High Tide

by Michelle Mankin

  “Enough, Max,” I warned as more wet heat pierced my core.

  “Never enough.”

  Abandoning my breasts, he lowered himself to the floor, his hands shaping my curves as he went. Kneeling before me, he slipped his hands into the long slit in the dress. Finding my calves and lifting the skirt as he slowly slid his way upward, he exposed and caressed my wobbly knees, then my quivering thighs, until he found the wet, pulsing center of me.

  “I can’t remain upright if you do that,” I whispered when he lowered his head, his lips so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on me.

  “You can,” he said, staring up at me with eyes that were no longer blue, but as black as his dark intentions. “If I had to endure the torture of knowing you were walking around all evening with nothing under this dress, you can give me this.”

  He dropped his head, sliding his nose softly across the smooth skin over my aching pussy. Then he ran his parted mouth over it.

  I grabbed fistfuls of his hair. It was cool to my touch, his lips firm and warm, and his tongue was wet. He made me nearly incoherent as he swirled it around my clit.

  “Oh, Max.” I moaned. “Yes.”

  He was so skillful with his slippery tongue. Circling, sliding, gliding, he increased my need while I praised him. I gave him the praise, but he was the one who made me feel worshipped.

  I tugged on his hair, and he held me in place, gripping my hips and forcing me to succumb. His fingers telegraphed urgency like his mouth did, biting into my flesh while he made deep groaning noises over my pussy as if the taste of me drove him wild, as if he were ravenous, as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

  “Max,” I cried.

  I couldn’t get enough of him either. I pressed myself into his face, rocking and mewing as pleasure seized me, stretching my skin tight over its frame and lighting a blazing fire in my blood. Again and again, he scorched my throbbing clit with the fine edge of his sharp tongue.

  “Yes, oh yes,” I gasped.

  He groaned, the vibrations sinking deep within me. He sucked harder, and I unraveled.

  Springing to his feet, he lifted me in his arms and had me inside the bedroom and then flat on my back in the bed so fast, my head spun. Then somehow, his pants were down, his cock was sheathed, and he was inside me. The swift, hard heat of his possession robbed me of breath, even while all that he was flooded my senses.

  My dress pushed up to my waist, my shoes still on, I wrapped my legs around his narrow hips and took everything he gave me.

  Stroke by masterful stroke, Max stoked the fire inside me again. I’d barely come down from the previous pleasure, and already I rose again on fiery wings, this time with him.

  Groaning, he pierced me deeply with his strokes. His pleasure was my pleasure. My stilettos spiked into the tight skin over his ass. His cock was a rod, filling me so perfectly.

  I held on tight, arching my back off the mattress, then lifting my hips into each decadent thrust, riding him as he rode me. And like lightning, it struck both of us, hot and hard, wet and wild.

  • • •

  But afterward, long after we were cleaned up and back in bed together, Max drifted off, and I stayed awake.

  Why wouldn’t he acknowledge me? Us? Exactly how long would the time he said he needed take?

  Too long, and the lie we told in public would likely become the truth in private.

  Samuel had dismissed my mother over and over again. It had destroyed her love for him, and his for her, if he ever had any. He must have loved her at one time, or else my mother never would have loved him in the first place, never perpetuated the lie that I was his daughter.

  I punched my pillow and flipped over, turning away from Max.

  Acknowledgment was important. Pride in my being his. Those were beautiful words he had spoken to me about my worth. But weren’t they just meaningless words without anyone aside from the two of us to witness it?

  “Where are you going?” Max reached for me as I tried to slip from the bed without him noticing.

  “I was trying to let you sleep a little longer. I have to run through my lines and get ready for work.” I covered his hand with mine, prying his fingers from my skin and trying to ignore the twinge inside my chest I felt from having to leave the bed where everything with us seemed to be the way I wanted it to be.

  “It’s still dark outside.”

  “Yes, I know.” I sighed. “But we start filming on location today.”

