The Wilson Mooney Box Set

by Gretchen de La O

  “It felt right to me. I’m as put together as I will ever be. When I’m with you, I’m exactly who I am supposed to be.”

  “But was it right to feel so wonderful on the worst day of your life? Was it okay to forget about every ounce of your pain while experiencing so much pleasure?” I hiccupped as I felt the ripples of guilt spread through my body. Max held my chin as his eyes cased my face. His lips pulled tight across in a straight line before they curved up into a sincere smile.

  “Yes, it was perfect. You took me to a place where I didn’t have to worry about being healed or fixed. It wasn’t about that. We experienced something nobody will ever be able to touch or take away. What you gave me I will cherish for as long as I live.” His eyes glazed with the hope that he’d convinced me with his brave words.

  I slid up into his arms, pushing him back onto the bed. Our skin, still cold from being apart, reconnected with a new eagerness. I melted in his touch, yet froze in his embrace. He was right—it wasn’t about anyone or anything we had to do to forget about all the pain, it was about giving each other the most sacred part of our souls.

  “I love you,” I whispered lightly into his neck. I felt his hands refresh their grip across my back as he pulled me tighter against his chest.

  “Me too,” he answered.

  I felt Max shift his body as he got up and held out his arm to me. When I didn’t move he shook his hand and said “I need to take a shower. I want you to take one with me.”

  I lay there staring at his beautifully sculptured body—muscles thick and defined under his skin, complexion so scorching hot my hands ran damp, and sensual green eyes so encouraging they could hypnotize me into doing just about anything he’d ask. How could I not want to watch the water cascade, bounce, roll, and shimmer across every inch of his body?

  I gulped extra loudly before I reached out and accepted his hand. He pulled me into his arms, our bodies still naked, our eyes still captivated by each other. His arms swallowed me into his heat.

  He opened a door adjacent to his bedroom and led me into his unbelievable bathroom. The walls were treated with a textured suede in a shade of forest green. Plush burgundy towels hung from contemporary aged brass racks accentuating the size of his etched glass double shower. Two massive showerheads were suspended from the light cocoa-colored ceiling. Brown granite, rich with earthen greens, spread from the entry all the way up the walls without stopping. I pressed my feet into the burgundy shag rug and enjoyed my view of the muscles in Max’s back, stretching and constricting as he pulled on the water. He cupped the sprinkling water as it overflowed and cascaded across his wrist and forearm. The sound of the water rhythmically exploding against the granite evoked an urge in me to feel the warmth of the water roll across my own skin. In no time, steam built, swirling around his body before rising up.

  “You like it hot, right?” he asked as his eyes dropped low and the edge of his smile rose.

  “Yeah, real hot,” I whispered.

  He stepped into the stream and I watched the water swallow him from his head down to his toes. His black hair lengthened around his ears and across his eyes before he tilted his head back and pushed his hair off his face. Streams of water tangled in his eyebrows and then rolled down across his nose and mouth as he parted his lips, letting the water trickle in. I stared as the shower drowned his shoulders, chest, and stomach before dripping down between his legs. I felt my nipples tighten and my groin ripple as Max grabbed my hand and pulled me into a kiss. I felt the water wash over my body, dripping from the edges of my ears, nose, and chin. I felt the water hurry down my spine and chest, water falling from the tips of my nipples and the curve of my rear. My skin escalated to meet the temperature of the hot water as it danced across my stomach and rushed down to the spaces in between.

  Max pulled me closer and the water cocooned us. With his lips near my ear, I could hear the water flow over his mouth as he spoke in a raspy, grinding voice.

  “Oh babe, you’re so hot.” His arms pressed heavily across my shoulders as his body tightened and he pushed his hard length below my navel. I slipped my hands past the small of his back and down to his rear; I wanted to feel his muscles tighten beneath my fingers the next time he thrust his hips against mine.

  “How hot?” I huffed and teased before running my tongue down to his chest to suck his nipple.

