Indiscretion: Volume Four (8 page)

“Don’t you want to know what I did?” I asked, surprised that he didn’t have more to say on the matter.

“Not really,” he replied. “I’m confident you took care of it.” His tone was self-assured with no edge of worry to it.

He squeezed me a bit tighter to his side, and I laid there wondering at his reaction. That had gone much differently than I pictured, especially when the roles had been reversed not long ago.

After his breathing became slow and steady, and I knew he’d drifted off, I slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb him. I looked down at him sleeping in my bed. For the next few days, maybe a week, we’d be sharing a home. My home. I didn’t find the idea scary for some reason. It felt…right.

I tiptoed from the room to head downstairs and put the groceries away, leaving Max to his rest. I was determined that when he left my house he’d be the picture of perfect health.

Max

I didn’t remember much from my first few days at Chloe’s house. The better part of it, I spent sleeping in her room, with her waking me up what seemed like every few minutes asking me pointless questions. I still had moments of dizziness when I tried to move around. Which only gave Chloe more reason to put the hammer down on me, forcing me to stay put on the couch where I was now.

Easier said than done. Not only was I restless and wanted to get up and move around, but now that I was no longer spending twenty-two hours a day sleeping, I was keenly aware of the case of blue balls I had from being in such close proximity to Chloe all day—every fucking day. I didn’t even broach the subject with her, though. If she wouldn’t let me walk across the room, she most certainly wasn’t going to let me get my rocks off.

But seriously? How the hell was I supposed to think of anything else besides the fact that right now, Chloe was in the bathroom, fifteen feet away, naked, and under the hot spray of the shower? Call me Tom Cruise because that was pretty much mission impossible.

Chloe

That evening we sat on the couch, watching another rerun of Sex In The City. Max had been extraordinarily giving—letting me choose the TV programming most of the day. He’d even had the good will to choke down the chicken dinner I’d made for us without complaint. Martha Stewart I was not, as he was finding out.

We sat at opposite ends of the couch, but I was fully aware of his every movement. The past few days had seemed to solidify us, or me at least, in the feeling of ‘coupledom’. I enjoyed having him around and though I wanted him one hundred percent healthy, I wasn’t looking forward to him returning to the hotel. The more time we spent acting like a regular couple, the stronger the feeling of wanting to connect with him physically became.

Max had stretched the arm closest to me out along the back of the couch. I was sure it was an invitation to cozy up to him, but I didn’t want the physical contact to lead anywhere. Max was making good progress in his recovery, from what I could see. I didn’t want him to push it. And I was pretty sure that if I let him, he’d be more than happy to push it.
In
, to be exact.

Wonderful, another sex scene with Samantha.

What had I been thinking, putting this show on? The past couple of days had already been torture for me. Looking at Max sleeping soundly in my bed, as if he belonged there, left me wanting nothing more than to rip off the covers, straddle him, and go reverse cowgirl on his ass.

I must be a masochist. That was the only explanation why I had put this show on. Every other scene had sexual innuendo, a sex act, or a blatant discussion about sex. My hormones were amped up—I was fidgety and couldn’t concentrate on the program without my thoughts drifting to images of what I wished Max and I were doing right now.

“Yeah, right,” Max muttered aloud, interrupting my thoughts.

“What?” I asked, giving him a questioning look.

He motioned to the TV. “There’s no way females actually talk to each other like this over breakfast.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“I just can’t picture a bunch of women trading sex stories over eggs benedict.” He laughed.

“You’d be surprised how much girls tell each other.”

It was his turn to frown. “Really?”

“Mmmhmm.” I smirked.

“So.” He playfully narrowed one eye at me and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Have you told all
your
friends about us?”

The smirk left my face. “Well, obviously Jackie knows, but she’s the only one.”

“Why?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn in.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It’s not anyone’s business.”

“Are you embarrassed of me?” He was smiling, clearly not really thinking that, but I answered anyway.

“Of course not. It’s just...I...I’ve never done anything like this before,” I mumbled, slightly embarrassed. The truth was if Max and I were a
real
couple, I’d want to tell the whole world.

“And what is ‘this’?” he asked, suddenly turning serious.

Loaded question. If I admitted I felt more for him than just a passing fling and he didn’t reciprocate, not only would I want to die of embarrassment from the rejection, but I wouldn’t be able to continue seeing him. And I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye and rip that Band-Aid off yet. Maybe it was only a matter of time and the pain was inevitable, but I wasn’t going to go there right now.

“You know what it is, we’ve already discussed that.” I gave his shoulder a playful shove, trying to lighten the moment.

He didn’t respond. Instead he leaned toward me, put his hand to my face and rubbed his thumb along my cheek. Before I could stop myself, I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand. It was the first real physical contact I’d really allowed him in days, and I felt an immediate sense of contentment, followed quickly by need. I opened my eyes slowly to find him looking at me intensely, like he hadn’t eaten for a week and I was a prime rib dinner.