  “In the dark?” He sounded less sleepy and a lot suspicious.

  “Makeup. Wardrobe fitting. By the time we get started, it’ll be five a.m., which is typical for filming on location. The lighting’s best early.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize.” Max sat up, and when the covers slid to his waist, I got an eyeful.

  Wide shoulders. Solid chest. Ridges of solid muscle. Lots of strength. Tons of warmth. So compelling, all I wanted and needed. But I had to get going.

  Turning away, I climbed out of the bed. The floor was cold, and I cringed. “If you want to shower first, I’ll get the coffee going. Then while you drink it, I’ll shower. We’ll both be ready to go at the same time.”

  “Is this an all-day shoot?” he asked.

  “Yes. Why?” I stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at him.

  “I made plans today.”

  “What kind of plans?” All those in-the-dark doubts I’d decided to set aside crept back in.

  “Swimming, and stuff I’ve put off that I need to take care of.”

  “I thought we decided that Thursdays were your day off.”

  “They are. I mean, they were, but I thought I’d switch it this week.”

  “Does this have something to do with the phone calls you made the other night?”

  “Yes.”

  I kept my eyes on his, though it was difficult, as vulnerable and insecure as I suddenly felt. “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener. And if it’s something that’s bothering you, I might be able to help.”

  His expression softening, Max stood and came toward me, reaching for me and pulling me into him by the belt on my robe. “Hey, when did you put this on?” He frowned.

  “I got cold in the middle of the night.”

  “You should have scooted over to me. I’d have kept you warm.” His gaze dipped to my chest, then lifted, its color darkened to sapphire.

  “I wanted you to sleep. The robe was fine.”

  He frowned, obviously not believing me. He searched my gaze, his brow creased. “Hollie,” he said, and his ominous tone made my stomach clench painfully.

  “I really need to look over my lines. Can we talk about this later?” I squeezed his arm. “I mean, if this is just about sleeping logistics. Is everything okay with us?”

  He nodded, and I moved away. Acid churned as I realized that though he’d nodded, he had avoided confirming anything verbally.

  • • •

  “Hey, Holliewood.”

  “Hey, Zachary.” I lifted my chin to meet my handsome costar’s gaze in the dressing room mirror. Spinning around in my chair, I watched him toss back his nearly shoulder-length black hair as he moved closer to me inside the trailer.

  “You look good. The platinum is perfect for your character, and I love the clothes the wardrobe stylist chose for you.”

  “Thanks. You look great too.” The jean jacket, crisp white T-shirt, faded jeans, and scuffed biker boots were just right for his bad-boy part, lending an edginess to his boyishly handsome looks.

  “I’m nervous about today.” His full lips flattened. “It’s always a challenge to get the characterization right at the beginning.” His expression turned entreating. “Do you mind running through the lines?”

  “Of course I don’t. I’m nervous too.” I glanced down at my shiny red pumps as I made the admission.

  I’d lied. It was more than nerves with me. It was nerves, plus all my unsettled feelings about Max, my stepfather, the lawsuit, Fanny, and Ernie.<
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  I sighed.

  “Hey, I saw your test shots.” Zachary came close and slid a finger under my chin to lift it. “You’re going to rock this part.”

  “You’re going to rock yours too. Everyone’s talking about it. I’m honored to be working with someone of your caliber. You’re the one with all the experience. I’m totally out of my league.”

  “Experience doesn’t mean shit when the camera loves you.” He shifted closer, framing my face with his hands and staring down at me. “Your charisma reaches out and grabs you from every celluloid strip. There’s this hint of vulnerability in your gaze. An invitation in your smile. And your curves . . .”

  As he lowered his gaze, the air grew heavy. His eyes were hooded when they met mine again.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I said, and I did, even if he wouldn’t acknowledge me publicly.

  “I have a girlfriend. I wasn’t trying to get you to sleep with me, though if you offered, I certainly wouldn’t turn you down.”

