Desperate to the Max

by JB Skully

  He'd dropped his pronouns again and started joking. At least she thought he was joking. It was a good sign. “Cameron never asked at all. He just told me what I wanted and took me along for the ride."

  Witt traced her cheekbones with rough fingers. Voice soft, eyes dark with something indefinable, he murmured, “Loved him a lot, didn't you?"

  Yes, she'd loved Cameron—he'd never given her a chance not to. Maybe that was why, when he was gone, she found herself in the same emotional desert she'd been in before he rescued her.

  "Ask me to touch you.” There was so much more in his whispered words, so many things she was afraid he wanted that she could never ever give. Not again.

  Maybe she could give him this one small thing. Keeping her gaze on his, she lifted his hand and put it to her breastbone. Warms fingers and the palm of his hand on her skin. She parted the lapels of her shirt so that they were flesh to flesh. Her heart thundered, and her blood raced in her ears.

  His blue eyes blazed like the hottest part of the flame, but he didn't say anything, nor move his hand from the spot she'd placed it. Dammit. She knew what he was thinking. He'd made this her show all the way.

  She took his other hand and raised it, too, then guided him to cover her breasts beneath the shirt. Her nipples were hard and aching, and not because of the damn phone call.

  A hard bead slipped between the fingers of his right hand, and he squeezed. His breath came a little faster now, and they were so close she could feel the rise in his trousers against her belly. She pressed against him. The lace of her panties rubbed the front of his pants.

  He sighed, a soft exhalation of air, then closed his eyes and tipped his head back. She hadn't said a word, but sometimes actions spoke louder than words.

  When he looked at her again, there was nothing cold or unreadable in his expression. He slipped one arm behind her back, splaying his hand at the base of her spine, then pulled her hard against him. She threw her arms around his shoulders to keep her balance and held on as he rocked their bodies together.

  "You're gonna be the death of me, Max, I know it.” Voice rough, deep, she'd never heard quite that tone from him.

  Then he eased away from her and slid down her body until his knees hit the floor.

  "What are you doing?"

  "What you've always wanted, going down on my knees for you.” Though his head was tipped up, her body blocked the light from his eyes. She hated not being able to see them.

  "I never said I wanted that."

  "But you're so damn good at cutting me down to size."

  Well. She was. “Get up."

  "I am up. Decided I like it down here.” He dipped his tongue in her belly button while his hands cupped her breasts.

  She'd been on low simmer, but he'd turned the heat on high. His chin rested above her panty line. Then his fingers left her breasts and trailed down her sides to the elastic riding her hips. He slipped the lacy material down her thighs.

  "Lift your foot,” his voice soft and low enough to send a tingle straight to her center. Her panties slid away to be tossed somewhere in the dark.

  He palmed her. Oh my God. Her moisture dampened his flesh. She was naked except for her shirt while he still wore his jacket and tie. When he slipped a finger inside to touch her clitoris, she sucked in a breath at the contact and shut out everything else.

  "Want me to stop?"

  "You know damn well I don't want you to stop."

  Sliding against her in all that wetness, he might have chuckled, but she was no longer sure exactly what she did or didn't hear. Didn't care either. She parted her lips and parted her legs. His big hand clamped down on her butt to hold her steady, but she still grabbed his shoulders. Kneaded them in rhythm to his stroke.

  A soft breath chuffed between her lips, and she let her head fall back with the sheer pleasure of his touch. This was better than all the dreams and all the fantasies she'd had about him. Why had she waited so long?

  Then he replaced his finger with his tongue, and she had to lie down before she fell down. The braid rug was scratchy and the floor hard, but Witt's tongue was heaven on earth.

  He sucked with just the right suction, licked with exactly the right pressure, and changed the tempo at precisely the right moment.

  Her body moved against his mouth, though he had her thighs pinned beneath his shoulders.

  "Oh God, oh God, please don't stop, please, c..."

