The Reluctant Nude

by Meg Maguire

  When Max returned he was carrying a pair of disposable plastic cups. He conjured a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from his shopping bag.

  “I trust this is still potable.” He twisted the handle.

  “How old is it?”

  “This,” he said as the cork eased out with a faint pop, “would also have been turning thirty this year.”

  Fallon’s eyebrows shot up toward the ceiling. “Oh my.”

  He poured two cups, licking an errant drip as it slipped down the bottle’s neck then replacing the cork. He snapped his eyes to hers and slid a cup to her elbow. “What would you like to toast to?”

  “To the first time I’ve had wine worth more than my car?” she suggested, still dumbfounded. She pulled the bottle close and studied the jaundiced label. It bore the designation Pauillac, Bordeaux and, indeed, the year Fallon was born.

  “How about we toast to your birthday, instead?”

  “Sure. Fine.” She held out her cup and Max tapped it inaudibly with his.

  “Joyeux anniversaire,” he said and took a sip.

  Fallon followed suit. The wine stung her tongue, dry and tart but unmistakably good. She tried to savor it, to record and preserve the memory of every drop. “This is by far the oldest thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Try to keep it quiet,” Max said. “There are plenty of people who would have me drawn and quartered for opening this before the turn of the next century.” He smiled and took another sip. Their order was called, and he brought their steaming aluminum carryout trays back to the booth.

  They spoke very little as they ate which suited Fallon just fine—he’d left her thoroughly speechless, anyhow. Across the table, dressed up and dust-free and treating her as a friend and not a scientific specimen, Fallon felt herself falling for Max a little bit. Perhaps a lot. As usual, she blamed the alcohol.

  After they finished their dinners and tossed the trays, Max snatched the plastic cups off the table and they began the walk back to the studio. Overhead the sky had grown dusky and dark with rain clouds and the approaching night.

  “Here,” Max said, and Fallon turned to find him holding out a half-filled cup for her.

  “Thanks.”

  “Happy birthday.”

  She smiled and looked away. “You sure like birthdays.”

  “I like you,” he said, point-blank.

  “Oh.” She took a swallow to buy herself time. “Is this…is this a date?” she asked, as the thought occurred to her, perhaps naively, for the first time.

  He shrugged. “This is whatever it is.”

  Fat raindrops began to fall as a crisp breeze ruffled the grass on either side of the road. Fallon touched the silk at her waist. “I hope this doesn’t ruin the dress.” As she said it the drops came faster.

  When she looked over at Max, he just grinned and took a drink, holding her gaze. Rain landed in the cups, darkened his white shirt and made Fallon’s dress cling to her legs. She gathered the skirt into a ball at her thigh to keep from tripping.

  “I’m afraid I’m wrecking your shoes,” she said as the road turned mucky.

  “They’re your shoes.” He took her by the elbow as the sky opened up, steering them under a tree to wait out the worst of it. Beneath the canopy he tipped his hat to sluice the water from the brim, then refreshed their cups. He stared at her with a very-hard-to-read expression.

  “What?” Her heart sped in response to the intensity now blazing in his eyes.

  Max cleared his throat. “You told me before never to kiss you ever again. I’m waiting now for you to tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

  Ah ha.

  “You can kiss me,” she said with a slow nod, her voice turning airy, eyes fixed on his lips.

  He set the cups and bag on the grass and came close, so close his chest brushed Fallon’s breasts. He tipped his hat to the back of his head and kissed her. His eyes shut before hers did, and his mouth burned hot and wet and tasted of very, very fine wine. She felt his thumbs pressing into her cheeks, his rough fingertips cradling her jaw, and she parted her lips to invite a deeper exploration. He angled his mouth as his tongue slid to dance with hers, stoking the fire. His possessive hands held her head, making it seem as though he were consuming her, and each time they came up for air she wanted more. She wanted him deeper, and rougher, and more raw. She circled her arms around his neck, surrendering to whatever it was he had in mind for this evening.