  Zachary gave me a double-dimpled grin guaranteed to melt the panties of most of the girls in the Northern Hemisphere. But not me. I was partial to deep vertical grooves of amusement.

  “Does amazing things for my ego to have Zachary Flynn saying flattering things to me,” I said, deflecting.

  “Truth, not flattery.” His dimples deepened, and I smiled. Zachary was a harmless flirt. “IG moment.” He slid his cell from his pocket and snapped a photo of the two of us with his arm draped around me.

  “So, the lines.” I cleared my throat and stepped back to put some space between us while he returned his cell to his pocket.

  “Heck yeah. Let’s do the lines, starting with the kiss.” He waggled his dark brows.

  “Um, no.” I shook my head.

  “Um, yes. It’s the catalyst for the slap. It’s always best to start with the motivation before moving forward.”

  “Is it?”

  My mind was in a holding pattern, circling round and round about Max. I thought back to where it had started with him—my fall off the riser at the photo shoot. That event had sent things in motion between us. Or at least I thought it had.

  But what if I’d missed something? Did I need to go back further to figure us out and fix what seemed to be going wrong between us?

  While I waited for Max that evening, I paced the condo. Twelve steps from the kitchen to the entryway, fifteen steps to the sectional, ten to the kitchen. Repeat. Round and round.

  Over and over again, I traced and retraced my steps, my eyes tired and bleary and my nerves jangled. My stomach was empty except for a yogurt and an orange I’d made myself eat around noon, nine and a half hours ago.

  “Where are you, Max?” I lifted my cell, checking my texts again. My message was delivered, but he hadn’t responded.

  It was getting late. So late. He wasn’t swimming in the dark. It was past regular business hours. What was he doing? And who was he doing it with?

  My chest sizzled in a bad way.

  He’s not coming back. He took off and disappeared once, and now he’s done it again.

  What did I have to offer to keep him? I was a novice lover with emotional baggage, and a lot of the publicity stuff that surrounded me seemed to spook him. Not much in the positive column. No wonder he had bolted.

  Just as I stalled internally and physically on step seven between the kitchen and the entryway, the door to the condo suddenly popped open, and he came inside.

  “Max, are you all right?” I drank him in greedily with my eyes.

  “Not hardly.” Lifting his chin, he shut the door behind him and stepped farther into the living area. The noxious fumes wafting from him hit me first.

  Whiskey. Samuel’s preferred drink.

  Max staggered toward me. A tall, handsome, blue-eyed Adonis, he listed like a ship on unexpectedly rough seas.

  “You’ve been drinking.” I brought my hand up to my throat. I could feel my pulse beneath my skin beginning to beat rapidly.

  “I’ve had a few.”

  “More than a few.” My eyes widened as I noted how disheveled he was. His button-down shirt was wrinkled and untucked. His hair was tangled, and his blue eyes were red rimmed and cloudy. “What happened to you?”

  “You.” He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers only tangling it more. “You happened to me.”

  I flinched as he dropped his hand to his side, as if offended by its ineffectiveness to perform the task he needed it to.

  I wanted to shrink back from him. This felt too similar to the confrontation in the library with Samuel. But I straightened my shoulders and came toward Max, remembering the affirming words he’d spoken to me only the night before.

  “You’re drunk. You don’t mean that.” My eyes burned, both from hurt and from the acrid fumes that surrounded him. “I . . . I don’t like drinking.” It was more than dislike. It terrified me. “But we’ll talk about it in the morning when you’re sober.”

  Swallowing hard, tamping down my fear, I put my hand on his arm. This was Max, not my stepfather. “Let me, um, help you get to bed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I glanced up at his words. His expression as he stared down at me was so tender, so soft, so full of regret, that it rocked me. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay.” He shook his head. “I thought I could make it okay, but I can’t. I’ve only made it worse.”

  “I don’t understand.” I thought he was apologizing for the drinking, but if so, what he said didn’t make sense.

