Mr. Match: The Boxed Set

by Delancey Stewart

  I tucked my credit card back into my purse and agreed. "Yep."

  Max held the door open for me, and the cool sea breeze lifted my hair and the edge of my skirt as we stepped onto the sidewalk next to the parking lot. For a moment we stood looking at each other, suspended in a long glance as each of us fought with whatever private wars we were waging. Mine was against the elves, who turned out to be very convincing. I didn't know what Max was fighting, but I could see the battle in the intense focus of his gaze, and I sensed some kind of decision had been made when he said quietly, "My place is a short walk."

  Oh God. This was it. After spending the last hour in violent agreement that we needed to take a step back from whatever sexy magical voodoo had overcome us the night before and keep things settled on a purely professional level, it was time to put those words into action. I needed to turn him down. Right fucking now.

  The elves weren’t having it.

  "Let's go," I said, holding those dark eyes.

  Max took my hand, and my body ignited.

  We walked a few steps side by side, just far enough to escape the glare of the lights from the restaurant, and then Max turned to face me, pulled my hand toward him and pressed it against his waist, and then slid both his hands into the hair just behind my ears and stared hard into my eyes.

  "Nothing about this makes any sense," he said, his voice strained and low. "But I want you like I've never wanted anyone before. That's got to mean something."

  His lips were centimeters from mine, and I couldn't think, couldn't see, could only pray that he wasn't going to go on talking, that he would just. Kiss. Me. A little noise escaped my lips, something like a moan, and in the next second, Max's mouth was on mine.

  He pushed me backward, stepping me carefully toward the building behind me until he had my back pressed against it, his mouth still on mine, demanding and strong.

  My hands gripped his back, slipped down to slide over the round hard globes of his ass, and pulled him into me.

  If I'd taken a moment to think about what this must have looked like to anyone passing by, I would have been embarrassed. But in that moment, I didn't care. When I vaguely heard someone call out, "Get a room!" all I could think was, "yes, good idea."

  The elves were fucking ecstatic, but I was too absorbed in the way Max's tongue was teasing mine, the way his hand felt as it cupped and squeezed my breast through the fabric of my shirt.

  After a moment, we broke apart, both of us gasping.

  "Where's your house exactly?" I asked.

  Max took my hand again, and we practically sprinted there.

  Max's house could have been decorated in some kind of Eskimo chic or painted in mud for all I could have told you about the place in the first two hours I was inside. Because my mind took in one thing only: Max.

  He was demanding, aggressive, overwhelming in the best possible way, and completely in control. Between his hands, his mouth, and the words slipping from his lips: "God, I want to fuck you. I've wanted to fuck you since the first second I saw you." I was lost.

  Because I'd wanted Max too. Before I'd ever met him. I'd had a ridiculous crush on him when I'd watched him play years before, back when Dad wasn't sick. I'd even admit to having fantasized about Max when I was still with Austin.

  But the fantasy didn't compare with the reality.

  Because while I might have imagined Max's face where Austin's was, I could never have made my ex-husband's apathetic and lazy lovemaking into this.

  This was something completely different, something I'd heard might exist, but which I'd definitely never experienced.

  We'd stumbled through the door, hands and mouths already connecting as Max threw his keys on the floor and pinned me again, to the door this time. His hands explored my body while his mouth worked a trail down my throat, between my breasts. He sank to his knees, and those smooth strong hands slid up the backs of my legs, forcing another breathy groan from my lungs as I felt his fingers graze my ass.

  Then he went to work, removing each piece of my clothing, his eyes checking in with me as each item fell away until I was standing naked, pressed against his front door with the moonlight shining in from a wide open patio door across the big expanse.

  "You're beautiful," Max whispered. "You're amazing."

  He was still on his knees in front of me, and it felt a little bit like being worshipped, having him staring up at me this way, uttering the perfect words. My heart swelled and everything in me clicked into place.

  And then his hands were on me again, and he wrapped me with them, moving into me, even as he pulled me toward him, until I felt the first slick of his tongue against me and gasped.

