I sucked and pumped him, and he groaned and grunted and fought for control until finally I heard him bite out the words I'd been working for. "I'm gonna come."
When I'd climbed over him again, both of us naked now and lying on the cold tile just inside the front door, I looked down into his relaxed face. "I'm ready to see the bed."
Chapter 18
Trashing the House
Max
I was more than happy to show Tatum my bed. And anything else she might like to see. Just as soon as I regained the power of ambulatory mobility.
The woman had some kind of magic mouth, and it had sapped my will to do anything but lie in a heap on the floor.
But when she spoke, her voice breathy and demanding and full of needy suggestion, I summoned the ability to stand. I scooped her into my arms, picked my way through the destroyed contents of the bookshelf that had once stood next to my door, and carried her to the stairs.
"I'd like to carry you up the stairs," I told her, loving the way her big eyes glowed in the darkness of my house, where the moonlight played across the walls and floor.
"I'm fine with that," she said. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me hard.
I glanced up the staircase. I was probably capable. It's something a guy like Trace Johnson would surely do. But the odds of injury should I slip, coupled with the fact I'd only recently regained the ability to stand up at all, made it seem like a bad idea. The season was about to start. I didn't need an injury, and if I did have an injury, I wanted one I could explain without having to make something up.
"I meant that I'd really like to, but I don't think it would be the safest way for us both to get up there, considering you just made me almost incapable of even walking."
She laughed, a wicked light sound that rolled through me and got certain parts of me moving again. Just not the carry-a-fully-grown-woman-up-the-stairs parts. "Got it," she said, sliding her legs down mine and to the floor.
I followed her up the stairs, my eyes trained on her absolutely perfect ass, and when we got to the top, I heard myself bark out, "on the right." It seemed that only part of my caveman instinct had been stifled by the blowjob. "In here." I practically pushed her into my bedroom, but Tatum spun and demonstrated some caveman of her own, putting on hand on my chest and pushing me back until my ass hit the wall next to my window. I felt the soft fabric of the curtains Cat had picked out behind me, but that sensation was lost as soon as Tatum pressed the length of herself against the front of me.
My cock was quickly coming back to life as Tatum kissed me, her hands sliding over me, one leg hitching up around my hips. My own hands were no longer controlled by my brain—caveman or otherwise—and they were hungrily gripping and grabbing, squeezing and caressing.
We were taking turns barking out orders and expletives, both of us caught up in some kind of sexual frenzy that I could only guess came from months of celibacy on my part and who knew exactly what Tate's excuse was. I didn't care, but I dared to hope the commanding, put-together professional I knew in the office might always be this demanding and directive in the bedroom. I didn't need to be told what to do, but I was finding I liked it.
Tate's back was against the wall now, and I was devouring her breasts while one hand held her back and the other was dipping and sliding, teasing around her clit. She was moaning and crying out, and clawing me with her nails in the sexiest way I could imagine. I'd have marks, but no one but her, and maybe the guys in the locker room, would see them.
"Bed," she moaned as I felt her ratcheting up toward a release. "You said we'd see the bed. I want you inside me."
I really didn't need to be told twice. Those were the magic words where most men were concerned, and I wasn't much different there.
"You got it," I growled, scooping her up now and whirling away from the wall.
Unfortunately, Tate might have had a leg or an arm tangled in the curtains, because as soon as I took a couple steps, there was a ripping sound and then a crash as the entire curtain came down, rod and all.
"Shit," I said, and for a second, Tate stiffened in my arms.
"I'm wrecking your house," she whispered.
"We're wrecking it together, and it's more fun than I've had in years, so don't you dare say you're sorry."
"I'm not," she said, and we both laughed as I tossed her onto my bed and climbed over her.
"Condoms?" she breathed, taking my cock in her fist and giving it a couple pumps that nearly had me exploding already.