  He lifted his head. “Do not call me Cameron."

  His teeth sounded a bit like he was crunching on rocks. “I wasn't going to,” she assured him.

  "Yes, you were."

  For the life of her she couldn't remember what the hell she'd been about to say.

  "Where's your husband right now?"

  "I don't know."

  "He's not here?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Could we do the third degree later, Detective? I was just about to have an orgasm."

  "I know. But you're not getting off until I do.” He crawled up her body until he flattened her against the carpet.

  "What, you believe in simultaneous orgasms?"

  "With you, yeah."

  "Get a grip."

  He grabbed her hand, pulled it between them, and curled her fingers around him through the material of his pants. “You get a grip."

  Oh my. That would take one big grip. A huge one.

  He rose to his feet, still fully clothed while she lay almost naked on the floor with her legs spread. A distinctly uncomfortable sensation. The last of her almost-there orgasm fled.

  "Maybe we should forget this,” she said, rising to her elbows and closing her legs. “It wasn't such a hot idea."

  Witt threw his jacket over the chair, kicked off his shoes, undid his tie, and started on his belt buckle. All the while he looked down at her. “Hottest idea I've had in a long time."

  "I thought the point was that it was supposed to be my idea."

  His shirt gone the way of the jacket, he stopped, his hand on his zipper. He had a very, very nice chest, gleaming in all that moonlight. “You wanna stop, Max?"

  Darn. She and her big mouth. She could have let him do it, then said it was all his idea, and blamed him after it was over.

  "Your choice, Max,” he whispered, a deadly serious whisper that made her tremble and tingle all at the same time. “Say stop, and we'll stop. Say go, and we'll take each other to..."

  He stopped. She couldn't stand it. “Take each other where?"

  It felt like they'd been sucked into a vacuum. Silence. Total. The longest and deepest she'd felt since ... since the crackle of chip bags and the shattering of salsa jars and the blast of the gun that killed Cameron faded into the stillness of the night.

  Finally, Witt broke it. “To heaven, Max. Or hell. That's your choice, too. But I'll go there with you. I'll go wherever you want. I can't help myself."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Her chest hurt, her eyes watered, and taking a breath made her throat ache. Why the hell did he have to give her this kind of power? She was going to hurt him one day, hurt him badly. Max knew it, she hated it, but she didn't know how to stop it. Why the hell couldn't he figure that out and dump her?

  The only thing she did know for sure was that today wasn't that day.

  She tugged on his pants leg. “You better make it heaven. Hell does not sound like a fun place. Now get down here because I'm getting cold."

  She hadn't known he was holding his breath until he let it out in one long sigh. Then he unzipped his pants.

  "Wait."

  "What?"

  "Maybe you should leave your pants on and ... you know, do it with them unzipped.” The thought of him completely naked was the oddest thing. She'd dreamed of it, fantasized about it, but well, she'd never seen it.

  He laughed. “No.” Then he slid his trousers and briefs off and tossed them aside. He missed the chair this time. “You, however, can keep the shirt so you don't get rug burn on the way to heav
en."

  She wasn't listening. Her mouth dried up. The man was magnificent, all defined muscle, broad chest, and perfect skin that gleamed in the moonlight. She felt her eyes go wide as saucers. “Oh my God, that thing is huge.” A joke to relieve the knot of tension in her belly, it was nevertheless completely true.

  "Compliments aren't necessary. You get your orgasm no matter what."

  He tossed something. With a little plop, it landed on her belly. A condom packet. “How long have you been carrying this around?"

  "Since the day I met you."

  "Hopeful, weren't you?"

  "Determined.” Then he came down beside her. She thought he'd reach for the condom immediately and get the trip underway. Instead, he slid his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her neck.

  "We're not gonna fuck, Max. We're gonna make love."

  "I know.” Not really.

  "Say it then. Ask me to make love to you."

  "Make love to me,” she parroted.