“Come here,” he said huskily.

I did as he asked and scooted further down the couch, pressing up against his side. Before I was even fully seated, his lips were on mine with the same need thrumming through my own body. We pawed at each other, both unable to get enough. His lips made their way down my neck and, through some small miracle, despite the haze of lust, it dawned on me that we shouldn’t be doing this.

“Wait, wait,” I said, out of breath as I batted at him to stop kissing my neck. “We shouldn’t be doing this, you’re not fully recovered. I don’t want you to have a setback.”

“Screw setbacks,” he growled against my neck.

My voice was thick with need, even to my own ears—not much wonder I wasn’t convincing him. “No really...mmmm.” I let out a small moan as he sucked my earlobe. One of his fingers circled my nipple over my shirt.

“It’s been all I could do today not to pull you down to the floor and have my way with you. I’m done trying. Resistance is futile, gorgeous.” He tugged on my nipple, and I stifled a moan.

“Wait, maybe there is a way we can do this.” I moved off the couch and came to settle on my knees in front of him.

“Chloe, you don’t have to—” he argued, though his half-lidded gaze didn’t do much to solidify that argument.

“Shhhhh,” I interrupted, spreading his legs apart. “I want to.” And I did. The thought of the pleasure it would bring him, and that I was the one in control of that pleasure, set my libido on fire.

As I settled between his legs, I ran my hands along the hard, thick length of his cock underneath his jeans. Licking my lips, I undid his button, brought the zipper down, and reached into his pants to spring his erection free. Moving in, I placed my mouth on the mushroom tip and sucked gently. I circled my tongue around the head and felt Max’s hand thread through my hair. Glancing up, I saw him looking down at me with hooded eyes.

I opened my mouth further and worked my way down the length of him until I had most of his cock buried in my mouth. Max let out groan and gently pulled up on my hair, then pushed me slowly back down. I found my rhythm and continued to circle the head when I reached the top.

Minutes later, Max was wild with need and pushing his pelvis up off the couch to meet my mouth. “Aw fuck, Chlo.” He let out a small grunt, and I felt his seed hit the back of my throat. He tasted salty, musky—like man.

I rose up off the floor, and Max immediately pulled me to his lap. “You’re so amazing,” he breathed, nuzzling his face into my hair. “That mouth of yours is amazing.” He kissed the side of my head. “Why don’t we head to bed? We can watch something in there.”

I used a feather-light touch to run my fingers over the lingering bruise still marring his beautiful features. “You go on.” I nodded toward the direction of my room. “I’ll be right there. I’m just going to clean up down here and lock up.”

After tidying up the living room, putting the dishes in the dishwasher, brushing my teeth, and changing into a cute nightgown, I could think of nothing further to delay getting into bed with Max. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with him—it was the opposite. My willpower was at an all-time low, and I didn’t want him overdoing it. As sexually frustrated as we’d both been the past few days, I wasn’t sure that was even a possibility.

Inhaling a deep breath, I stepped into my bedroom to find Max watching the sports reel with only his boxer briefs on, one hand propped behind his head. It was a yummy site, this fine specimen of a man looking so relaxed and comfortable in my bed.

God, he was so completely and utterly fuckable. I didn’t stand a chance.

I walked around to the other side of the bed and got in. As I grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and laid back, I was immediately aware of Max’s scent on my pillow. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, remembering a similar occurrence after my mother had died.

“What’re you doing?” Max asked softly.

“Remembering,” I said on a sigh.

“Hopefully not the other men you’ve had in this bed.” He’d said it playfully, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

“Not at all.” I paused, then decided to share it with him as I laid back. “After my mom passed away, I remember going into her room one night and just lying in her bed for hours because it still smelled like her.”

“Oh.” Max shifted onto his side to look at me.

“When I got into bed just now, I could smell you on my pillow and it made me think of that for some reason. I haven’t thought about it in ages.” Without warning, a single tear fell down my cheek. Max brought his fingers to my skin to wipe it away.

Grief was a funny thing, sneaking up on you when you least expected it and bringing you to your knees. It’d been a decade since my mom had passed, but in moments like these it felt like yesterday.

“You never mention your father,” Max said. I stiffened. My father was never a welcome topic of conversation. “Hey, what is it? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said, running a hand through my hair.

I let out a breath. “I don’t like to talk about him because he doesn’t deserve discussing. He left shortly after Jess was born. Actually, to be more accurate he skipped town.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his confusion clear.

I sighed. “As you can probably guess, from the age difference between me and Jess, she was an accident. My parents were having financial trouble and never expected to have another child. Shortly after Jess was born he…robbed a bank.” I covered my face with my hands, not wanting to see Max’s reaction to my admission. “Only, being the idiot he is, he botched it, got caught and went on the run.”