"I was a Boy Scout," I told her, reaching for the nightstand. We rolled together and I extricated a condom, ripping it open with my teeth. Tate grabbed the open packet from me and pushed me back as she sat up, rolling it on with ease and then looking up at me with the moonlight glinting in her eyes.
"You ready?" I asked her. For a second, I hesitated, worry over the complexity of our situation threatening to creep back between us. I saw Tate flinch, just a tiny bit, before taking me in her hand and demonstrating her readiness by notching me exactly where she wanted me as she laid back down.
She was ready. She was wet and tight and every inch of her welcomed every inch of me like I was the very thing she'd been waiting for her whole life. Tate gasped and moaned and cursed, and I did the same, doing my damndest to last a respectable amount of time. But when she pushed herself up onto her elbows and then sat up, wrapping her legs around my waist as I moved into position, that was pretty much the end of it.
She was in my lap, her head thrown back and all that dark hair cascading over my arms as I held her, as I buried myself inside her. The long column of her throat was exposed to me, and there was something so vulnerable and trusting in it, that was what did it for me. That and Tate crying out, "Fuck me, oh God, Max. Yes, I'm gonna come."
We didn't come together. I didn’t think that really happened all that often except maybe in movies and books. Still, my orgasm chased hers like it was trying to catch up, building just as I felt the muscles inside her milk me hard one last soul-shattering time, and heard her whisper, "Oh my God," as her head fell to my shoulder.
And then I combusted, my entire body expanding and contracting until I saw stars and potentially lost consciousness for a quick second.
She was perfect. God, this was perfect, and I'd never felt anything so good, so close to heaven.
We stayed still for a few minutes in which I swear, the entire world just waited, hanging on our beating hearts, our matched breathing. Finally, I tipped her back, laying her down among the pillows at the top of my bed and reaching to pull the tangled blankets out from under us and then over us. Tate said nothing, but I could see a little smile on her face as she watched me, and when I laid down next to her, gathering her into my arms, she let out a little sigh that made me feel something I'd never felt before.
Complete.
Chapter 19
Coffee Does Not Equal Fate
Tatum
I woke up early with sun streaming across my face, my body feeling sore in ways it hadn't in years—maybe ever, with a strong muscled arm wrapped around my waist. My mind spun for only half a second before the entirety of the previous night came roaring back like a freight train, pulling behind it every emotion and thought I'd shoved away as I'd allowed myself to give into the driving attraction I'd been feeling for Max.
We went to dinner to discuss business. To talk about how the kiss the day before had been a grave mistake. To ensure we were on the same page, that we would most definitely not let anything like that happen again.
And then I was up against the side of the restaurant, wrapping my leg around him as he felt me up. And then ...
Oh lord, and then.
I glanced over at the peaceful face of the man sleeping next to me and a warm tenderness fluttered in my belly. He smiled when he slept. I never would have guessed that. Stern, serious Max Winchell, who stared down opponents and television cameras, smiled in his sleep. He looked so serene and peaceful I didn't want to wake him, but I
desperately needed to get a bit of space to get my head together. And to pee. I slipped a foot off the side of the bed and slid out from beneath his arm, turning to the window as I stood.
"Holy shit." The room was destroyed. I had a vague recollection of a crash the previous night but hadn't been entirely sure if it was just part of the chaos in my own mind as Max had driven excitement and sensation through every cell of my body. I swore my head had spun from the time we left the restaurant, and I'd been almost stone-cold sober. One margarita barely counted.
"Yeah." Max's voice came from behind me, low and raspy with sleep.
"We did that?"
"You did that, I think." He didn't sound angry. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," I said, ignoring the urge to turn back around, slip back in beside him, get right back to what we'd been doing repeatedly all night long.
"Come back soon," he said, and the warm invitation in his voice made my whole body warm again.