  "Make love to me, Witt."

  "Please make love to me, Witt.” There. She'd added “please” to make the phrasing slightly different from his. It's all in the phrasing, you know.

  He saw right through it, and his mouth quirked in the lightest of smiles. “You are a hard woman, Max Starr."

  Yeah. She'd never meant to be. “You know, it was you I was thinking about when I was talking on the phone."

  "Ride ‘em cowboy?"

  Ooh, he had been listening a while.

  He grinned. “Knew it was me."

  Then he kissed her, his tongue parting her lips. She tasted herself in that kiss, and the intimacy both frightened her and called to her. She gave herself to it and to the moment and the sweet suction of his mouth.

  She turned to her side, and the condom slipped down between them. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Open mouth, soft lips, eager tongue, gentle sigh. She caressed his calf with her foot. Crinkly leg hair tickled her flesh. He was all hard muscles and smooth skin. His nipples beaded against her breasts. He rolled to free his left arm from beneath them, and with one hand still locking her to his kiss, the other roamed her side, her torso, the underside of her breast. Smoothing a finger along her collar, he left her lips to suck on her throat, then sweep his tongue over the moist spot.

  He nuzzled her ear. “You smell good and taste good."

  "So do you."

  Squeezing a butt cheek, he pulled her close, rotating his hips against her. He cupped her breast, molded it with his hand, then bent his head to her nipple.

  She made a little noise as heat shot to the tips of her fingers and between her legs.

  "Do it again,” he said, then licked her.

  "Do what?"

  "That noise. Love that little ooh noise of yours. Makes me crazy."

  "Ooh."

  He laughed and sucked her deeper into his mouth while his fingers slid down, down, down, across her belly, into the nest of hair between her legs, and finally inside her. Hard, quick, and high. She arched, raised her knee to his hip, and oohed right in his ear.

  "Oh my God, Witt, oh God.” It felt so damn good, a tear came to her eye. She wanted to climb all over him, up inside him, take him inside her.

  He rolled her to her back, letting his finger slide to the tip of her clitoris. “Don't ever ooh for anybody else, okay."

  "I won't.” She never had. Not and really meant it. Except for Cameron.

  Then his hand left her, and he used his body to pin her to carpet, while he searched around on the floor a second. “Ahh, got it."

  Raising the little packet, he ripped it open with his teeth. Cool, unwelcome air streamed over her as he pulled back on his haunches.

  "Hold it for me."

  "What?” She stared agog at that huge, and actually quite magnificently beautiful tool of his.

  "Touch me while I put it on."

  How could she resist when he asked so sweetly? She curled her legs beneath, then slowly, gently, carefully took him in her hand. A tiny drop of come slipped from the tip as she touched him. She couldn't help but bend to lick it away.

  He jerked. “Shit.” He sounded in pain.

  She looked at his strained face. “What's wrong?"

  "Don't do that. We gotta come together."

  "I told you that only happens in fairy tales.” She squeezed, sliding her hand from tip to base, and delighted in the little grimace that creased his lips and the groan that escaped. “Better hurry up and get that thing on, Detective."

  Even as he struggled with the condom, she pumped him lightly because she loved his quickened breath and his little noises. Finally it was on, if a bit short on his dipstick.

  "You're dust now.” He pushed her back onto the carpet and dropped on top of her.

  "Ooh, the big detective, I'm all scared.” She bit his earlobe and whispered, “Stick it in me."

  "Such sweet nothings. Didn't know you had it in you."

  "I don't have it in me. Yet."

  She spread her legs and let him fall between them before she raised her feet to his calves. Oh God, he couldn't know how good it felt to have a man, a real man, a sweet big hunky real man on top of her. All the jokes and all the quips were just for show. She wanted this, wanted it so bad...

  He dipped inside her, spreading her moisture over the tip of the condom, then slid across her clitoris, back, up, down, around. Until she felt crazy and wild.

