DirtyInterludes (15 page)

“Good thing then you’ll be sitting all day with a cello
between your legs.”

She moaned in response. Max pressed a hand over the
headboard while the other circled her clit as he fucked her hard. Bridget
arched into his touch, her hand pressed over his as he brought her to quick
completion. His name was a curse and a prayer as she came and he kissed her
shoulder. He gripped her knee and pounded into her, ruthlessly seeking his
climax. It came with an intensity that threw his world into a spin. In a move
that was supposed to show his callousness, he learned there was nothing callous
about their fucking. It was always going to be beautiful and he feared he
might’ve been making love to her the whole time.

Chapter Eleven

Max sat in Bryce’s suite as nurses and visitors passed by.
In the silence of the room, he pondered the events of the last twelve hours and
the changes he felt. He’d woken this morning with Bridget snuggled against him
and the weird tickling sensation deep in his chest scared the living daylights
out of him. The dynamics of their relationship had changed and not for the
better. He’d tried to push her away before they’d even made love with his
callous words, but he never imagined that fucking her would give him what he
needed, but also create a new set of problems.

He wanted Bridget. That was all. No one else, just her.

He raked a hand down his face and cursed. He’d arrived and
found Bryce as he’d left him, asleep with cords attached to his body. His chest
lanced with pain. He’d been worried about the repercussions of the best sex of
his life and his friend lay unresponsive in a coma. Swallowing back the guilt,
he pulled out the deck of cards. He shuffled them but didn’t feel like playing.
He wanted to talk to his friend and get his opinion on what was going on in his
life.

He threw the deck down and pressed his face into his hands,
elbows on his thighs. “I fucked up, Bryce.”

The machine beeped.

“I think I’m starting to have feelings for Bridget.”

Silence greeted that revelation.

“You were right. I can’t have a relationship with her. My
career would kill everything about her I adore. Since you had this accident,
she has been like a rock for me. I never expected it and it just…made me see
things.”

He glanced over at Bryce’s face, hoping to see a twitch. To
see his eyelids flutter and look at him with his piercing stare and just tell
him how it was. But it didn’t happen. Misery grew and crawled up his throat,
forcing him to swallow it down. “I know I should tell her. I really should, but
I don’t want to see that look in her eyes. I could take it from my parents but
her… I can’t lose her. Not yet.”

He pushed back in his seat and struggled to find an answer
to his dilemma. He didn’t have a hope in hell of keeping her if he told her the
truth. Nothing good ever came of doing that. He could imagine many different
scenarios, but the fact remained none would come with her accepting his choice
of career. He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the mattress. He
studied his friend, hoping for some sign of life. “Come on, man. I know you’re
in there. Do something.”

Silence.

He cleared his throat, his chest hurting. He knew what Bryce
would say, what he’d been forever saying. Nothing good would ever come of him
trying to have a relationship with someone outside the industry. Certainly not
with Bridget. But despite that, Max wanted to at least try. To see how long he
could hold on to a phantom before it evaporated in his hands. He swallowed
hard. Was the pain of losing her worth it? He shook off the thought. If he
played it right, maybe she’d forgive him.

“You’re right. You’ve got bigger problems than me.”

Footsteps squeaked along the vinyl and he looked up,
expecting a nurse, but shock almost floored him. Dylan stood in the threshold,
his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bloodshot. Relief and joy punched through
his chest and he stood. “God damn.”

They clapped hands and hugged, pounding each other’s backs.
Max pulled back. “I thought you were in Spain.”

Dylan shook his head. “I got the first flight back as soon
as I heard.”

Max’s happiness at his friend’s appearance waned. “Yeah.”

Dylan glanced over Max’s shoulder. “How is he?”

“No change.”

Dylan rubbed his forehead, lips pinching at the side.
“Fuck.”

Erica entered the room, her red hair flowing over her
shoulders. Dylan reached for her as if she could save him. She accepted his hand,
and Dylan drew her against his side, placing a kiss on her temple. Max’s focus
moved to the way she caressed Dylan’s arm in comfort. Jealousy churned and he
had to look away from the loving pair. He wanted that and hated the fact he
felt envious of his friend’s good fortune.

“I brought some brownies,” Erica said.

Max faced her, noticing the small plastic container. He
accepted it, the ball in his throat making it difficult to breathe. Bryce loved
Erica’s brownies. He tucked them against his waist. “Thanks.”

Erica shrugged. “It’s the least I could do.”

“We appreciate it.”

Erica tilted her head. “You look tired.”