I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it and dropping my face into my hands. Oh God, what was I doing? What were we doing? Had we gotten this out of our systems? My own desire to leap right back into bed with Max suggested otherwise. I had to stop this—I would become the next Lana Holmes. Everything I’d worked for all these years could not be destroyed in this single night. I needed to take a stand.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Max was sitting up in bed, tapping at his phone, but he looked up and smiled when he saw me. "Come here," he said.
I clung to the doorframe. "I don't know if it's a good idea."
"Tate," Max's voice was serious, but he smiled as he said, "I think that ship has sailed."
I gave myself a moment, made my mind be in charge instead of my wanton, easily convinced, traitorous body, and I stood my ground. "Max," I whispered. The light of day brought with it a healthy dose of reality. Dating Max, or having sex with Max, or whatever it was I was doing with Max, was a bad idea for so many reasons.
For one thing, it was completely impulsive. I hadn't set out looking for a romance or a fuck buddy or anything at all, so acting on these sudden desires to lick every square inch of the man's body were just that—an impulse. Not my style.
For another thing, this impulse had already put my job on the line. If anyone at the firm got the slightest inkling that I'd gotten involved with a client—let alone spent the night sexually destroying his house—I'd never be able to hold my head up in the office again. And I'd never hold onto the respect I'd spent years earning in that boys' club of an office. Beyond that, I'd never be promoted and the best opportunities would go to others. To men.
This wasn't an overreaction or an assumption. I reminded myself of the cautionary tale of Lana Holmes. She'd been fierce and respected, had ruled the firm for couple years as the fastest-rising VP they'd ever had. She'd been my hero. And then she'd gotten tangled up with a client and tried to hide it. And her descent from the pedestal had been spectacular. She'd been pulled off that job, kept her title, but never saw another outside engagement and eventually left the firm in shame, hoping to recover her career somewhere else. The thing about my industry though, was that it was a pretty small world. I'd never heard of Lana again, and wouldn't be surprised to find her in another career entirely.
I didn't want to rebuild, to start over. I'd worked way too hard.
"Tate. I can hear the gears turning in your head. Come here." Max patted the mattress next to him.
Despite every thought I'd just indulged myself in, every reminder I'd offered, my feet moved of their own volition, and I was next to Max before my mind caught up. "I wanted to say no, but now I'm sitting here."
"What do you mean?" Max trailed a finger down my arm, from my shoulder to my wrist, and every inch of me shivered in delight.
I took a steadying breath. "I mean, my head knows the right answers, but my body is on its own program."
"I think your body is wise," Max said, sliding his hand around my waist and leaning back as he pulled me on top of him. We were both still fully naked, and I already knew this was a recipe for disaster.
"Max," I complained, but he was already kneading my ass and I could feel his hard length against me, between us. He lifted his head to suck at my throat, and I heard myself moan, which was the least convincing argument I'd offered so far.
"Maybe we should talk about what your head wants in a few minutes," he murmured, finding my earlobe with his teeth.
"Mmm," I agreed.
We didn't break anything that morning, took it slow and easy instead, until we were both languishing in a satisfied pile, the satiny sheets pooled around us as we curled around one another, upside down on his bed.
"Your brain is about to kick in again, isn't it?" Max asked, tracing a finger over the wrinkle I could feel forming between my eyebrows as I thought about Lana Holmes.
I sighed, turned my head to look into his eyes. The green rings were glowing around the gold brown centers, glinting in the morning sunlight streaming all around us. "We should probably have a real conversation. Clothed. Upright."
"Should I make coffee first?" Max asked.
"Definitely." I thought longingly of my coffee machine. I could really use the perfect foam right now with a nice little shot of espresso. But Max's coffee would have to do until I got home.
Max kissed me lightly, and then he slipped from the bed, and I watched his perfect hard ass disappear into the bathroom. When the door shut, I looked around for my clothes before remembering they were downstairs. I padded out of the room, glancing in the mirror over the dresser to run a hand through my hair, wipe at the mascara smudged beneath my eyes. When I'd gotten dressed, I located my purse, flung at the foot of a long leather couch, and as I texted my mother, I looked around the room. We'd destroyed this room too.
