I felt the space between us ripple with a chill, but the hot water that splashed between us drowned it. My body was vibrating, surging with every beat of my heart, every breath I tried to take, and every drop of water that rolled down my skin.
Max spun away and pressed his hands against the granite wall, still trying to regain his composure as the shower splashed and cascaded down his backside. Attempting to collect the spastic butterflies in my gut, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and raised my face to the other showerhead pulsing water steadily from the ceiling above.
I followed the water that danced down his bronzed skin. All I needed was to be his partner, the other half of the whole we created together. The events of last night flashed through my mind. I thought about what he felt like in my body, how he filled every empty space within me, and I couldn’t keep away anymore. I pressed my chest against his back and slid my hands across his stomach and up to his pecs. As I pushed my lips to the space between his shoulder blades, the water parted where my mouth clung to him. I let my teeth graze delicately across his skin. He swung his arm around my back but couldn’t find his grip, so he swept around and swayed against me. With his knees bent, his mouth followed the line of my neck and his hands clung to the back of my thighs. My feet left the floor as Max lifted me and pushed me up against the shower wall. I gasped as a chill licked and bit at the spots where my back met the granite. I linked my legs around Max’s hips. His hands still clinging to the back of my thighs, I felt him waiting to enter. My body arched for him, pressing to let him fill me.
His hands slid up around my waist. My breath quickened as I felt him pulse inside me. Sweeping his hands up further, he anchored them around my shoulders. With every thrust I watched the muscles across his body flex and could feel his heartbeat more deeply. I lowered my legs so my toes touched the floor of the shower, he bent his knees and I felt his size disappear from inside me. He turned me around to face the granite. From behind me his mouth traced across my ear. His breathing changed to instinctual growls as his lips pressed hot against my back, dragging across to my shoulder blade. Meanwhile, his hands mapped down across my stomach to the inside of my thighs before his fingers began to stroke me. I swayed my hips with every thunderous strike of his fingers. I felt his hand leave the inside of my thigh and drag across my back, pressing between my shoulders. I dropped my forehead against the granite wall, my forearms keeping me strong, as he slowly but finally pushed deep within me again. The warm stream from the shower flooded across my lower back and down to the point where our bodies met. It was beyond anything I could explain; like he’d found the hidden chalice within my soul, busting apart its belief in butterflies or magical moments. Every muscle in my body was becoming rigid and I had to push back against him. The deeper he went, the faster I needed our bodies to move. His friction pulled and stretched parts of me I never knew existed. It was becoming primal, and he knew it.
With his fingers still vigorously undulating between my legs, I exploded and shuddered. He thrust a couple more times into my convulsing body before he was replaced by the shower that lapped across my vacancy. My legs went weak, my knees buckled as I heard him huff cavernous, guttural moans. He leaned against my body and I felt his body go concave to mine. His heart beat rapidly against my back, his breath still trying to catch up; he hummed his satisfaction, and we were both fulfilled.
Chapter Twenty-three
You would think we’d have run out of hot water by the time we got to showering like we were supposed to. I stood in the still-warm stream as he caressed my skin with soap, suds tickling across my breasts and shimmering across my stomach before the bar glided up between my thighs. Our hands navigated each other. Every bend, crevice, and angle of our bodies was fair game. The water poured and splashed over our curves like a waterfall unwilling to dry up. Max leaned across, pressing his chest against mine as he snatched the Crew shampoo from the small shelf behind me. Delicately he massaged my head and lathered my hair. The sultry aroma of lavender and a masculine swirl of pine caught low in my body. It was his smell, his aroma that sent me spiraling off the edge of holding it together.
“I hope you don’t mind that you have to use my shampoo,” he said with a smile, knowing the scent of Crew for Men turned me on.
“Mind? You wash my hair and I get to smell like you the whole day. What’s there to mind?” I mumbled as I dragged my fingers across my head and lathered his chest with the foam I collected.
