She nods as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to be having this conversation about junk covers in the middle of the day like a real couple.
But it’s the first time I’ve actually felt like part of a real couple. This whole day has been fun, but it’s been more than that. It’s been like what I always thought my future might feel like. Me and the woman I care about communicating and working together like a team.
She works her jaw back and forth as she peruses the choices. “What size?”
I point to my crotch. “You don’t even want to know what I’m packing down south, Sue. Just grab a large or something.”
“But you have to get it over your jeans and be able to run. We’ll get extra-large. I like this color.”
I don’t even look at them, I just grab them and run toward the kid at the register. “Here,” I say, shoving them toward him.
After taking the package from me, he punches in something on the computer. “According to our instructions, you have to pay us with a book from Barnes & Noble. Doesn’t matter which one.”
Sue puts her hand inside the backpack and rummages around. “Ooh, this hockey book you picked is pretty.”
Pretty? The Gretzky book has the hockey legend on the jacket scoring a goal. But hey, whatever floats the girl’s boat. She slaps it down on the counter and bounces on the balls of her feet until the high school kid behind it widens his eyes.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He glances down at the book and then back up at me again, a grin splitting his face wide. “You’re Max Monroe. Dude, your penis book matches your drawers.”
Sue-Ann turns several shades of red until she almost matches the giant eggplant that graces the cover of The Penis Book that I snagged from the bookstore just to make her blush. Except I had wanted to witness it in private while I plied her with naughty words—not out in front of God and everybody.
“Max, what is that?” she hisses in a low whisper.
Just like Adam Sandler, I’m going to go with it. “It’s the book starting with ‘The.’ Don’t you like it?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.
“I like it,” the teenage employee says, whipping out his phone. “Hey, can I take a pic for my Insta?”
I snap my fingers. “If you hurry your ass. We’re racing.”
After a few rounds of pics holding up the book, I pull the purple boxer briefs over my jeans and the kid hands us our next clue. I put a hand down on the book. “Read this, kid. It never hurts to learn about your junk. The girls love a man who’s informed.”
Once we’re inside the cab of my truck, Sue turns to me. “I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry? Are you serious, Max? Whatever possessed you to get that book? Oh, my God,” she says with a wail, only stopping long enough to put her hands over her eyes. “I’m going to be the laughingstock of the chamber once those pictures hit your Insta feed.”
As she peeks out at me from through her fingers, I blow her a kiss. I want to erase that little sliver of unease, but it’s hard when she won’t let me. “You didn’t do anything, I did. Quit worrying so much and have some fun. You’re so buttoned-up sometimes, Sue-Ann. I like the looser version of you much better.”
She almost smiles but not quite. “What were you planning on doing with that thing?”
“I thought I’d keep it in the stock room as a souvenir and read aloud to you from it during slow times.” I can’t help but toss her a wink as I throw the truck into gear and head toward the highway. “Read me the clue.”
“If you wanted to read to me, then you should have picked up a copy of She Comes First instead.”
Hot slivers of lust rocket through me. “Believe me, Sue-Ann. She always does in my world. Any man who doesn’t care about a woman’s pleasure is nothing but a selfish asshat.”
With a huff, she whips out the clue and reads it to me. “The Grandma’s marathon has been a Duluth staple since 1977. Run your own mini-marathon from Grandma’s to the Maritime Museum and back. While you won’t be running the whole 26.2 miles, we think you can handle the .2. Pick one team member to complete the challenge. Once you’re finished, Grandma’s staff will hand you your next clue.”
He glances at my feet. “Your turn. Good thing you wore your running shoes, babe.”
Chapter Eleven
Sue-Ann
She comes first.
As my sneakers hit the pavement, my mind drifts back to all of my exes. Not that there have been a lot of them, but I don’t think one of them really cared all that much if I came or not. And sometimes it was just easier to fake it and get it over with than to try so hard for nothing. Toys work better than men in my opinion. So, how could it be possible that this twenty-five-year-old dude even knows about that book, let alone how to put a woman’s pleasure before his own?
