Unfiltered & Uncensored

by Payge Galvin

He wasn’t worried she was going to turn him in, though maybe he should have been. He was worried she was going to leave him. Again.

  This had all begun because Max was afraid of losing Claire. He took a deep breath. Moved toward her. Took her hand in his. She squeezed it, waiting.

  “It all began because I was trying to impress you,” Max admitted. It was easier to talk, with that touch connecting them. At Claire’s raised eyebrow, he pressed on, “I wanted to prove that I wasn’t just some loser who couldn’t stick with anything. I figured if I could at least stick with this—”

  “With dealing?” Claire asked, but the disbelief in her voice made it clear she knew better.

  “No! With breaking the story about ... Jason killed a man. You know that.”

  “More than one,” Claire said.

  “Yeah.” Max’s fingers tightened around Claire’s, and she didn’t pull away. “But I saw him kill Douglas Coughlan. Or at least, I saw Douglas Coughlan die.” Max flashed back to that night, a man dead on the floor, twelve stunned people standing around him, and he felt ill. Max hadn’t killed Coughlan, but he’d been there, and he’d promised not to tell anyone—not to protect the other eleven, but for the sake of his story and for the sake of protecting himself.

  But it was time to break that promise—time for him to trust Claire, too. “First there was sex, and then came death ...” He told Claire everything, from how he’d tailed Joe and Whitney to The Coffee Cave to how he’d wound up in the Cave’s parking lot last night. He didn’t leave anything out, not even when it came to where he’d gotten his information, or tried to get it—including all that had gone on with Megan, and Jasmine, and Paula. Telling her about the three of them was the hardest part. Max kept wanting to make up some story, some excuse, something he could wave away with a smile, but he didn’t. If he and Claire were going to make this work, there couldn’t be any more secrets—from either of them.

  Claire was quiet for a while when Max was through, and he braced himself, waiting for her to head for the door.

  “So you weren’t fucking fucking Jasmine?” Claire said at last.

  “No,” Max said, glad that it was true. He’d been tempted, and he’d come close, but now—now he’d do everything differently. “I fucked everything up,” he said, because that was true, too. “I was so hot to break this story and impress you, but I didn’t do any of that. You did it all.”

  Claire’s hand had moved to his thigh sometime while they were talking. “The things you did—I know why you did them,” she said softly. “But you didn’t need to impress me, Max.”

  “Yeah, well, but with your walking out and all ...”

  “Yeah,” Claire agreed. “I was the one who blew it there. We both fucked this one up, Max.” She laughed softly, and her breath tickled his neck. “I never wanted a guy who could do everything. I just wanted to not have to do it all myself, either. I don’t need some testosterone-crazed hero. I need a partner. I need to know we can take turns having each other’s backs.”

  “I like your back. Wait, that didn’t come out right.” Max laughed uneasily. “I mean I like all of you, every last square inch and ...”

  Claire was staring at him now, almost laughing herself but not quite.

  “Partners,” Max said, dead serious now. “That’s all I ever wanted, too. God, I’ve missed you, Claire.”

  Claire finally smiled then, and her grip tightened on his thigh. “I’ve missed you too, Max. You have no idea.”

  Max moved his hand to the small of her actual back, and she didn’t stop him. For a long moment they stared at each other, the air between them thick with possibility and with something more.

  Another chance. Death didn’t allow for second chances, but everything else ... did.

  Max got up, very deliberately, and pushed the damn coffee table out of the way.

  Claire got to her feet too. An instant more they stared at each other, and then—

  —then Max didn’t know which of them threw the other to the floor first. He only knew that all at once they were rolling on the carpet again, and that he didn’t much care how much it burned his arms. His lips found Claire’s, and he held on to her hungrily, greedily. She tasted like cinnamon and desert dust and the whole damn rest of his life.

  Her hands unbuttoned his shirt as they rolled, fumbling, urgent. Her fingers burned like desert wind as they traced hot trails over his bare skin to push the offending shirt away.