“Well the bonus is, you’ll be thinking about me all day long.”
I snatched the bottle of Crew and squeezed a dollop into the palm of my hand before tangling my fingers in his hair. The white, foamy shampoo, thick with his scent, mixed with his pitch-black hair. I formed it into devil horns, laughing as I watched him smirk and grab at my waist.
At least in the shower we were cocooned in our own world. Nothing existed outside of the water lapping across our skins and our bodies tangling into the experiences we’d shared.
He leaned down and kissed me. His lips tasted somewhere between scrumptious and bittersweet, causing me to hover between wanting to stay forever and needing to face reality.
“You know, as much as I want to, we can’t spend all day in the shower. At some point the hot water runs out,” I said as he peeled his body slowly away from mine. His eyes glistened as they foraged for any excuse to stay right where we were.
“Good thing we have an instant hot water heater. We can spend forever in here,” he said as he closed his eyes and kissed me softly.
“Max,” I breathed against his lips.
“I know…I just want to own this moment a little longer,” he said across my mouth before inhaling deeply. “I just want to replay making love to you one more time before I have to face what’s outside these glass doors.” His eyes lingered and danced with mine before he closed them.
I slid my hands up, cradling his cheeks before I pushed him back into the stream of warm water. What remained of the horns I’d formed on the top of his head dissolved and the suds, robust with his scent, mingled and disappeared as the water spilled over my hands. His electric-green eyes opened as he stroked his fingertips across my cheeks, like he was memorizing the contours of my face and the delicate texture of my skin.
“Thank you for being here with me,” Max whispered. His eyes grew misty.
“Where else would I be?” I mumbled.
“Mmmm,” he growled as he pulled me close. “I don’t ever want to find out.”
I leaned over and validated him with a kiss before we shut off the water.
Max shook his head. I loved it when he did that because his hair always fell in chunky pieces that reached for his eyes and curved around the back of his ears. It never seemed to fail—I’d catch my breath on the sharp edge of wanting him to consume me. He pushed the glass shower door open and reached over, grabbing the burgundy towels from the rack. His entire body flexed and glistened in the mixture of sunlight and halogen. Goose bumps found their way to my skin, and every sensual part of my body showed him how I felt.
“You cold?” he asked as he held a towel open so he could wrap me up.
“No,” I teased as I stepped out of the shower stall.
“So that’s for me?” he asked. His eyes matched his boyish smile as he looked at my naked, excited body. He dropped the towel and pressed his lips to the curve of my chin before he trailed his tongue down to the swell of my breast and across my nipples. His hands dragged up my sides, cradling my breasts as he pushed his open mouth to them and tasted each one. My hands tangled in his damp black hair as butterflies swarmed low in my groin with each pulse of his tongue and lips.
God, all I wanted to do was be with him. Forget any moment of regret or pain that lingered outside his bedroom door. I wanted him to listen to my body as it spoke in waves of crashing desires and ebbed with continuing ecstasy, until he took the intense craving I had for him and tamed it into a manageable hunger I could live with.
I heard a door slam downsta
irs and the voices of his mother and sister as they walked around the house. The muscles in my back ran stiff and Max’s mouth froze against my chest. His arms shifted and dropped from around me, and as he straightened, I saw his face drain pale. Any color that I’d encouraged to hang out in his cheeks quickly disappeared.
He stood for a moment, listening to see if his mom was going to call out, but she never did. I watched as he slowly slipped into the same broken spirit I recognized from the hospital with his dad.
I ran my fingers down from his shoulders and across his arms to his cold, empty hands as I spoke, “Max, we’d better get dressed and head downstairs.”