  "Is this okay?" He asked.

  "Yes," I heard myself breathe. "God, yes."

  My hand scrabbled behind me, around me, looking for something to hold on to as Max pushed me closer and closer to losing control. I found a solid piece of furniture with my left hand and held onto it for dear life as Max kept at it. I must have pulled in just the wrong way because a second later, whatever it was crashed to the floor and the sound of ceramic shattering and things scattering followed quickly after.

  "Oh no," I said. "I'm so sorry, what was ...?"

  But Max barely paused, glancing at the bookcase I'd pulled down and the grinning up at me wickedly before going right back to work.

  His hands slid over my ass while his mouth explored me, tentatively at first and then in a pulsing rhythm that demanded compliance, that had me writhing and raking my hands against the door as my body arched away from it. Max lifted one of my legs, throwing it over his shoulder, and licked and sucked and teased. He flicked his tongue lightly against my center and then drove harder again, sliding two fingers inside me at the same time.

  He groaned as he did it, and that's what sent me spiraling over the edge, flinging myself over with abandon and letting Max catch me as I slipped down against the door and into his arms.

  "Fuck, that was hot," he said, his voice a mix of awe and reverence.

  I still hadn't recovered the ability to speak, but I made a noise demonstrating my concurrence, as I looked into his eyes and pushed a hand through the soft hair at the back of his head, bringing his mouth to mine.

  He kissed me gently then, as if testing to see if I needed some time to recover. I took the opportunity to take control, pushing him down to the floor beneath me and dropping my hands to unbutton the royal blue shirt he wore, letting my hands linger at the bottom buttons at his belt line.

  "I have a bed, you know," he said.

  "You can show it to me in a minute," I told him. But I wanted to see something else first. I pushed the shirt open, sitting up and straddling him to let my eyes roam the perfect torso as my fingers trailed over the dips and swells of all that taut firm muscle. "If this is what off-season looks like," I said. "I'd love to see you during the season." I'd never seen a man so cut except maybe in Facebook posts or in magazines.

  "That could be arranged," he said, and our eyes locked for a brief moment. Because maybe it could, but really, it probably couldn't. This—what we were in the middle of doing right this very second—this was a mistake, and we both knew it. That was part of what made it so impossible to stop.

  But I told myself to appreciate every little line and cut of Max's body today because this would absolutely be the only time I could ever touch, taste, or even look at any of it. It was a horrible idea to think of him like this, to consider ever touching him this way. But since I was already here ...

  My hands unfastened his belt buckle and slipped it from around his waist, and I enjoyed the sound it made as I pulled it free and tossed it aside.

  I undid his trousers, and slid myself lower so I could push them open. Max lifted his hips so I could push them down, my eyes catching on the dark tip of a very impressive cock in the waistband of the black boxer briefs he wore. I tore my eyes from the shining bead at its tip and looked up at Max's face. His eyes shone in the moonlight, and he wore just the hint o
f a smirk.

  Any guy hiding that in his pants deserved to be a little bit arrogant, I figured.

  I pushed the briefs down and his erection sprang free, impressively thick and long. I met his eyes once more, and then lowered myself down to let my tongue swirl over the tip once, eliciting a very rewarding sharp gasp from Max.

  Confidence bolstered by the way his hands were balled into fists at his sides and his chest was rising and falling quickly, I took him in my hands and lowered my lips to him again.

  A torturous moan flew from his mouth as I took him between my lips and pressed my tongue against the frenulum just below the crown of his cock, teasing and pulsing there.

  "Fucking mother of God," Max said, his words a quick breath as his hands moved to my hair.

  Encouraged, I slipped one hand between his legs to cup him, and Max responded by thrusting gently into my mouth. I could feel my own need ratcheting up again, but I figured if we were doing this, we might as well get it all out of our systems. Then we wouldn't wonder later.

  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 131

  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 132

  Coffee Does Not Equal Fate

  Tatum

  I woke up early with sun str
eaming 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.