Rose (8 page)

He catches me by surprise when he takes a couple of steps until he’s only inches from my face. He lowers his head, and holy mother, he sniffs my neck before running a teasing hand down my side. “Don’t mistake me for a fumbling boy, sweetheart, because I’m anything but. I might have been a bit embarrassed at having to walk around a department store while I was hard enough to punch through a wall, but if I decided to take you, those scraps of covering wouldn’t stop me.”

I moan, ready to hump his leg if it’ll bring me some relief from the fire down below. “Mmm … please,” I murmur helplessly.

Then the bastard has the audacity to chuckle while I’m panting like a dog in heat. He places a noisy kiss on my cheek before saying, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. What do you feel like tonight?”

“You,” I shoot back promptly, causing his eyes to widen. Before he has time to recover, I stroll past him and toss over my shoulder, “But I’ll settle for some kind of pasta with a lot of … meat.” It appears that I’ve rendered him speechless because there is nothing but silence as I make my way to the kitchen and begin opening the cabinets. I have the ingredients for spaghetti laid on the counter when he finally comes in looking a little less cocky and a lot more flushed. I point at the clove of garlic and an onion I’ve set out. “I bet a macho guy like you can chop those without shedding so much as a single tear.”

I don’t miss the way his gaze roams hungrily over my body for a split second before he gives me an easy smile. “If I’m in charge of this, then I guess you’re handling … everything else?”

I’ve never considered food to be sexy, but when I open the hamburger meat and begin kneading it with my hands, we both shift uncomfortably. I have no idea why I’m even touching it considering I normally dump it straight from the package into the pan. This is so much more fun, though. I do fear that Max might chop off a digit with the knife he’s wielding since he’s so transfixed on what I’m doing. I know it’s pure, sick, evil that has me inserting my ring finger into the soft mass almost as if I’m making love to it.
Dear God, I need more therapy than I thought.

In a strangled voice, Max hisses, “I swear I’ve never been jealous of ground chuck before, but if you don’t stop touching that stuff, I’m going to embarrass myself right here.”

I would love nothing better than to extend his torment, but I’m getting kind of grossed out by the smell and the texture of the former cow I’ve been doing my best to violate.
Poor Bess, she didn’t deserve to end up like this.
I dump the lump into the skillet and set it on low heat to brown. I cross to the sink and thoroughly wash my hands three times before leaning against the cabinets to watch Max mince the garlic. I’ve never really cooked with a man before, and it’s surprisingly erotic. Jake’s idea of making dinner was to pick up Chinese on the way over. If he were feeling especially frisky, he’d transfer it onto china before we ate. I give Max my best bimbo stance, complete with hair twirling. “Whatcha doing over there, handsome?”

He rolls his eyes, but I can see a grin pulling at the corners of his full lips. “I’m keeping the sharp objects out of your hands, my beauty,” he teases easily as he finishes up. I shake my head at his wise-ass comment, but it doesn’t offend me. I’m sure that some wouldn’t be able to handle him poking fun at something so personal and serious, but in a weird way, I find that it grounds me. I’m not stupid; I realize that he’s concerned about me. Instead of making a big deal out of what he discovered last night and watching me every second of the day, he’s keeping it light. I truly believe he feels if he handles it in such a way, then maybe I’ll feel more comfortable in talking to him about it, and he’s possibly right. He’s learned my dirty secret, so the shock value is gone. I couldn’t reveal much to him at this point that would be worse. He’s still treating me like—well, me. Not some pathetically messed-up creature that needs saving. And I love him for it—in the way you would a favorite teacher who made you feel like an adult for the first time. Oh hell, who am I kidding? My feelings for Max are much more complicated than that. I want him to do dirty things to me that I’ve only ever read about.

“I think you’ve already taken care of that, baby.” He waves the knife in my face before tossing it into the sink. I give him a blank look before it hits me. Shit! I must have said that last thought aloud. I don’t need a mirror to know that my face must be the color of my hair. How many times must I blurt out crazy shit before I learn to keep control of my mouth? “I hope you’re referring to me doing stuff that doesn’t require Band-Aids or stitches.”

“You’re such an ass!” I snap as I fling a damp dishcloth and do a little victory dance when it nails him right in the chest. “You really need to speak with your friend, Dr. Foster, about some sensitivity classes. I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to know that you’re making fun of me in this way.”