  “Oh so fucking hot,” he growled as he slid his hand down my stomach, pressing his fingers between my legs and biting my lip between his teeth as he kissed me.

  I lost my breath. Without waiting I grabbed him and began slowly stroking. My desire to feel him inside me grew low in my body. I felt the love between us as he massaged me. I wanted to melt into it. He was taking me to a point of no return.

  “Hold on, wait, I don’t want to—aahhh,” he grimaced as he pulled himself away from my grasp. He blew out a couple of fast breaths and raised his head into the water—anything he could do to stop from exploding.

  I felt the space between us ripple with a chill, but the hot water that splashed between us drowned it. My body was vibrating, surging with every beat of my heart, every breath I tried to take, and every drop of water that rolled down my skin.

  Max spun away and pressed his hands against the granite wall, still trying to regain his composure as the shower splashed and cascaded down his backside. Attempting to collect the spastic butterflies in my gut, I wrapped my arms around my stomach and raised my face to the other showerhead pulsing water steadily from the ceiling above.

  I followed the water that danced down his bronzed skin. All I needed was to be his partner, the other half of the whole we created together. The events of last night flashed through my mind. I thought about what he felt like in my body, how he filled every empty space within me, and I couldn’t keep away anymore. I pressed my chest against his back and slid my hands across his stomach and up to his pecs. As I pushed my lips to the space between his shoulder blades, the water parted where my mouth clung to him. I let my teeth graze delicately across his skin. He swung his arm around my back but couldn’t find his grip, so he swept around and swayed against me. With his knees bent, his mouth followed the line of my neck and his hands clung to the back of my thighs. My feet left the floor as Max lifted me and pushed me up against the shower wall. I gasped as a chill licked and bit at the spots where my back met the granite. I linked my legs around Max’s hips. His hands still clinging to the back of my thighs, I felt him waiting to enter. My body arched for him, pressing to let him fill me.

  His hands slid up around my waist. My breath quickened as I felt him pulse inside me. Sweeping his hands up further, he anchored them around my shoulders. With every thrust I watched the muscles across his body flex and could feel his heartbeat more deeply. I lowered my legs so my toes touched the floor of the shower, he bent his knees and I felt his size disappear from inside me. He turned me around to face the granite. From behind me his mouth traced across my ear. His breathing changed to instinctual growls as his lips pressed hot against my back, dragging across to my shoulder blade. Meanwhile, his hands mapped down across my stomach to the inside of my thighs before his fingers began to stroke me. I swayed my hips with every thunderous strike of his fingers. I felt his hand leave the inside of my thigh and drag across my back, pressing between my shoulders. I dropped my forehead against the granite wall, my forearms keeping me strong, as he slowly but finally pushed deep within me again. The warm stream from the shower flooded across my lower back and down to the point where our bodies met. It was beyond anything I could explain; like he’d found the hidden chalice within my soul, busting apart its belief in butterflies or magical moments. Every muscle in my body was becoming rigid and I had to push back against him. The deeper he went, the faster I needed our bodies to move. His friction pulled and stretched parts of me I never knew existed. It was becoming primal, and he knew it.

  With his fingers still vigorously undulating between my legs, I exploded and shuddered. He thrust a couple more times into
my convulsing body before he was replaced by the shower that lapped across my vacancy. My legs went weak, my knees buckled as I heard him huff cavernous, guttural moans. He leaned against my body and I felt his body go concave to mine. His heart beat rapidly against my back, his breath still trying to catch up; he hummed his satisfaction, and we were both fulfilled.

  You would think we’d have run out of hot water by the time we got to showering like we were supposed to. I stood in the still-warm stream as he caressed my skin with soap, suds tickling across my breasts and shimmering across my stomach before the bar glided up between my thighs. Our hands navigated each other. Every bend, crevice, and angle of our bodies was fair game. The water poured and splashed over our curves like a waterfall unwilling to dry up. Max leaned across, pressing his chest against mine as he snatched the Crew shampoo from the small shelf behind me. Delicately he massaged my head and lathered my hair. The sultry aroma of lavender and a masculine swirl of pine caught low in my body. It was his smell, his aroma that sent me spiraling off the edge of holding it together.