  Max groaned as he got his own hands down beneath her shirt, where he could stroke the silky heat of her bare skin. His fingers skimmed her cotton bra, and he felt her nipples harden beneath that light touch. “Shirt. Off. Now.” The carpet scratched his back harder as he tore the offending shirt away and threw it across the room, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to stop this to move someplace more comfortable. He unhooked Claire’s bra and threw it after her shirt. His hands found her bare breasts and held on for dear life while his thumbs stroked those firm nipples. Claire moaned, and Max felt himself go rock-hard, too. He ground against her, resenting the fabric of their jeans beneath them. It was time to do something about that, too.

  Claire must have had the same thought, because her hands fumbled for his belt. Max moaned, too, as she got it undone and her hand found its way down to his cock.

  First there was sex, and then ... and then they’d figure out the rest later, Max thought incoherently as Claire began tugging on his zipper. Claire’s words echoed through his head. I need to know we can take turns.

  That didn’t just mean outside of the bedroom, Max realized. It meant everywhere.

  He pulled abruptly out from beneath Claire and got to his feet, ignoring the exquisite heat in his unbuttoned jeans. Claire rolled over to look up at him, eyes wide, lips parted. Max bent to trace one finger over her soft lips. She grabbed hold of one of his belt loops, tugging him back toward her.

  Max pulled away again, a teasing smile on his own lips.

  “Get that damn smile down here kissing me where it belongs,” Claire hissed.

  “Patience,” Max teased. He turned from her and ran into the bedroom.

  “Get back here, you bastard, and finish what you ...”

  Max came back out, handcuffs in hand.

  Claire grinned and began to sit up, but Max pushed her gently back down to the floor

  “From now on,” he said as he flashed her a grin of his own, “we take turns.”

  For an instant, Claire looked startled, and Max said, suddenly uncertain, “That is, assuming you want me to ...”

  Something wicked crept into Claire’s grin, something he’d missed so, so much. “Oh, want doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling now.” She closed her eyes, and that smile turned slow and languid and damn hot.

  Slowly, so slowly Claire began cussing at Max impatiently, he pulled off her shoes, then her socks, then eased her jeans off her hips. He pulled her panties off after them, and his finger flicked over the slick folds beneath, a promise of things to come, before pulling away.

  Claire shivered as the air conditioning blew over the perfection of her bare skin. “Bastard,” she whispered, with less conviction now. She opened her eyes and reached for Max’s half-unzipped jeans.

  Max caught her hands in his own, stopping her, and reached for the cuffs.

  They didn’t bother going into the bedroom. He cuffed her to the table right where he’d moved it to the edge of the room. Claire smiled and closed her eyes again. Max trailed his hands down her bare arms, feeling goosebumps rise beneath his touch. “You,” he said firmly as he crouched over her.

  She opened her eyes to smile up at him, and he added, “For you I’ll even keep the key within reach.”

  Claire kept smiling. “Like it matters with those easy-release cuffs. The key’s just for show.”

  “It ... what?” Max’s fingers stopped their slow circuit of her elbows. “It took me a fucking hour to get that key back after it rolled off the bed.”

  “Oh, God, Max.” Claire str
uggled not to laugh and failed. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I thought you knew. I would never use real handcuffs for anything but an actual arrest.”

  “You know an awful lot about handcuffs for someone with a desk job,” Max teased. Claire just laughed harder, until Max stopped her by pressing his lips firmly against hers. Laughter turned to gasping, then.

  His hands found their way down to her breasts, stroking her nipples back into alertness. She pulled against the cuffs, then reached up with one foot to stroke Max’s bare chest.

  Max caught her toes in his mouth, sucking on them, and she arched her back. “Oh, God, Max.”

  “Toes, huh?” he said. He kept sucking on them as he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his own jeans. His dick came to immediate attention beneath his boxers, but his attention was entirely on Claire. He took her other foot in his mouth, too, then slowly made his way up her legs. “How do you feel about kneecaps?” He let his tongue circle each of them in turn, while Claire’s moans let him know exactly how she felt about that, and how she felt about the backs of her knees as well.