  Fallon climbed the spiral stairs, heart pounding so hard she feared she’d faint and topple over backward and break her neck. She sat nervously at the edge of Max’s bed in her damp dress, stroking her palm across the dark red comforter, waiting. It smelled so deeply of him here in this space. Rain hammered the skylight above the bed and she lay back to take it in. Soon the faint tremors of Max mounting the steps arrived, jolting Fallon’s nerves, making her feel more drunk than she might already be. She closed her eyes, keeping them shut even as the mattress sank under his weight. Max’s rough fingers played along the length of her bare arm.

  “Fallon,” he said softly.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at him. He’d brought a fat beeswax candle and set it on the nightstand.

  “Yeah?”

  “Would you be doing this if you hadn’t had two glasses of very strong wine?”

  “No,” she said, thinking about it. “But I’d wish I was.”

  “I see.”

  “Would you?”

  “I would be doing this even if the studio was burning down around us,” he said.

  “And what exactly is ‘this’?”

  “It’s your birthday. I would like very much to please you.”

  “Would you, then?” She sat up and leaned against his shoulder.

  Max took the hint and kissed her mouth. “I would.” He kissed her deeper, deeper, until she felt so dizzy she had to lie back against the pillows. His scent, even stronger.

  He joined her, settling his body down beside hers and propping himself on an elbow. “Tell me what you like.”

  She pursed her lips. “You’ve done such a good job on the rest of this…date, why don’t you keep the lead? We can see just how well you know my body now.”

  “Is that a challenge?” he asked, amused. “Very well.”

  A breath hitched in her chest as he moved, resting his knees between hers. He gathered the silk of the dress and eased it up, pooling it around her hips, and he lowered, keeping their centers apart by the barest of spaces. Resting on his forearms, he slid a hand beneath her back to cup her shoulder blade. They kissed for seconds or minutes or hours, until his tongue slid to her neck, her ear, the hollow at the base of her throat. Deep in his chest Fallon heard breathing so guttural it raised the hairs all along her arms.

  “Sit up for me a moment,” Max whispered, leaning back.

  She let him slip the straps of the dress off her shoulders, his eyes darting across her skin. Fallon shivered and lay back. Button by button, she watched him shed his wet dress shirt, the lines of that tight body triggering a quickening in her pulse. He removed his necklaces and set them on the nightstand, peeled his undershirt off and tossed it on the floor. She studied the evidence of his excitement—the swell and contraction of his abdomen from his rapid breathing, the tendons twitching in his neck as he swallowed.

  “You like looking at me?” he asked, grazing his palms over her thighs.

  She realized at that moment that his touch and his voice matched: both rough and dark and thrilling. She nodded, eyes taking him in.

  “I love looking at you,” he said emphatically. “And touching you. I’ve thought about this, about being with you here.”

  “Have you?” Fallon knew full well what he’d thought about. She conjured the sketches in her mind’s eye.

  “Yes. It is all I can think about, sometimes.” He blinked, looking meditative, then lowered himself back down. Fallon almost gasped aloud at the feeling his hard chest with its sprinkling of dark hair pressing into her soft, smooth one.
His fingers stroked her temples, faces close.

  “I’ve come to know you quite well in the past few weeks,” he said. “But not completely.”

  She finally touched him, wrapping her fingers around the crests of his shoulders. Her eyes darted between his. “What else do you want to know?”

  A strong hand slid beneath her head to cradle it. He caught her lips for a brief moment before putting his mouth close to her ear, his breath warming her skin, the heat spreading down her body to settle between her thighs.

  “You know me too,” he whispered. “You know what fascinates me.”

  “The internal?”

  The tiniest moan. “I want to be inside you.” His hips finally met hers, his arousal unmistakable, pressing gently against her pubic bone.

  “I want that too.”

  “I’m glad. But right now I most want to please you.” He reached a hand between them and Fallon heard the clicking of metal. He drew out his belt and tossed it to the floor with a clatter. There was the sound of a zipper and Max adjusted himself in some way. When he brought his hips back down, she felt him through his open fly and the cotton of his underwear, hard against the soft skin of her innermost thigh.