Sex with Max, it turned out, could be very destructive.
Mom had already texted me.
Mom: I am guessing dinner went well. Or at least I hope that's why you didn't come home. Text me as soon as you can or I'll worry.
Me: I'm fine Mom. Home soon. Sorry for worrying you.
Mom: You're a big girl. I was only a little worried.
Three dots danced next to Mom's name for a minute, and then her next text appeared, and shock made me cold.
Mom: Peter slept over here.
I wanted to respond, but my fingers were as confused as my mind. Peter? Our landlord? What about Raaah-jeerrrr? I managed a question mark and a surprised emoji, and was further shocked when Mom responded with a series of emojis I didn't even know my phone was capable of making.
I put my phone back into my purse as Max came down the stairs wearing only a pair of track pants. His upper body, in all its cut and muscled glory, was on full display and though I imagined it might be physically dangerous to have sex again at this point—both because my body was so sore and because it seemed like we had a very damaging chemistry (at least where home furnishings were concerned), I honestly wanted to jump him all over again.
"You look upset." Max stopped in front of where I sat on his couch, reaching a hand down to me.
I took his hand and followed him through the mess to the kitchen, which was enormous and sunlit, all smooth shiny surfaces and fancy appliances. And his coffee machine? Enormous, amazing, and ultra high end. I couldn’t help but feel like this could be some kind of sign, even though that was ridiculous.
He saw me staring at it. "I'm picky about my coffee too," he said. "What's your poison?"
I told him what I wanted as I slid into a chair a the long table that sat in front of a wall of windows looking out onto his grassy yard, where an outdoor kitchen area was built into one side of the patio and a hot tub sat on the other side.
As he made the coffee, he glanced at me over his shoulder. "Before we talk about last night, tell me what happened this morning."
"Nothing," I said, my mind focused on things between us. "Oh, well, my mom I mean," I said, realizing he meant just now. "I think she slept with my
landlord."
He turned, cocked one eyebrow high and gave me a half grin. "Is that who took you to the zoo?"
"No," I said. "That was Raaah-jeerrr."
"Sounds like Rose is very popular."
"I'm so confused." Mom was behaving like she was in her twenties, not a widow edging close to sixty-five. But as I considered my shock, and drilled down a bit, I realized there wasn't really anything wrong with that. She was free, she was single. Why shouldn't she be having fun? It was just hard to move her from the very maternal spot she held in my mind over to a place where I could see her that way. As a woman. Who was dating. I sighed as Max slid a perfectly foamy cup in front of me and took a seat next to me with his own cup.
"Let's talk," he said.
I peered at him. The Max I was sitting next to today was different than the one I'd met at the office that first day. He was different even than the one I'd met for dinner. This Max had a self-satisfied air about him, and looked far more relaxed than the one I'd known first. This looked like a Sunday-morning post-sex Max, one who wasn't questioning things, one who knew what he wanted. "I think we've made a terrible mistake," I told relaxed Max.
"Why?" he asked, still smiling.
"Don't act like you weren't there. You were there," I pointed a finger at him and then became distracted by the perfect coffee he'd made me. "Oooh, this is so good."
"We like our coffee the same way," he noted.
"Which is not the point," I said, turning back to him. "We're entering into a very serious business relationship. My firm is trusting me to take charge of things here, and begin to guide the Mr. Match expansion. I can't be mixed up in ..." I gestured between us. "This."
Max mimicked my gesture. "This ... was really nice."
I stared at him for a beat. It was really nice. "Look. In a different situation, I could see us trying this. Finding out where it goes. It has been fun, and there's no point pretending I'm not attracted to you. But I can't do this," I said. "My job is at stake, my reputation."
Scoring the Boss: Mr. Match Book 4 Page 14