  Next he spent some time on her muscled thighs, making his way to the small rolls of flesh inside her hips. Claire’s hands clenched against the rug as his tongue teased at her thatch before circling in on her moist clit. Claire arched toward him again, pulling on the cuffs.

  Max drew abruptly away, and his tongue continued north.

  “Get back there,” Claire hissed.

  “Patience, patience,” Max teased, and his tongue traced lazy circles around her belly button.

  “I swear, I’m going to kill you,” Claire said. “I know how, you know.”

  “I love it when you talk sexy,” Max whispered. He made his way to her firm, dark nipples, stroking and nipping them with his tongue while his fingers teased at the insides of her elbows. Claire moaned louder. Her toes reached down to tug on the waistband of his boxers.

  “Nuh uh,” Max said, though he wanted nothing more than to lose that last bit of offending fabric. “I’m going to take my time.”

  “Since when are you all patient and thorough?” Claire demanded breathily.

  “Hey, I’m the guy who’s spent six years in school without a degree. I’m in no hurry.” His tongue continued to tease at her nipples, darting back and forth, while his fingers dug into her hips.

  Claire opened her eyes, briefly. “So ... journalism? Still?” Her eyes were deep, languid pools as they struggled to focus on him.

  Max looked right into those eyes. “I just risked my life for a goddamn story. You think I’m going to give up now? I’m getting that degree, the sooner, the better.” He released her hips and plunged his fingers into her damp, damp folds.

  Claire stopped trying to talk then as her eyes closed once more and she began pushing up against his fingers and making small incoherent sounds. Max’s dick throbbed as her legs wrapped around his boxer-clad ass.

  He could totally get used to taking turns.

  His removed his fingers abruptly and slid his tongue down her chest and belly. He plunged his tongue deep within her as his mouth caught hold of her clit. He sucked and licked like his life depended on it, while his hands shot upwards to furiously knead her breasts. Claire ground against him, gasping.

  Her breath grew shorter and shorter as he kept sucking, and his cock was so hard it hurt, but he kept his focus on her, sucking and kneading until all at once she screamed, arched violently into him, and fell limp to the carpet, whimpering.

  Max looked down at her as she lay there, gasping, watching the slow smile that spread over her face. He reached out with fingers still wet from her juices to brush her hair back from her face.

  Claire opened her eyes. “You,” she said. “Look awfully pleased with yourself.”

  “Never took you for a screamer, that’s all,” Max teased, and then he bent down to kiss those beautiful lips.

  Kissing turned to nipping as her teeth got hold of his lower lip. Across the room, Max’s phone chimed in the pocket of his discarded pants, but he ignored it.

  Claire’s toes tugged on the waistband of his boxers. “Those shorts. Need to come off. Now. Make that happen, or I swear to God I will tear them off of that goddamn body of yours, hands or no hands.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Max tore off his boxers in a single swift motion, releasing a rock-hard erection. Claire purred her approval. “Get in here,” she growled. “Now.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Max tossed the boxers across the room after his pants, and he crouched over her. Claire made a low, throaty sound. Max guided himself inside of her and she groaned as she pressed up against him.

  “Wait.” Max’s voice caught. He didn’t want to wait. “Do I need to get a ...”

  “I’m still on the pill, and I haven’t been with anyone else. Don’t you dare go anywhere.” She wrapped her legs around his bare ass, trapping him there as she began grinding against him.

  He didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed back, first gently, then harder, until they were slamming into each other, a growing wave moving in sync, heat rising in Max to a glorious, piercing ache. They kept moving together, harder and harder, closer and closer. Max’s lips found Claire’s again, kissing in time with his thrusts, until he realized he was moaning too, moaning while skin rubbed against sweat-slicked skin.

  They went over the edge together, both of them gasping as if for air. For an instant there was nothing but heat and skin and sweat, and then Claire fell breathless to the floor, and Max fell breathless on top of her.