My mind races, wondering if it’s true. And if I’ll ever find out.
It’s been a long time since I’ve done any running—I prefer spinning or Pilates for my workouts—but luckily, it’s only .2 miles from Grandma’s to the Maritime Visitor Center. A horn sounding snaps my head up, and I see a huge iron ore ship lollygagging into port. It must be about a thousand feet. I stop for a few seconds to catch my breath, waving at the ship’s crew, who line the railings along with the colorfully dressed tourists lining the street. The sailors on board wave back as the lift bridge starts to move. They’ll dump their cargo in port and be back out on the lake for another trip soon. And so it goes in Duluth—we’re still a bustling port even after all these years and the depression of the steel industry.
Once I reach the Maritime Visitor Center, I turn around and increase my pace back to Grandma’s. There’s only one more challenge until we race to the pit stop and find out the winners of this year’s race. Max stands on the curb in front of the clue box, sporting his purple Armachillo underwear over his jeans all while clapping and whistling for me. He seems oblivious to all the bystanders taking pics and videos of him. They’re not laughing at him—more in awe of his easy confidence as they scream and wave. With his encouragement, I pump my legs faster, reaching his outstretched arms and jumping into them.
“Damn, girl. You’re were running faster than a scalded dog. Great job!” Max reaches into the clue box and pulls out the envelope. “Detour. Bullseye or Bank Shot. Dunk the President of the chamber with the least number of bean bags or make ten regulation baskets in sixty seconds. Definitely Bank Shot. I loved playing hoops with my brother when I was a kid. Some of us still play in a pickup league at the gym. I’m sure I can do that one faster.”
He tugs me behind him as we race toward the parking lot and his pickup, but right before we reach it, he changes course and ducks into a brick-lined alley between the buildings, dragging me behind as my feet stutter to a stop.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. “I just ran my ass off. We could win! I thought you wanted to win?”
He shakes his head. “Winning isn’t everything. This is more important.”
I put the back of my hand to his forehead. “What could be more important? Are you hurt? Sick? What’s wrong, Max? You ate too many Big Macs, didn’t you?”
He leans in and snuggles his face into my neck. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything is so damn right.”
As if they have a mind of their own, my arms reach up and wind around his neck. It’s his perfect smell—all lemons and spices and man. It has to be… I don’t even want to think about the implications if it’s something else. Like me falling for him when I know I can’t give in. “I’m not understanding.”
“Sue-Ann, I like you so fucking hard right now,” Max says, walking me backward and around a bunch of oil cans until my back is flush with the brick wall of the alley. His huge hands cage me in as he leans over me and that spectacular citrusy scent hits my nostrils full force. Then it hits me between the legs.
My breath exhales in rapid little pants as I search for words that will make what he’s doing seem casual when it’s anything but. “Is that what all the kids are saying nowadays? What
does that even mean, Max?”
His warm breath whispers against my neck. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a kid. I’m all man. And when you were running with those full tits bouncing, I was sporting a rod. Thank god for these Armachillos hiding it, or I would be the shame of social media.” He nips at my lips until my knees wobble. “It means you’re strong and sexy and determined. Dammit, girl, I want to eat you like discount night at Old Country Buffet.”
Flames of heat crawl up my body to land on my cheeks as I struggle to think. Seems all I can do is feel. “Max, we’re racing.”
His hand moves to run along my jawline as I shiver in response. “We can take a little break. Who said we had to win? At this point, I’m fine with not coming in last.”
I hold my breath, my gaze searching his. “You said we had to win.”
“Well, now I’m suggesting a new Detour.” His hand drifts from my face down to the waistband of my jeans and… lower. Those wicked fingers rub me straight through the denim until I moan into his shoulder. Stars appear before my eyes, so I close them. “It’s the Max Monroe extra special detour. Win or come.”
Even as my hips tilt forward, I ask, “What if someone sees us?”
