Rose

by Sydney Landon

  By the time she finishes, my mouth is hanging up. I’m in such a rush to assure her I’m not a weirdo that I admit something I’d planned to keep to myself. “I’m hard because I’m with you. It wouldn’t matter if we were at a mall or fucking Toys-R-Us. It’s just the way my body reacts when you’re around.”

  She looks nonplussed for all of a few seconds before she smirks at me. “I believe I’d keep your sexual references away from a kid’s store, counselor, but I like the general theme of your message.”

  Now, I’m the one with a flushed face. Rather than wait on this train wreck to reach the station, I pull on her hand and stalk into the store we’ve been standing in front of for far too long. Unfortunately, I know as soon as I look around that there is nothing here for Rose. The place is packed with shirts and jeans that have what I guess are supposed to be fashionable rips and tears in them. If the bored-looking, bubble-gum chewing sales associate is any indication, we’ve landed in teen hell. Rose’s hand flexes within my own as we both stand uncertainly. “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” she murmurs behind me.

  “Let’s go somewhere else,” I say as I try to pull her back through the door.

  When she doesn’t budge, I look down to find her staring up at me. She shifts uncomfortably before saying, “I—um, do you think I could look around?”

  For a moment, I think she’s joking, but a hint of longing in her voice tells me otherwise. Then it hits me. If what she told me earlier is any indication, she was never allowed to be young. She dresses older than her age, and I would bet money that she always has. I doubt she’s ever owned a piece of clothing like the ones surrounding us. “Sure, baby, pick out anything that you like,” I encourage as she moves timidly forward and begins flipping through the racks.

  She spends well over an hour walking every inch of the store as if entranced. At the end of that time, she has only one pair of jeans and a T-shirt over her arm. She comes to where I’m standing a few feet away and says, “I know this will sound stupid, but I would very much like to get this outfit. But I don’t want to try it on here.”

  “Okay,” I agree easily. “I’m sure you know what fits you, so it’s no big deal, sweetheart.” I point at the register. “Let’s go pay and move on to the next store.” She sets them on the counter, and I notice that her hands are shaking. Then it hits me. She wants the outfit, but this is the first time she’s picked something out on her own. Without saying anything, I drop an arm around her shoulders in wordless support and she snuggles into my side. Before I’m even aware of it, I’m dropping a kiss on the top of her head and feeling things that should have me sprinting for the nearest exit. My need to protect her is slamming up against the wall I’ve spent years carefully building around my heart.

  As I sign the receipt for our first purchase, she takes the bag, holding it carefully in her other hand as if it contains a rare treasure. “Thank you, Max,” she says sincerely.

  “You’re welcome, honey. Now, let’s see what else we can find.” She ends up doing the rest of her shopping in Nordstrom. A store that has enough of a high-end feel to make her comfortable. This time, she does take a stack into the dressing room. Then I find myself in the uncomfortable position of mentioning the undergarments that she hasn’t made any move toward getting. “Er—Rose, if you’re afraid that I have some strange panty fetish, you can relax. I know that you need underwear, and if it will make it easier for you, I can walk around the men’s section while you pick them out.” I pull my wallet from my pocket and take out my American Express card. “Here, take this and buy whatever you need. I’ll come back later on to see if you’re ready.”

  She stares down at the card, then back at me before shaking her head. “Oh no, counselor, there will be no running. You’ve wanted to get in my panties for months, and you’re fixing to get your chance.” She drops her gaze to see if her words are having the desired effect on me, and dammit, as usual, there’s a direct line from her lips to my cock.

  I put a hand on the nape of her neck and squeeze lightly. “You have no idea what you’re playing with,” I whisper in her ear. I’m gratified to feel her shudder.

  I think I’ve taken the upper hand until she pushes back against me, wedging her ass against my groin. “Then show me,” she tosses over her shoulder before pulling away from me.

  And just like that, she turns the tables, and I’m left wondering if I can remain only friends with the woman who is fast becoming an obsession to me.

  * * *

  Outside of a few rocky moments when I’d had some twinges of unease—to put it mildly—the mall had been strangely fun. It was obvious shortly after we walked in the door that neither of us was used to shopping with the masses. But it had turned out to be the distraction I desperately needed. I had always loved teasing Max and today had been no exception. Forcing him to help me pick out clothing in Nordstrom had been amusing, but the real fun had been the lingerie shopping.

  I would never have guessed that such a confident man would turn into such a bumbling, blushing schoolboy when faced with a pair of cheekinis and a matching bra. When I hold up another set with a matching garter belt, he backs up so fast, he turns over a bin of clearance thongs, bringing the sales associate rushing over. Max drops to his knees to help pick up what looks like hundreds of pairs of skimpy underwear as he apologizes profusely to the motherly employee. She pats him on the arm when they are finished, and then gives me a wink before she walks away.

  He surprises me by picking up a handful of boy shorts and pushing them into my arms. “I think these have more … coverage than the others.” I smirk as I add them to the small pile I’ve already amassed. The poor man. Obviously, he’s never seen a woman in boy shorts before. I’ve long been a fan of them, and of all of my underwear, they were the ones that had sent Jake over the edge the fastest. I would have to make sure that Max got a peek at some point. We’d see if he still thought they were a good idea then.

  The many problems I had managed to forget during our trip come rushing back when we pull into Max’s circular drive and park. He gets out of the car and I follow slowly behind. As he is unloading my bags from the trunk of his car, I stand rooted in place. He gives me a questioning look as he walks up the few steps that lead to his front door. “If you think I’m carrying you in next, sweetheart, you’re sadly mistaken. Move that sexy ass now.” And with those few words, I am jolted into action. I have no idea how, but Max seems to have the uncanny ability to do and say the right thing. It was as if he knew I was teetering on the edge and tossed out the rope to pull me back in. I trail him into the house and down the hallway as he deposits my new clothing on the floor of my borrowed room. He points toward a set of double doors to the right and says, “There’s the closet if you want to hang everything up.” Then he gives me a sexy grin before adding, “And feel free to use the dresser to store your new array of panties in.”

  I laugh at his sudden bravery in discussing my undergarments. “Wow, you’ve recovered nicely from the near stroke that you had in Nordstrom when I held up a simple piece of silk.”

  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 th
e 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.