Max rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. I feel it.”

“Maybe we can take shifts?”

Max shook his head. “We’re only allowed in during visiting
hours. The doctors said the longer he is in a coma his chances…” Max didn’t
want to contemplate what would happen next. “It’s just a waiting game now.”

Erica’s mouth parted. “Oh no.”

Dylan held Erica to him and Max turned away, giving them
space to find their composure. He slipped the brownies onto the bedside table.
“Dylan and Erica are here to see you, Bryce. They even brought some brownies
for you.”

The ventilator hissed.

He pressed his hands on the bedside table, swallowing back
the urge to throw something. Frustration burned in his gut. He knew every day
that passed was like sand through an hourglass. He wanted to snatch his friend
up and shake him awake. To yell and command him to respond. Now more than ever
he felt the weight of his loneliness.

“You were a bit sketchy on the details, how’d this happen?”
Dylan asked, moving to the other side of the bed.

Max struggled to breathe through the guilt sitting on his
chest. “Overdose.”

Dylan dipped his chin. “Shit. I didn’t know it was that
bad.”

Ever since Dylan had left, it’d slowly spiraled out of
control. “It wasn’t, but the last year has been tough.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “How so?”

“Vane has kinda derailed since you guys left. I don’t know
how to describe it. He’s always been a bit of a douche, but over the last few
months, he doesn’t take no for an answer.”

Dylan glanced down at Bryce. “Shit. What tipped him over?”

The question iced in his veins. Disgust churned in his
stomach, the memory of his humiliation and Bryce’s desperation making his skin
prickle with an uneasy chill. Max glanced at Erica. “I don’t wanna talk about
it.”

The beep of the machine broke the tense silence. He cleared
his throat and indicated helplessly to Bryce’s supine form. “I’ll give you time
alone. Sure you wanna catch up.” The smile felt brittle at the corners.

He stalked from the room only to be stopped by a hand on his
shoulder. He looked over at Dylan, a frown on his brow. The tension drew taut
between them as he waited for the inevitable question. Dylan sighed and dropped
his hand. “Does his family know?”

Max shook his head. “What family? The family he did speak
of, I don’t think he’d welcome.”

“I fucking know. I just feel like someone should, I don’t
know…care?”

“We’re all Bryce has.”

Dylan scanned his face. “What about your mother?”

“I don’t want to worry her. It’s only early days. Look, I
don’t want to discuss this now, I’ll catch up with you at my place?”

Nodding, Dylan stepped back. Max stalked from the hospital,
determined to outrun the weight of guilt. His mother had become a sort of
surrogate for Bryce. She accepted Bryce into her home and bought him gifts. He
never forgot the first Christmas he brought Bryce home. His father had shot a
questioning stare, but merely grunted. His mother had embraced Bryce like a
long-lost son and involved him in all the activities. The shock on Bryce’s face
was seared into his mind. A grown man of twenty-two had almost teared up over
the present. Bryce would deny it to this very day, but Max knew Bryce hid a
dark history.

Max knew he should call his mother, but he’d put it off.
Every day he picked up the phone, but always hesitated over calling her.
Calling Dylan had been so much easier. He’d gotten rip-roaring drunk and did it
quick, like pulling off a Band-Aid. But he couldn’t do that with his mother.
She deserved more. She deserved to know. Tension ate at his gut as he drove
home. He felt on edge, the uneasy prickle becoming a painful force in his
skull. Clammy hands gripped the wheel and he sucked in acrid air. It’d been
less than a week, but it felt longer. Much longer. Surely his mother didn’t
have to know now?

Pulling into the driveway, he sat in the car, pondering what
he should do. His attention shifted to Bridget’s house to find her car in the
drive. He’d left her this morning as he’d done last time he spent the night.
Like a coward. And like a coward, he exited his vehicle and entered his home.
It felt oppressive now. He’d avoided the main bathroom since that night. He
went in there once to clean up, but that was enough for him. The misery nearly
suffocated him. The bathroom now held a memory he couldn’t shake. Trudging up
the stairs, he paused at the sight of P. Diddy Gnomes on his dresser, his
smiling face reminding him of the woman he stole it from.

He lifted the gnome from its place and studied it. A chipped
red hat and dirty white beard spoke of its age. Bridget loved this gnome and he
knew he should give it back, but holding on to it, he felt like he had part of
her heart.

He settled on his bed, the gnome clasped in both hands,
solemn eyes with crinkles at the side stared up at him. “Bridget said she spoke
to you. I suppose you have many secrets.”