  “I hope you don’t mind that you have to use my shampoo,” he said with a smile, knowing the scent of Crew for Men turned me on.

  “Mind? You wash my hair and I get to smell like you the whole day. What’s there to mind?” I mumbled as I dragged my fingers across my head and lathered his chest with the foam I collected.

  “Well the bonus is, you’ll be thinking about me all day long.”

  I snatched the bottle of Crew and squeezed a dollop into the palm of my hand before tangling my fingers in his hair. The white, foamy shampoo, thick with his scent, mixed with his pitch-black hair. I formed it into devil horns, laughing as I watched him smirk and grab at my waist.

  At least in the shower we were cocooned in our own world. Nothing existed outside of the water lapping across our skins and our bodies tangling into the experiences we’d shared.

  He leaned down and kissed me. His lips tasted somewhere between scrumptious and bittersweet, causing me to hover between wanting to stay forever and needing to face reality.

  “You know, as much as I want to, we can’t spend all day in the shower. At some point the hot water runs out,” I said as he peeled his body slowly away from mine. His eyes glistened as they foraged for any excuse to stay right where we were.

  “Good thing we have an instant hot water heater. We can spend forever in here,” he said as he closed his eyes and kissed me softly.

  “Max,” I breathed against his lips.

  “I know…I just want to own this moment a little longer,” he said across my mouth before inhaling deeply. “I just want to replay making love to you one more time before I have to face what’s outside these glass doors.” His eyes lingered and danced with mine before he closed them.

  I slid my hands up, cradling his cheeks before I pushed him back into the stream of warm water. What remained of the horns I’d formed on the top of his head dissolved and the suds, robust with his scent, mingled and disappeared as the water spilled over my hands. His electric-green eyes opened as he stroked his fingertips across my cheeks, like he was memorizing the contours of my face and the delicate texture of my skin.

  “Thank you for being here with me,” Max whispered. His eyes grew misty.

  “Where else would I be?” I mumbled.

  “Mmmm,” he growled as he pulled me close. “I don’t ever want to find out.”

  I leaned over and validated him with a kiss before we shut off the water.

  Max shook his head. I loved it when he did that because his hair always fell in chunky pieces that reached for his eyes and curved around the back of his ears. It never seemed to fail—I’d catch my breath on the sharp edge of wanting him to consume me. He pushed the glass shower door open and reached over, grabbing the burgundy towels from the rack. His entire body flexed and glistened in the mixture of sunlight and halogen. Goose bumps found their way to my skin, and every sensual part of my body showed him how I felt.

  “You cold?” he asked as he held a towel open so he could wrap me up.

  “No,” I teased as I stepped out of the shower stall.

  “So that’s for me?” he asked. His eyes matched his boyish smile as he looked at my naked, excited body. He dropped the towel and pressed his lips to the curve of my chin before he trailed his tongue down to the swell of my breast and across my nipples. His hands dragged up my sides, cradling my breasts as he pushed his open mouth to them and tasted each one. My hands tangled in his damp black hair as butterflies swarmed low in my groin with each pulse of his tongue and lips.

  God, all I wanted to do was be with him. Forget any moment of regret or pain that lingered outside his bedroom door. I wanted him to listen to my body as it spoke in waves of crashing desires and ebbed with continuing ecstasy, until he took the intense craving I had for him and tamed it into a manageable hunger I could live with.

  I heard a door slam downstairs and the voices of his mother and sister as they walked around the house. The muscles in my back ran stiff and Max’s mouth froze against my chest. His arms shifted and dropped from around me, and as he straightened, I saw his face drain pale. Any color that I’d encouraged to hang out in his cheeks quickly disappeared.

  He stood for a moment, listening to see if his mom was going to call out, but she never did. I watched as he slowly slipped into the same broken spirit I recognized from the hospital with his dad.