He glances around and the coast is clear as it has been since we wandered down here. “Maybe they’ll learn something. So which detour do you choose, Sue-Ann Johnson?”
“Um…” Words fail me as Max’s wicked fingers continue their torment. Instead of talking, I lean into his touch, wanting the extra pressure as my pussy fills with a wetness I can’t control.
“I’ll take that as a yes to the second detour,” he says, his voice a husky whisper. “Come.”
Max’s hands leave my heated core as a moan falls from my lips only to hover at the waist of my jeans again. He strokes along my curved stomach then he unsnaps the button and tugs the zipper down. I hold my breath until my exhales escape on little pants. His fingers leave a trail of heat down my lower abdomen to my pubic bone and then they… stop.
My eyes snap open only to find his hypnotic gaze boring into mine. “What is it that you want, Sue-Ann? Tell me. I need permission to complete the detour or we won’t get our next clue.”
I tug my lower lip between my teeth as I stare at his. Wanting. Needing. “Kiss me.”
When I expected passion and heat and taking, I get gentleness in return. Max brings his lips to mine in a kiss so tender it defies all logic when considering what came before it. His soft, firm mouth plays over mine even as his tongue demands entry, sweeping into my mouth and taking any doubts right along with it.
As our kiss deepens, it just reminds me more of that moment in my store when I surrendered my body to this man in a way I never had before. If I ever considered that kiss a fluke, I was dead wrong. Max’s hand moves lower, dipping into my lacy thong, and he pulls a deep moan from me as he drags one finger through my slick folds.
“Yes, you’re so damn wet for me,” he growls against my hair. “You feel so good, babe. I knew you would. Is it wrong that I’ve been dreaming about this?”
I rock my hips a tiny bit to encourage him to keep touching me. Everything but the pressure of his sinful fingers fades away. Not the air kissing my cheeks. Not the cold bricks prickling my back. Not the fact that someone could stumble upon us at any moment and blow both of our careers into outer space with one compromising photo or video.
Only him.
Only this.
“You're being a bad girl today, Sue-Ann. My bad girl,” he growls. “You want to come all over me, don’t you, babe?”
My eyes squeeze shut, and I move my hips, searching for more pressure. Max sends two fingers into my entrance and dips them quickly, eliciting a sweet moan from my lips. He pumps them in and out a few times, all while circling my throbbing clit with his thumb in just the right rhythm.
“Max…” I exhale his name on a sigh and a prayer. “I’m going to.”
His lips nip at my neck and then crawl their way along my shoulder blade. “Yeah, you are. If I start something, I finish it. I love how your breath comes out in these little huffs of pleasure. And your skin is this perfect shade of pink. And it’s all for me. This day belongs to me, Sue-Ann. I don’t ever want you thinking about Mark Spencer again.”
I twine my arms around his neck and bring his mouth down to mine. My lips hover between us, but I don’t kiss him. Not yet. “I don’t ever think about Mark Spencer.”
His hot gaze drills into me. “I only want you thinking about me.”
God, if he only knew how much I think about him. In bed at night with my heated skin tangled up in my sheets. In the shower as I run my fingers along the curves of my body. Every single time I have a dull moment at the store. The man has become permanently affixed to my eyelids.
And right now, I’m consumed with him as he brings me to heights of pleasure I’ve only dreamed about until this moment. Somewhere in my childish fantasies of the future, I pictured myself with a husband and a family. But my husband didn’t look quite like this. Maybe a suit or a fellow small business owner. Never a hockey player. And now I wonder if my worry is because of reality or simply because that reality doesn’t look like the images I’ve held inside my head and heart for so many years.
Under Max’s skillful ministrations, it doesn’t take long for my roused flesh to build to a crescendo of excitement. That shuddering bliss builds and builds under his adept hands. I don’t like to think how he learned all this. All of the women before me… how he used them to hone his talent.
