl my nails into his shoulder blades. I need more. I need him closer. He circles his hips. Even with our clothes between us, the friction of that motion brings me to the edge.
He cups my breast and his thumb grazes across my nipple through my shirt. His mouth nips at my ear. “I dream about having you under me like this.”
I bite my lip, cutting off the moan that wants to escape.
He finds my nipple between his thumb and index finger and pinches. Pleasure bolts through me and gathers in an achy mass between my thighs. He treats the other nipple to the same torture and my back arches off the ground. “Do you think about this, Doc?”
“Yes.” All the time.
“Good.” He nips at my ear, then kisses the spot his teeth abused. “And after you’ve been thinking about it, what do you do?”
He shifts to the side, and I instantly miss his weight, but then his hand slides from my breast, down my body, and between my legs. His touch feathers over the seam in my jeans, promising everything I want but giving only the slightest hint of it.
“Tell me you think of me while you touch yourself,” he whispers, continuing with the teasing sweep of his fingers.
“I do.” I should be appalled by my admission. Instead, I don’t feel an ounce of embarrassment. Only the urge to scream. To whimper. To beg him to touch me.
“What am I doing in your fantasies?”
I lift my hips, asking with my body what I can’t ask with words. “Please.”
He groans right against my ear, and the sound vibrates against my neck. “You never have to beg with me. Just tell me, and I’ll give you everything you want.” This time, he adds a little pressure between my legs and scrapes the denim with his knuckles. “What am I doing in your fantasies? How am I touching you?”
I force my eyes open and he’s propped on an elbow, looking down at me with those intense blue eyes that do me in on my strongest days. And I whisper, “In my favorite fantasy, you’re not touching me at all.”
* * *
Max
Ten seconds ago, Nix was rocking into my hand and making sounds that turned me on so much, I worried I might embarrass myself. Now she’s telling me I don’t touch her in her fantasy. Not exactly where I hoped that conversation was headed.
When she nudges my shoulder, I’m preparing to have her push me away again, but she doesn’t. She’s urging me onto my back.
“May I?” she whispers. Straddling my hips, she scrapes her gaze down my body. “Would you let me?” Pressing her lips to the hollow between my pecs, she scoots herself down my body and pulls my shorts from my hips, and I’m thankful as fuck for the privacy provided by other trees in my yard because, judging from the direction she’s headed, I won’t have a prayer to find the strength to stop her.
When she lifts her gaze to meet mine, her eyes are hot and tortured. “I want to put my mouth on you.”
Oh, hell. I’m not just turned on by the words; something in my chest tightens with the way she says them, as if she’s preparing for me to cut her off at any minute. As if I’d fucking stop her.
Steadying her gaze on my erection, she wraps her hand around me and strokes—once, twice—then lowers her mouth and licks the head. My hips jerk off the floor.
“Is that okay?” she whispers. God, she’s so timid. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she were a virgin.
“It’s all good,” I manage, because I can tell she needs to hear it. “Any time your mouth or hands are on me, it’s good.”
She licks her lips and then I watch as she lowers them over me—slowly, carefully.
“Aw, fuck, baby,” I growl. “That’s good.”
Her movements are slow and exploratory and driving me fucking insane. I gather every ounce of my control to keep still. She’s not new to sex, but I know instinctively that she’s new to this, and the last thing she needs is my cock at the back of her throat.
The hand squeezing my shaft releases and drops lower to cup my balls. Fuck. I don’t want to come like this. I’m dying to come like this.
My hands go to her hair, and her moan of approval sends vibrations through me, and if that isn’t enough, she lifts her eyes, watching me watching her.
My lips part, and I fight for my hold on that last thread of control.
She explores me with her tongue, tracing the length of me from root to tip before following that same path with her finger. Every time she wraps her hand around the base of my cock and slides her mouth over me again, her movements are surer. She tightens her grip, takes me deeper, and sucks me harder. It’s the most fucking delicious torture I’ve experienced in my whole life. And the way she moans? As if doing this is getting her off? So fucking hot. And she has no idea.
When I don’t trust myself to hold back any longer, I tug gently on her hair and guide her on top of me. She straddles my hips again, and my damp cock presses against her panties.
Her eyes flash with worry. “Was it okay? I thought you’d want to . . .”
“It was amazing.”
“Then why . . .?”
Oh, hell. “Because I want inside you, Nix. I want to get this condom I’ve been carrying around in my wallet like some pathetically randy teenager, and I want you to straddle my hips, just like you’re doing now. But I want to be buried deep inside you and have you ride me until you come.” My fingers grip her hips as she circles them. Her eyes float shut and she rocks—so fucking wet and beautiful. We could both get off like this—her wet panties rubbing her clit and my cock—but I’m greedy and need more. I need deeper and harder. And when I come, I want her wrapped around my cock.
“But what would happen after that?” she whispers.