  I ran my fingers down from his shoulders and across his arms to his cold, empty hands as I spoke, “Max, we’d better get dressed and head downstairs.”

  He didn’t say anything. His eyes were lost in the fact that we had to come back to reality. Shaking his head, he meandered over toward his dresser. Scarce water beads still clung to his shoulders and spine, hoping to avoid being absorbed in the navy blue cotton t-shirt he stretched and pulled over his head. I happily watched him twist and flex as he unrolled and tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it down over his six-pack and stretching the sleeves around his lovely biceps. He slid on his Calvin Kleins before slipping each leg into his Levi’s. Another ritual I enjoyed seeing—he buttoned and zipped his jeans before adjusting himself. All I could think was that he was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen, and he was mine. He looked up at me; his eyes, aching to stay, caused me to swallow hard.

  I dug in my suitcase trying to find the right clothes to wear. Anything cotton sounded perfect—the best fabric choice to absorb the feelings of having to leave the comfort of his room and go down to the pain of his family. I retrieved my pink bra and panties from the big pocket in my suitcase and tossed them on his bed. Finding a dark gray, long sleeved, v-neck t-shirt and a pair of comfy jeans, I tossed them next to my underwear.

  “You getting dressed?”

  “Yeah.”

  He snatched my panties from the bed and held them up. His expression lifted a bit giving him a moment of reprieve. I took a step toward him and grabbed his upper arms. Taking my cue, he bent low and held out my panties, waiting for me to step into them. As I balanced on one foot and then the next, I pushed my toes through each leg-hole.

  His fingers slid up the sides of my thighs and across my hips before he let go of the waistband and continued his path up my sides, around my underarms, and across my collarbones.

  “What would you like me to do next?” he asked before his eyes dropped to my chest.

  “My bra,” I said lifting his chin so our eyes would meet.

  “Okay,” he whispered. The tip of his wet tongue rolled across his bottom lip before he bit it.

  Max held my bra up in front of me, but his eyes glossed in confusion as he met my gaze.

  “It clips in the front,” I laughed. “Here, let me.”

  I took it and slipped it up and over my shoulders. Max watched intently as I was about to snap the clasp.

  “Wait, let me try,” he offered as he slid his hands over mine, taking the clasp in his fingers. He pushed a couple of times before he managed to snap the sides together, then slid his ha
nds down the front of my bra. I grabbed the underwire, wanting to adjust my breasts to sit comfortably in the cups, when he stopped me.

  “Can I do that?” he said in a low tone.

  “I guess so. You need to slide your hand between me and the bra. Make sure I look even.” I showed him.

  His expression was serious, his eyebrows furrowed, as he focused on my chest. When he slipped his hand between the bra and my breast I shivered. His fingers pressed against my skin and the palm of his hand rubbed up and down across my nipple as he took his time making sure the bumps in my bra were even. His hands delicate and hot, I felt his touch all the way down between my legs.

  “You like that?” he growled.

  “Umm-hum,” I moaned.

  “Me too,” he said as he took my hand and pushed it against the front of his pants. He was stiff and I could feel the heat radiating through his jeans against my hand. Max’s fingers slipped under the straps of my bra. As much as I wanted to make out with him, heal his pain, and make every sad situation sail away, I couldn’t do it knowing his mom and sister were downstairs drowning in the loss of Frank. I glanced over at Max’s dresser and noticed his clock said 12:38. I pulled my hands away and took a step back.

  “Max, we need to go downstairs,” I huffed, clearing my mind.

  “You’re right,” he said in an inaudible mumble.

  I pulled on my jeans, slipped into my t-shirt, and dug out some socks from my suitcase.

  We looked at each other then, trying to find the strength to keep from losing it. But there was nothing else we could do to avoid the reality that existed downstairs. He held out his hand and we left the comfort of his room—and our special moments together—behind.

  Nancy and Camille’s voices echoed up the staircase, hollow hearts with heavy thoughts. Their voices sounded tired and worn, like they’d talked all night and were still at a loss with what to do.