He nods his head in agreement before adding, “While I’m speaking to him, I’ll get his advice on those
dirty
things that you want me to do to you.”

Refusing to be outdone, I purse my lips and put my finger to them as if deep in thought. “Maybe I’ll talk to him myself. Matt is awfully hot. I mean I can hardly get his big … medical bag off my mind. What do you suppose he’s hiding in that thing? From the size of it, I can only surmise he has some large instruments. And with all of his schooling, he must surely be well versed in using them.” Max has gone deadly still, and there is a glint in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. Heedless of the danger, I move in for the kill. “Since you two are friends, I’ll just leave you out of the equation altogether and see if Dr. Foster can take care of all my needs.”

He’s on me before I even see him move. His hand is at my neck and his mouth is on mine. His tongue plunges into my mouth, stamping unmistakable ownership as he holds me immobile in his grasp. My nipples are hard as glass as I press them wantonly against his broad chest. Resistance is the last thing on my mind as he controls every lick and sip. I wrap my arms around his neck, bringing us into closer contact. He takes advantage of the proximity by grinding his huge bulge into my mound. “Mmm,” I moan, feeling myself already on the verge of an orgasm. He trails kisses down my neck, stopping to suck on the soft tissue there.
Holy hotness, is suppressed lawyer Max Decker giving me a hickey?
I’ll gladly bear any battle wounds he chooses to give me as long as he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. I move one hand from his neck and grasp his cock in a bold move that surprises even me. “I want you,” I hiss as he pinches my nipple through my top.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea how much I want to lay you out on that granite behind you and fuck that pink pussy,” he growls. His hand is on the snap of my pants and it’s like Niagara Falls between my thighs when a high-pitched sound has us wrenching apart. “What the—?” Max looks around frantically.

“Oh, no!” Smoke is billowing from the pan where the hamburger meat was once simmering. Max turns the power off under the burner. He then extends an arm to the smoke detector that has my ears ringing and removes the batteries. We both breathe a sigh of relief at the immediate silence. “I guess I’m not going to impress you with my meat handling, after all,” I joke as we stare at the charred mess that remains of my attempt at spaghetti sauce.

Max smirks as he runs a hand through his hair, leaving it adorably disheveled. “Well, it was either divine intervention or a strong hint that we’re supposed to order a pizza.”

I cringe when my giggle of agreement comes out a bit too high-pitched. “I’ll clean up in here if you want to order our dinner.” I’m still off balance from the recent introduction of Max’s tongue to my tonsils. I’d like nothing better than to continue what was so rudely interrupted, but even I know when to accept that a moment is lost. What had happened was spontaneous and so out of character for my straight-laced lawyer. There’s no way he’s picking up where we left off, at least not right now. I’m disappointed and horny as hell, but I’m also excited in more than a physical way. That bit of insanity showed me that he is far from immune to me. I’d wager that he wants me as badly as I want him, but something has been holding him back. Lia says that even though Lucian and Max have been friends and colleagues for years, Lucian doesn’t know much about his past. I sense something is there, though. He has said that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for us to get involved because it would be awkward for our mutual friends if it ended on a bad note. I believe he means that to a certain extent. But there’s more he’s not telling me. He has his demons just as I have mine. Of course, he’s recently had a front-row seat to the worst that I have to offer, so I’m more of a fucked-up open book now. Yet he’s still attracted to me …

Max waves some takeout menus under my nose, effectively pulling me back to the present. “Just leave everything until it cools off. I don’t want you to burn yourself.” He points at one of the flyers in his hand and pumps his fist in a show of victory. “This one says delivery in less than an hour, and they have the Italian mega meat feast, which I believe was what you were craving tonight. How does that sound to you, sweetheart?”

I literally choke on my tongue before reaching out to shove him lightly. I lick my lips and suppress the urge to laugh when his eyes follow the movement. “Yum, that sounds amazing. I’m in the mood for something rich and spicy.” His lips twitch as he turns away to place the order. I know that our recent kiss and wordplay are getting to him as he discretely adjusts himself before he ends the call. I’ve always thought that men got the rough end of the deal where horniness was concerned. Women might have to deal with those pesky saluting nipples, but we can blame that on the cold. When a guy is hard, it’s like, “Hello, look at me!” Not much of a way to hide it unless they wear loose clothing on a regular basis. Plus, we have better options for masturbation. The only thought we have to put into getting off is with or without batteries. I’m sure they make male-oriented toys, but I have to believe that most opt for the convenience of their hand versus something that isn’t even close to a warm vajay. My one and only sexual partner, Jake, made me feel good in bed for the most part. I’m not going to lie. Sometimes, I faked it when I knew my orgasm was particularly elusive that day. Something tells me, though, that Max would never let me get away with that. Jake was a boy—Max Decker is very much a man, with what feels like a monster cock.