He didn’t say anything. His eyes were lost in the fact that we had to come back to reality. Shaking his head, he meandered over toward his dresser. Scarce water beads still clung to his shoulders and spine, hoping to avoid being absorbed in the navy blue cotton t-shirt he stretched and pulled over his head. I happily watched him twist and flex as he unrolled and tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it down over his six-pack and stretching the sleeves around his lovely biceps. He slid on his Calvin Kleins before slipping each leg into his Levi’s. Another ritual I enjoyed seeing—he buttoned and zipped his jeans before adjusting himself. All I could think was that he was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen, and he was mine. He looked up at me; his eyes, aching to stay, caused me to swallow hard.
I dug in my suitcase trying to find the right clothes to wear. Anything cotton sounded perfect—the best fabric choice to absorb the feelings of having to leave the comfort of his room and go down to the pain of his family. I retrieved my pink bra and panties from the big pocket in my suitcase and tossed them on his bed. Finding a dark gray, long sleeved, v-neck t-shirt and a pair of comfy jeans, I tossed them next to my underwear.
“You getting dressed?”
“Yeah.”
He snatched my panties from the bed and held them up. His expression lifted a bit giving him a moment of reprieve. I took a step toward him and grabbed his upper arms. Taking my cue, he bent low and held out my panties, waiting for me to step into them. As I balanced on one foot and then the next, I pushed my toes through each leg-hole.
His fingers slid up the sides of my thighs and across my hips before he let go of the waistband and continued his path up my sides, around my underarms, and across my collarbones.
“What would you like me to do next?” he asked before his eyes dropped to my chest.
“My bra,” I said lifting his chin so our eyes would meet.
“Okay,” he whispered. The tip of his wet tongue rolled across his bottom lip before he bit it.
Max held my bra up in front of me, but his eyes glossed in confusion as he met my gaze.
“It clips in the front,” I laughed. “Here, let me.”
I took it and slipped it up and over my shoulders. Max watched intently as I was about to snap the clasp.
“Wait, let me try,” he offered as he slid his hands over mine, taking the clasp in his fingers. He pushed a couple of times before he managed to snap the sides together, then slid his hands down the front of my bra. I grabbed the underwire, wanting to adjust my breasts to sit comfortably in the cups, when he stopped me.
“Can I do that?” he said in a low tone.
“I guess so. You need to slide your hand between me and the bra. Make sure I look even.” I showed him.
His expression was serious, his eyebrows furrowed, as he focused on my chest. When he slipped his hand between the bra and my breast I shivered. His fingers pressed against my skin and the palm of his hand rubbed up and down across my nipple as he took his time making sure the bumps in my bra were even. His hands delicate and hot, I felt his touch all the way down between my legs.
“You like that?” he growled.
“Umm-hum,” I moaned.
“Me too,” he said as he took my hand and pushed it against the front of his pants. He was stiff and I could feel the heat radiating through his jeans against my hand. Max’s fingers slipped under the straps of my bra. As much as I wanted to make out with him, heal his pain, and make every sad situation sail away, I couldn’t do it knowing his mom and sister were downstairs drowning in the loss of Frank. I glanced over at Max’s dresser and noticed his clock said 12:38. I pulled my hands away and took a step back.
“Max, we need to go downstairs,” I huffed, clearing my mind.
“You’re right,” he said in an inaudible mumble.
I pulled on my jeans, slipped into my t-shirt, and dug out some socks from my suitcase.
We looked at each other then, trying to find the strength to keep from losing it. But there was nothing else we could do to avoid the reality that existed downstairs. He held out his hand and we left the comfort of his room—and our special moments together—behind.
Nancy and Camille’s voices echoed up the staircase, hollow hearts with heavy thoughts. Their voices sounded tired and worn, like they’d talked all night and were still at a loss with what to do.
Max and I found Nancy in the great room—we saw her before she saw us. She looked battered and broken. Her war had been lost and the casualties were piling up. Camille was burdened with the inability to comfort anyone. Nobody seemed to know what to do. And, with an uncomfortable pregnant pause, we stood there awkwardly waiting to find what words we should say until Nancy saw Max.
“Oh, Maxi.” Nancy clung to him and her body began to shake against his embrace. Max pushed his face toward the ceiling, desperate to keep from losing it as he held his crying mother.