  She murmured his name and he began to move. As his excitement stroked hers, Max’s hand and lips moved to her breast. Calloused palm, soft, wet mouth. His tongue swirled until she was so sensitized she felt overheated. His other hand pressed into her back beneath their two bodies, possessive. She felt the vibration of a moan trapped against her skin, the heat of him growing until she thought it would consume them both.

  His mouth broke away, hips still pumping softly. “You make such wonderful noises.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d been making any. “Oh good.”

  “I want to touch you,” he whispered, sounding equal parts awed and aggressive.

  All her brain’s usual protests were drowned out by a desire so strong it pounded in her veins. Those hands. She’d watched them at work all those hours, fingers skillful beyond words. “I’d like that.”

  He thrust himself gently against her for a few more beats, his grunts no longer stifled, the sounds and sensations of his power thrilling her. A sudden fear chilled her blood.

  “I’m not the easiest woman to…navigate.”

  He rose from the bed, shed his slacks and stood in candlelight, all lean muscle and unspoken promises.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  “Okay. But don’t feel badly if…you know.”

  He smiled at her artless escape clauses and crawled to her, his nearly bare body looming above hers. “If I seem to be struggling, I trust you will show me what you like.”

  She didn’t reply but let him reach down and slide her panties from her legs. His eyes took her in.

  “Fallon,” he said. Hungry.

  He sat beside her, half-reclined on one arm as the other hand ran up her knee, her thigh, her hip. With a concerted effort she dismissed any disparaging thoughts about her body. Tonight was a lesson in acceptance, a lesson in accepting whatever it was he was going to teach her about herself. She clasped her hands nervously at her belly, clutching the silk as if it were a security blanket.

  As if sensing she needed a distraction, Max leaned in to kiss her. As his mouth teased and flirted with hers, she felt his palm gently coaxing her leg open. She let it fall to the side, her official surrender. His warm fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. His mouth broke from hers as he drew even closer. He turned his head to watch.

  Like a match held to an open flame, Fallon’s pleasure flashed violently into life as his middle finger stroked her clit. She made a startled noise and he froze.

  “Tell me to stop,” he said.

  “No, don’t stop.”

  He nodded and touched her again, just as lightly. She sucked in a breath, shocked by the feeling. He kept the stroking light, just a whisper of his coarse fingertips against her tender skin.

  “That feels good,” she whispered. Understatement of the year.

  “Good.” He added another fingertip, the tiniest amount of pressure. “You’re so soft.”

  “You’re not.” She smiled at him, catching his eye. “Your fingers are…”

  “Like sandpaper?”

  “No. They’re wonderful.” She fell silent, awed by his continued exploration. Awed by her own willingness and pleasure.

  His touch moved lower, then lower still, until he parted her gently, and moaned—a raw, animal sound.

  “Max.”

  His fingers returned to her clit, made it slick, rubbed her faster. The pleasure was alarming. Addictive. As her excitement grew, so did his noises. She heard him breathing, panting, deep sighs colored by that dark baritone. He sat up and knelt beside her, never missing a beat. He spread his free palm across her mound, his thumb picking up the refrain and freeing his masterful, wet fingers to find her core once again. He touched her with all the artistry she’d seen in his craft.

  “Keep going,” she whispered.

  He obeyed, rubbing her clit until she thought she’d catch fire. With his other hand he entered her—two fingers penetrating, cautious and slow, then exploring. She bucked against him, toes curling, hands clenching into fists.

  He held her eyes with his. “Is this okay?”

  She was lost for words but her sounds communicated her extreme approval. His touch went deeper, the slippery thrust of his fingers making her want him a thousand times more violently than she’d ever wanted anyone else, ever.

  “So, this is where you hide your heat,” he murmured.

  Fallon’s eyes flashed across every inch of his firelit skin. Between his strong, pale thighs she feasted on his cock. His underwear couldn’t hide his excitement and she snaked a palm up his leg, aching to know if he felt as thick and heavy as he looked. He surprised her, clasping her wrist, holding her back.