Discomfort bloomed and he bobbed his knee, ignoring how
idiotic he felt. “You must know her real well. You think she’d want anything to
do with a guy who screws other women for work?” He tipped the gnome forward.
“Better to seek forgiveness, you think? Give her time to get to know me. I’m
not
doing
anything right now and that should give me time to work this
stuff out.”

He sighed. Who was he kidding? There mightn’t be any way to
work around it and he’d lose her before he even had a chance to experience
everything with her. For the last eight years he’d been relationship-free and
on some level he felt as though he deserved some type of normalcy. He wanted to
come home to a woman and spend the night with her. To go wine tasting and spend
a weekend at a B&B. His last girlfriend he had was during college. She’d
gone on to become a financial advisor and he dropped out before finishing his
engineering studies and fell into the adult film industry. Seemed like an easy
way to pay off his debts, but he’d gotten sidetracked by the money.

A knock brought his head up, and he returned the gnome to
the dresser. He hurried down the stairs and opened the door, expecting to find
Dylan. Bridget stood there, looking delicious in a simple blouse and skirt. The
sun glinted off her hair and for the first time he noticed the subtle blonde
highlights.

“You left this morning without saying goodbye. It seems like
a habit for you.”

Max grimaced. “Sorry. You looked so tired.”

She folded her arms, a sour twist to her lips. “That’s a
lie. Tell me the truth.”

“You wouldn’t like the truth.”

“I’m a big girl. I think I can take it.”

Fingers tightened over the door and he opened his mouth to
turn some line about an emergency at the hospital. “You scare me.”

Bridget’s eyes widened. “I what?”

Shit. So much for lying. “Not in a bad way. You make me feel
things.”

Her features softened and she stepped across the threshold,
her hands on his chest. “That’s good, because you make me feel things too.”

Her fingers hooked behind his neck and she brought him down
for a kiss. She tasted fresh and he immediately took control. Fingers cupped
her head, her hair tickling his forearm. He fused their mouths together,
fiercely commanding her attention. He mated with her tongue, swirling and
thrusting in an erotic slide. The pure passion of the kiss set him on fire and
made his dick ache. He wanted to rip the blouse from her and touch her breasts.
To suckle her rose-tipped nipples and drown in her whimpers of need. Nothing
ever felt like this. This insatiable urge to hold her, to make her come, and
the deep satisfaction he got from something so mundane. It was never casual
with Bridget. It was more.

He broke the kiss off, his forehead pressed to hers, their
breathing intermingled. He fisted his hand in her hair, the smell of floral
shampoo teasing his senses. Everything about her was simple and fresh. His
heart pounded against his rib cage and he turned his head slightly and brushed
his cheek along hers. Locks of hair fluttered by her ear. “Damn.”

Her fingers skimmed the back of his neck and dipped beneath
the collar of his shirt. It was a gentle caress, lacking sexual intent, but
filled with something definitive that sent a shiver down his spine. Her lips
brushed over his ear, searing his flesh and making him tighten with need. “Take
me to bed.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He pulled her farther
into the house, carried her up the stairs and laid her on his bed. The
black-and-red-trim quilt highlighted the pink flush and glow to her smooth,
white skin. He ran his hand along her trim calf and up her thigh, secretly
thankful for the loose skirt. His balls tightened with want as he encountered
nothing but wet flesh. He jerked his head up, captured by the inner tease in
her gaze. “No panties?”

She shrugged, arms curled around his shoulders. “Seems
superfluous.”

He groaned and captured her mouth in a savage kiss. She
answered in kind, thrusting and fucking him with her tongue. Liquid need
sluiced over him, making his cock thrum as he pushed two fingers into her tight
pussy. Her knee hitched upward, and he pressed his thumb over the hidden bud,
circling it and glorying at the rush of awareness that seared him. His balls
tightened and he resisted the urge to fist his cock. The glory of simply
touching her made his dick ache.

He filled her knuckle-deep and curled his fingers over the
hidden spot women loved. Bridget shuddered and broke off their kiss to throw
her head back and moan. Hair fluttered over the black coverlet and he was in
awe of her beauty. She was Aphrodite, sexual and beautiful. She cupped his
hand, her eyelids fluttering up as she stabbed him with a look of a siren,
sexual and commanding. He pressed his palm over the hood of her pussy and
rocked his fingers into her. Bridget bit her lower lip and he licked the
swollen flesh. He sucked on the cusp of her mouth, then swallowed her cry as
the quiver in her canal signaled a coming climax.