Max taps me on the shoulder, giving me a questioning look. “I’m dying to ask you what you’re thinking about—but at the same time, I’m afraid to know.”

I clear my throat and bat my eyes at him. “Trust me, counselor, you don’t even want to go there. It’s not fit conversation for mixed company.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, I pretty much figured that. I—um, I’m going to go wash up before the food arrives. Be right back.”

He’s gone before I can respond. Surely, he wouldn’t leave me standing here to go jack off? Even as tell myself it’s a bad idea, I’m tiptoeing down the hallway toward his bedroom. I tell myself to stop—that I’m invading the privacy of someone who has opened his home to me. But still, I quietly ease the partially ajar door open farther, seeing no sign of him. I’m on the verge of backing out when I see the light spilling from under his closed bathroom door.
Don’t do it! Go back!
My inner voice screams, but I creep forward. I press my ear against the door and hear nothing but silence at first. Oh God, maybe he just had to use the bathroom. I’m beyond sick. I turn and am a few inches away when I hear the first groan. I’m far from an expert, but that doesn’t sound like an, “I had bad Mexican food,” distress call. Then it comes again and I forget to breathe. He’s really doing it. For all I know, he’s a serial masturbator who whacks off fifty times a day. But I don’t think so. He’s in there because of what happened between us in the kitchen.

Maybe it’s twisted, but I’m strangely proud that I drove him to this. I’m also completely and utterly excited as I imagine what he’s doing while he thinks of me. In a flash, I’m plastered against the door once again, hoping to hear him say my name. Then it happens—the unthinkable. I have no idea how, but the wood surface that had been supporting part of my weight is gone and my arms are flailing at empty space. When the world stops spinning, I am sprawled on the bathroom floor feeling as if I’ve just wrenched the stitches on my thigh open. But that’s not the worst of it. I look up to find Max staring down at me as if I’ve sprouted two heads. “Rose, what in the hell …” he begins, sounding bewildered. I believe it’s safe to assume he’s never had a woman crash his private time before.

“Holy shitballs,” I wheeze out as I take in the scene before me. I wonder if he’s completely overlooked the fact that his jeans are unzipped and hanging open. That’s not what has me so transfixed, though. His amazingly beautiful and very large cock is still in his hand as if he were in mid-pump before I came to be part of the show. I’ll never know what would have happened next, because for the second time that evening, a loud noise comes between his dick and me. “Um … Pizza’s here!” I squeak as I climb less than gracefully to my feet. I wince as my stitches once again twinge. If I’ve pulled them all loose, then I’ll consider seeing what Max is packing in his boxer briefs a worthy cause. “I think I have enough cash left in my purse to pay for it. You just er—continue on and I’ll handle it.” Okay, maybe not the best choice of words with that last part, but it just slipped out.

I really have to give him props for maintaining his cool under fire. This would be enough to embarrass anyone, but he’s no shrinking violet. A dart of my eyes downward backs that fact up. He remains impressively erect—the one-eyed monster seeming to glare at me for my untimely interruption. I fight the urge to apologize for it, and then almost giggle at that thought. Laughter, when a man is holding his cock, is probably something you can never take back. He closes his eyes briefly as if trying to collect himself, before removing the hand holding his manhood. When it snaps up toward his belly button, I almost sob at the beauty. He puts his impressive package back in his shorts, then gingerly zips his jeans up slowly over the bulge. Even I wince, thinking of how bad that must feel. A stallion that size needs to roam free, not be confined to a stall. He bites off a curse as the doorbell chimes once again. He quickly washes, and then dries his hands before reaching into his back pocket. He removes his wallet and peels off some bills, handing them to me. “Please take care of it.” All right, so I automatically assume he’s speaking of the big problem that has taken up residence in his jeans. It’s something I would take great pleasure in handling for him. He snakes his fingers in front of my face and puts an end to that fantasy. “Rose, the pizza, for God’s sake.”