“Do you want me to call Rabbi Shaw?” Max managed his words as they shattered and broke against his tears. His eyes lowered to me and a deep ache stabbed at my gut before he melted my heart.
Nancy nodded; words were too much work for her. Camille swung her arms around the two of them, making their moment that much more private.
Max took a few deep breaths and shook his head back and forth before he pulled away from his mom and sister.
“Did you get ahold of Calvin?” Max asked his sister.
“Yeah, I did. Max, he’s devastated that you didn’t call him sooner,” Camille warned him.
“Well, considering the circumstances—is he flying in today?” Max was terse.
I knew how Calvin felt. Hell, I knew it so well; I could’ve traded places with him and he wouldn’t have known the difference. I knew the loneliness and abandonment that flooded every crevice in his soul. I was familiar with the gaping holes crawling with poisonous guilt, and the sucker punch that took his breath away.
“He’s trying to get here as fast as he can. He said he will call when he has a flight.” Camille held back her tears.
“What about Dan?” Max asked. He was so focused on plans and plotting, I think it helped him avoid the crippling pain of losing his father. He rubbed his hand across his mom’s back, who was unable to take part in the conversation. Nancy just stood there, unmoved and completely lost.
“He’s on his way.” Camille avoided looking at anyone.
“I’ll call Rabbi Shaw. You gonna be okay?” Max asked his mom.
Nancy nodded yes. The strength she once had, the iron core assurance she exuded, was nothing more than a broken memory.
“Camille…” Max summoned her as he pointed to his mother. Camille swarmed Nancy into an embrace and pulled her to the couch. Max grabbed my hands and pulled me close to him. His mouth against my ear, he spoke softly, “Come with me; I’m gonna need you.” I followed him.
Max sailed through the kitchen like he was on autopilot, determined to land a damaged plane and desperate to save all the ill-fated passengers. There was no asking him how he was or what he needed me to do. So I stood there, ready to pick him up off the floor when the engines gave out and the plane became wreckage against a white, snow-capped mountain. It was the only thing I could do.
Chapter Twenty-four
Max handled himself with strength and resolve on the phone with the Rabbi for over an hour. Of course it was only one side of the convers
ation I heard, but from what I could gather, it was very important to the family that they bury Frank as soon as possible. Max mentioned someone called a shomer being with his father’s body, and they wanted to make sure no autopsy was performed. Words I’d never heard him speak, and would be totally foolish to try and pronounce, were sprinkled and splashed throughout the conversation. The Hebrew rolled off Max’s tongue as easy as water flowing down a wide, deep river.
“Toda, Rabbi Shaw, and shalom,” Max murmured at the end.
He hung up the phone and stared at me from across the kitchen. Pale as a ghost, his expression worn, his emotions translucent—the plane was about to hit the mountain. Even the massive butcher block and black granite island couldn’t keep me from rushing to him.
His breathing was shallow; it came and went so fast. His body was capable only of folding as he tried to catch himself and stop from losing it. I reached him in time to be something warm to cling to. I was nothing more than a rock to grasp in his family’s quarry of broken dreams, and that’s exactly what he needed me to be.
I heard the front door slam shut, then Nancy gasping and Camille whimpering Dan’s name before she stuttered her words and crumbled into a sob.
I pressed against Max as our bodies swayed toward the opposite door. Maybe somewhere deep within I knew he needed a moment to collect himself before he saw Dan. Or maybe it was my need to protect him that drove me to push him into the morgue-chilled garage. Either way, I finally understood how Joanie was able to be strong for me when my grandparents died. Something just clicks inside of you and you forget your pain to help heal someone else's.
“Take a minute, Max. Organize your thoughts before you have to go in there and talk your family,” I whispered against him. My hands clung to the sides of his face as he bent his head low. His fists hung on my hips as we leaned against his car. He nodded silently.
Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last Page 16