“God, Sue-Ann, you feel incredible. So tight. So wet. I can’t wait until I get the chance to fuck you,” he murmurs, his voice low and gritty as he moves his fingers inside me, teasing my swollen clit even as he exerts that careful pressure everywhere else. “You’re going to suck my dick in a vice grip. This sweet pussy might end up killing me.”
“I want that too,” I choke out, reaching for my release as I think about how it would feel to have Max’s cock inside me.
As his naughty words flow over me, every muscle constricts and the waves of pleasure crest—and I’m falling into a cloud of pleasure so intense I see stars. The sweet release seems to go on forever and little moans escape my lips. Max dips his head and consumes them until I’m spent, leaning against him like a ragdoll.
He plants a sweet kiss on my forehead. “If I forget to tell you later, this is my favorite part of the race.”
Instead of answering, I bring his lips down to mine. “Mine too.”
Chapter Twelve
Max
Fuck me.
I stare at the regulation basketball hoop. No problem there. Then I stare at what’s in my hand. Because it’s nothing. There is nothing in my hand. No round inflated orange ball with black arcing lines. What I have to shoot into the basket—ten in under a minute—is a woman’s high-heeled shoe. And I don’t get to take it off and shoot it with my hand. Nope. I have to fire it into the hoop with my foot.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Sue-Ann’s sexy orgasm face notwithstanding, this day has been a royal pain in my ass. Worse yet, the team I’m competing against? Yup, you guessed it.
“Nice panties, Monroe.”
I want to slap the smug smirk off Spencer’s face, but since I’m the king of smug smirks myself, I refrain. “They’re cooling underwear. You should try some. It might help you deal with that troubling and chronic jock itch you have.”
“Haha. You should have picked the other detour. We got through it much faster, and I didn’t have to make an ass out of myself in front of the entire city of Duluth.”
“Really? Then why are you here? We’re tied. And you know what? Sue-Ann and I stopped for two snacks along the way. We didn’t even race full-out, and we’re still in the mix for the win.”
I toss her a wink as her eyes widen into saucers, since she qualifies as snack number two. Then that sexy lower lip protrudes, and it distracts me enough that I forget about Spencer and his chest-pounding for a second or two. A box of ladies' shoes
sits next to me, filled to the brim. As soon as the timer goes off, I have to put the shoes on and kick them into the hoop. It’s still an athletic event, even though it wasn’t the one I thought it would be, so I should be able to excel. After all, I’m a professional athlete and Spencer is… not. Unlike his brother, he couldn’t make it to the big time.
If he beats me, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I inhale a fortifying breath and steel my spine.
Not.
Gonna.
Happen.
Sue-Ann looks at me like she wants to mount me. Not him. And it’s going to stay that way no matter how many times I have to make a complete fool of myself. She’s worth it.
She’s worth it, Monroe, and you damn well know it. Maybe she’s worth everything.
Even though I haven’t known her that long, she makes me want to be the best version of myself just so she sees it, including wearing underwear over my pants and hoofing ladies' footwear into a hoop.
Nothing but net.
“How about a little side bet, Monroe?” Spencer asks, jamming his huge foot into a two-tight black pump.
“Bring it.” I do the same, but I choose a wedge as my first missile. I think the weight distribution of the chunky heel will give me a better chance to have accurate aim and no pointy heel to get hung up in the canvas net. There’s nothing more important to me in this moment that cruising to a landslide victory over this blowhard.
Spencer’s gaze taunts me. “If you lose, I get those panties as a framed token for my store. Autographed and everything.”
I nod. “And if I win, you never flirt with Sue-Ann again. No ‘dropping by’ her store so you can come on to her like some kind of pathetic loser. No dancing with her at family weddings. No buying her an inappropriate holiday gift. And for Pete’s sake, no touching. Not even a hug.”
He scoffs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck that. Sue-Ann’s been my friend since school. Besides, she’s best friends with my sister-in-law. Try again, dipshit.”
Gamed (Minnesota Caribou Book 4) Page 7