  “Don’t.”

  She withdrew her hand, disappointed and perplexed but pleased to be ordered around by this extraordinary man.

  “Tonight is for you.” His fingers took her once more, showing her the most wondrous things.

  “I can’t believe how good this feels,” she said, tempted to laugh. She arched her back, pressed her head into his pillow and reveled. “You are…goddamn. You’re Da Vinci.”

  He laughed softly. “Is this hard enough?”

  “Just do whatever you want.” She sighed, luxuriating.

  “Anything I want?”

  “Any goddamn thing you want, Max Emery.”

  He grinned. “I have never heard you sound like this.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Well, I know what I want.” She caught him lick his lips. His eyes darted to hers, inviting a protest.

  She wouldn’t have stopped him if the world depended on it.

  He withdrew his hands and brazenly tasted the two fingers still glistening from her. He shut his eyes and made a noise of the dirtiest decadence. He slid the digits out and swore in French, delighted. “I can’t wait,” he said, eyes glimmering.

  He knelt between her legs and lowered his body again to stroke her with his rock-hard cock, still hidden behind taunting gray cotton. The contact made Fallon gasp.

  “Max…”

  He rubbed against her, explicit. “What?”

  “I want you.”

  “You’ll get me, I promise. But not tonight. I’ve waited too long for you to rush now.”

  The pleasure mounted against his thrusts, so powerful it scared her. He pulled away and edged back on the small bed, curling himself sideways to lean on one arm, draping one of her legs over his ribs. His hands spread her wider.

  She bit her lip, momentarily intimidated. Her body could be so inept at relaxing into these kinds of caresses. But the fear dissolved as those now-familiar fingers returned, stroking then penetrating.

  “You look beautiful,” Max said, gaze trained between her legs.

  He leaned his face in close, nuzzling, taking in her scent. She caugh
t him smile deeply and smiled herself. The steady thrust of his fingers made her ache in the most thrilling, impatient way, made her more excited, more wet than she could recall ever being. She wanted him so badly… She wanted things she’d never wanted before, like the things from her dreams these past few weeks. She wanted to see him, entering her—taking her. She wanted to see his face as it looked when he was excited, as excited as she was now.

  His tongue flicked. Fallon felt her toes curl tight as fists from the sensation. Another soft lap. Her hips wriggled in his strong hands, craving more. He made a low, happy noise and his tongue set a steady, rapid rhythm against her clit. Wondrous. Miraculous.

  “Max…”

  His fingers explored her deeper, fueled her fantasies of being taken by him, here in this bed. That strong body driving into her, fast and rough and needy.

  “Max.”

  He glanced up, pausing for a moment.

  “Take your underwear off. Please.”

  He sat up and complied. She studied him hungrily as he lay back down, his fingers and mouth picking up where they’d left off. His cock looked stiff and dark, fairly long and quite thick. His eyes caught hers staring. He reached his free hand over to torture her, stroking himself with a few slow pulls, growing himself fully for her. Fallon felt things she never had before, like an urge to pleasure him so strong it could only have been the will of some primal corner of her brain. She lost her sense of reality as the sensations centered against his mouth and fingers became frenzied. She had to make a conscious effort to breathe deeply enough to keep from passing out.

  “Max…”

  He stopped touching himself, that hand holding her thigh tight, seeming to sense that she was nearing the precipice. His wet tongue fluttered, fingers stroking her inside, as if he knew how to play some instrument she’d never heard before, the most beautiful composition in the world. She moved against him, craving it all. Without warning, the pleasure came to a head.

  Fallon felt a tightening in her core so alarming she grasped at him for solace. She clenched his free hand as deep, euphoric spasms rocked her body, so strong she could only gasp and hold on. Everything around her blurred, sounds and external sensations obliterated until she felt nothing aside from pure, blinding pleasure. Max slowed his fingers, tongue dialing down to the subtlest of pressures as she grew hypersensitive, each caress like a tiny shock now. He stilled as she did, and looked up at her.