  “Sweet, trusting, beautiful Hollie. I shouldn’t have come back. Not before. Not now. But I can’t make myself stay away. Not enough alcohol in the world to keep me away from you.” He framed my face in his hands, his gaze no longer unfocused but steady. “I love you.”

  I froze. “Um, you what?” I latched onto his forearms as desperately as my heart latched onto those monumental words.

  “I love you,” he repeated. “It was like my life only started, that it only had purpose after we first met.”

  The catalyst wasn’t my fall off the riser. I’d been mistaken. “I thought you didn’t even notice me until the photo shoot.”

  “I noticed you.” His eyes flared. “Standing behind your sister in Ash’s apartment. Eclipsing her with your beauty.”

  I shook my head.

  “That you don’t seem to realize how gorgeous you are only deepens your allure.”

  “Fanny’s the beauty.”

  “She’s the bolder colors when the sun’s rays darken. You’re the dawn. The hush of anticipation. The sparkle of light on a new day. The cream of your skin. The pink of your cheeks when you blush. The gold of a sunrise in your hair.” Looking regretful and sad, he lifted a lock of my hair and rubbed it between his thumb and finger. “Well, it was rose gold before.”

  “Oh, Max.” I felt sad too. He hadn’t said a word about my hair, but somehow it seemed to embody what had started to go wrong with us.

  “You shouldn’t accept my apology. You shouldn’t have accepted me. I’m not right for you.”

  “You’re exactly right for me.” As my eyes flashed, his narrowed.

  “You’re a Hollywood princess. I work for you.”

  “I thought we already figured that out. So we have different backgrounds. It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Max didn’t seem to register my words. His focus had turned inward, his gaze taking on a faraway cast. “You gave me a pass on my past. You shouldn’t have without knowing the things I’ve done.”

  “What have you done?” I asked, and he went completely still. I held my breath, afraid that everything hinged on what he would reveal to me.

  “Maybe you should sit down.” He slid his hand down my arm to clasp my fingers. His grip was hot against my chilled flesh.

  “I don’t want to sit down. Tell me now. Please,” I begged. My heart was hammering so hard, it hurt.

  “I have a gambling problem.”

  “What?” My eyes widened in surprise.


  “Rather, I did have one.” He released my hand, started to lift his to his hair, but seemed to remember the futility of the gesture at the last moment. “I joined the military before the addiction could get ahold of me too badly, but when I was discharged and returned to Biloxi, it was all there to tempt me again. With a little money in my pocket, I got into trouble pretty quick. Then when my grandmother got sick, and there were all those medical bills we couldn’t pay, I got into more trouble. I justified it in my mind, told myself I was helping her. But I only ended up adding to her stress with my mounting debts at the end.”

  He lifted his gaze from the floor and gave me a sheepish look.

  “Oh, Max.” I moved toward him, reaching out to embrace him, but he stepped back.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me.” His arms stiffened at his sides. “After New York, they called in my marker. I went to Biloxi and met with them. I paid my debt in full. When I returned, I made doubly sure that I was square with them and that none of my connection with all of that would blow back on you.” He waved a hand in the air. “I don’t want your pity.”

  “I don’t pity you. I just want to comfort you.” Tears for him burned in my eyes. “You regret your mistake. You’re hurting. I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love without a lot of closure.”

  “Hollie. Fuck. I mean, shit. I know you do. For sure, I know. That just makes it so much worse.”

  “How do you mean?” I tilted my head inquiringly.

  “Your childhood wasn’t rosy, sure, but look how you turned out.” He stared at me as if I were an untouchable goddess on a throne.

  “I’ve made mistakes. Tons of them.”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t look like he remotely believed me.

  Slowly, I reached for him again, afraid he might reject me again.

  “Don’t hook yourself to me. I’ll tarnish you.”

  “I don’t think so.” I slid my arms around his waist and pressed my body into his. “I think we’re a good fit. I think your care and concern buffs out a lot of my imperfections.”

  “Shug.” He groaned, his arms sliding around me and holding me tight.