She’s fighting this. That rational mind of hers is trying to talk her out of it, but her hips are still moving in the rhythm of sex. “After?” I manage. And it’s hard to talk when I’m this close to coming—when I see how close she is to coming. She wants to know what will happen to our friendship, to know where this thing between us is going. But I don’t know the answers any better than she does, so I give her what I do know. “After, I take you inside and to my shower. And when I’ve touched and teased you so much your legs won’t hold you up anymore, I take you to my bed.” I drop my gaze to her lips. “And this time I want to do a hell of a lot more than sleep when you’re in my arms.”
I can’t stand the torture anymore. I need to know if her face is as beautiful when she comes as I remember. I slide my hand between our bodies and stroke her clit through her panties. Fuck, she’s wet, and at the first contact of my thumb, she arches her back.
“Oh, God,” she whimpers. She starts to lift up, but I clamp my hand down on her hip.
“Don’t run from it. Do you need more?” I ask, stroking her again. “Can you get off like this for me?”
“I . . . Max . . . I . . .” Her lips part and I stroke again, then again, and then her body shudders and she collapses onto my chest.
I was wrong. When she comes, she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
Eighteen
Max
Nix sighs against my chest as I comb my fingers through her hair. “I had no idea.”
“About what?” I ask.
She traces some invisible pattern on my chest. “I didn’t know how sexy talking could be.” She pushes herself up with one arm and looks down at me. “How do you know what to say?”
I chuckle. I can’t help it. “Everything I said was the truth. But I’m glad talking turns you on. Nice to know what I can use in situations where I can’t touch you.”
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and my cock aches. I don’t want this night to be over. Not yet.
“We missed the sunset.” The dusk has slipped into twilight since we first climbed up here, and the stars are starting to shine.
She frowns. “I’m sorry.”
“There will be more sunsets.” I graze her bottom lip with my thumb, remembering how that mouth looked wrapped around me. “I hope a lot more.”
That’s when I lose her. Her eyes go wide and panicked, as if she just realized she was in the presence of a known sex offender, and she scrambles off me.
I press my palms to my eyes, and take a deep breath. “What just happened?”
“I’m sorry.” She sits up and draws her knees to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Max.”
That just pisses me off. “I’m not some asshole you can’t talk to.” Only, I sound like a complete asshole. I sigh. “I don’t understand what’s going on in your head. I want to understand what you’re afraid of, and I hope you’ll explain it, but you don’t owe me an apology.”
“I really do.”
I sit up too, but I make sure to leave room between us. I’ve learned that when Nix withdraws, she needs space. Crowding her doesn’t help.
The panic has drained from her face, and she’s starting to look like herself again.
I drag a hand through my hair and try to decide whether or not to ask. A week ago, I would have said it was none of my business, but I don’t believe that anymore. I’d begun to believe we didn’t have any future together, but then our lives began to merge, to overlap. I’ve tried to be patient, but it’s past time I knew more. “Were you raped, Nix?”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I flinch. “Is it just me, or is it all men? When I touch you, it’s amazing and you’re right there with me, but sometimes, it’s like I do something that throws a switch and you panic. Did someone hurt you? Force himself on you? Did Kent—”
“No. Kent didn’t rape me or force me to do things. Nothing like that.” She pushes to her feet and wipes her hands on her jean shorts. “I’m just a little screwed up.”
I sigh as I stand beside her. “We’re all a little screwed up.”
“I’ve been hurt before. I don’t know if I have it in me to go through it again.”
“Hey. Why are you so convinced I’m going to hurt you?” I cup her face in my palms and let my fingers slide into her hair. She puts up such a strong facade that I�
�m always shocked at how fragile she feels when I hold her. “Look at me. Tell me.”
She opens her eyes and leans her face into my hand. “Because I’ve never been with a man who didn’t.”
That admission slams me hard in the chest, and all I can do is wrap her in my arms and hold her close. “I’ve been hurt before too.”
“You don’t get it. I was engaged, Max. I was in love with Kent. Maybe what he and I had wasn’t as passionate as what I feel when I’m with you, but I loved him and he loved me. He promised to give me forever and then he broke my heart and walked away.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t know anything about what that’s like.” I feel my jaw harden and force it to relax. “I get that it’s scary because we both know nothing’s guaranteed. But I do know that this—this thing between you and me, whatever it is—it’s good, Nix. Hearing your laugh is the best damn part of my day. It smooths out my rough edges and stitches together the shit I thought was broken in me forever. When you’re in my arms, I forget there was a time I wasn’t whole. And I like to think it does the same for you, because when you do let me kiss you and you’re not thinking about whatever it is that makes you panic like that, you don’t respond like a woman who’s afraid of being hurt. You blossom in my arms. Can you look at me and tell me that happens with every man who touches you?”
Her lips part, and the hand on my chest fists my shirt and pulls me closer, and she leans into me. “Only you,” she whispers. “I’m only like this with you.” She pulls back and looks me in the eye. “I like you, Max, but I’m scared. And not just for myself.”
I like you. That admission makes me want to pound my chest, but I just hold her close and press a kiss to the top of her head, and when she relaxes, so do I. “I’m scared too. I know better than to promise neither of us will end up hurt, but I decided a long time ago you’re worth that risk to me. You have to decide if it’s worth the risk to you.”