  Claire buried her head in his shoulder. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

  Max buried his head in her hair. They lay that way for a while, skin to skin, the air around them scented with sweat and sex, their hearts pounding against each other, like they were trying to through skin and bone to get down inside one another.

  “God, I love you,” Claire said.

  “Love you too. Missed you too. You have no idea.” Max reached up to undo the cuffs with a soft click. “Move in with me,” he whispered in Claire’s ear.

  Claire reached down to wrap her arms around his ass. “Move in with me,” she said.

  They both laughed. “Maybe we can find a new place,” Max suggested.

  “Together,” Claire agreed, and Max didn’t need any journalism classes to know that that was the sweetest damn word in the whole universe.

  Chapter 18

  Max

  At some point in the night, Max woke up long enough to lead Claire to bed, where they drifted back off, sleepy and sweaty and happy and with their arms wrapped around one another.

  Max woke to sun streaming through the blinds and the sound of his phone chiming again, from somewhere in the tangle of clothes on the living room floor. Max buried his face in Claire’s hair, ignoring the sound.

  Claire rolled over and wrapped her arms more tightly around Max in turn. She opened her eyes and looked at him, smiling, a smile that spread through her whole face, her whole being, and Max thought it was just possible he hadn’t fucked this one thing up, after all.

  And now, in the cold light of day, it was time to start setting other things right, too. “I can’t keep the money.” Max said it aloud, so that there was no turning back, because it wasn’t as if a broke college student who’d overstayed his welcome on campus couldn’t use it.

  Claire traced a finger down to his hip. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that.” She pressed her lips together. “Don’t hate me, Max, but I don’t think you should run the story, either. At least not under your name. Too many people with grudges could use it to track you down.”

  Death was one story ... but Max knew she was right. Seeing Jason behind bars was worth risking his life for, but a byline wasn’t. “I’ll write it from the police reports. Anonymously. And the money ... maybe I can make an anonymous donation to some rehab center somewhere.” He’d donate what he still had in the safe deposit box now, and make up for the rest of the money he’d spent later.

/>   “I know this place down in Tucson,” Claire offered. “Changed my brother’s life. They’re pricy though—maybe that money could help them set up some scholarships.”

  Max nodded. Some stories, some majors, some life plans, you just had to let them go.

  But not all of them. He drew Claire closer again, and felt his cock rise to attention between them.

  Claire flipped him beneath her before he could protest. “My turn,” she said with a wicked smile.

  Max didn’t protest. At all.

  ‡

  The sun was setting by the time they finally stumbled out of bed. Max took his phone from the pocket of his tangled jeans and looked at it at last. There was a missed call from a number he didn’t immediately recognize, and a little while later, a text. Max read it, blinked, and read it again. “No shit,” he whispered.

  “What?” Claire asked, looking over his shoulder.

  Hey, Max, it’s Blake Malone, the text read. If you still want a story, I have one hell of an exclusive for you. Call me.

  ‡

  Which was how Max broke the story of Blake Malone coming out as the country’s first bisexual football player, and saw the story syndicated nationally and internationally under his very own byline—online and in print.

  After that, Max also covered somewhat less exclusive stories about America’s Rio-Verde Sweethearts Dillon and Savannah—apparently Dillon hadn’t really slept with that judge after all—as well as about the romance between Joseph Cunningham, IV and the daughter of his father’s political rival. Max also passed the Verde View’s tech reporter a few tips about abuses within the campus’ computer science department, and wrote a few anonymous stories about Rio Verde’s surprisingly active drug trade. In the meantime, Jason Chamberlain and his boss were both easily convicted and given sentences that meant it would be decades before they saw the light of day again. Max wrote that story, too, also anonymously, making sure to mention that Jason had owned The Coffee Cave. He hoped the other eleven who’d been at the coffee shop the night Douglas Coughlan died would see the story and know that it was safe to stop running, or hiding, or being afraid.