  "Please, Witt, please.” She arched against him and raked her nails down his arms.

  He eased inside once more, deeper. So big, so full, so hard.

  She whimpered and tried to pull his full weight down on top of her.

  "That's it, baby. So damn good, baby."

  She hated baby. Nobody called her baby. She didn't care, not when Witt was filling up all the cold, empty places that Cameron hadn't been able to touch since he died.

  With his two big hands on her butt, he lifted her, adjusted her, then slid deeper. She bit her lip and tasted blood. Something trickled from her eye into her hair.

  She panted, “...please, please, please."

  Then he drove home. She screamed and choked and cried and clawed at him, but when he tried to pull away, she locked her legs around his hips and her arms around his neck.

  "Don't leave me, please don't leave me, God, don't leave me, please never leave me.” Someone chanted as he started to pump inside her. It didn't sound like his voice, but it couldn't have been hers.

  Then she didn't care who the hell it was. Her hips rose to meet his.

  "I'm here,” he whispered.

  He filled her, withdrew, slammed back again. So hard. So good. He gave her the weight she craved, the hot, wet friction, and she took it all, begging for more. Rotating, he nuzzled her womb with his tip, then out again, teasing her clitoris once more before giving her the full length. Over and over, in and out, up and down, inside out, every which way. Until the damn stars started to sparkle, then burst behind her lids. Spirals of heat shot down to their joining, then out again, each one stronger and hotter than the last. He called her name, he called to God and Jesus. As the pulse of his orgasm throbbed inside her, and his grip turned to steel on her hips, a blindingly hot knot of tension seemed to explode inside her. She caught a glimpse of heaven, at exactly the same moment as Witt, she really did.

  A long time later, when she could talk again, she whispered, “That was heaven."

  Though later, of course, she'd manage to turn it into hell.

  * * * *

  A little while ago, he'd pulled them up to lean against the bed. She'd tried to wriggle free, but he held her tight with an arm around her shoulders. For goodness sake, the man was naked beside her. Witt was naked. The oddest little thrill tripped up and down her spine. Witt. Naked. At least she still had the shirt, but he hadn't even bothered to put his briefs on. She really wasn't sure she could handle the intimacy of cuddling naked in afterglow.

  "Share something with me,” Witt whispered close to her ear. �
��Something besides just sex. I want more."

  He was always asking for more. “Jesus, wasn't that enough for you?"

  "Not when you give that away to everyone else."

  Ouch. He sure knew how to hit hard below the belt.

  Trust Witt not to apologize. Instead he did far worse. He begged in a soft whisper. “I want something for me, Max. A piece of you that hasn't been hanging out at the Round Up."

  Her nose tingled, like a sneeze was coming on, and her eyeballs ached. She would not cry, though. He hadn't even questioned that he'd need a condom, as if her lifestyle left her diseased or something. Then again, he'd carried it around from the beginning, before he knew that ... stuff about her. Maybe he was a big protector and hadn't wanted to get her pregnant. Yeah, maybe that was it. He was taking care of her. She closed her eyes.

  Then she gave him what he asked for. A piece of her soul. “What I remember most is the night he died. Most of the time, I pretend I don't remember a thing.” Even for Cameron, she pretended. “But I remember it all."

  Witt wrapped both arms around her, tightened. He leaned his forehead against hers, waiting for her to go on.

  She couldn't have said why she did, nor why she'd chosen this thing to tell him. “He was standing by the potato chips when they came in. It was all so fast,” she murmured, each sentence punctuated by a short silence. “The tallest guy had a gun out. He looked at Cameron. Then at me. Then he shot the clerk. The little guy climbed over the cash register and started stuffing the money in his pockets. Couldn't have been much. There was another guy. They were all talking, but I couldn't understand a word they said. My ears were ringing. Then the tall guy raised the gun and shot Cameron in the head. I honestly didn't think he could be dead. There was this little round hole, not even much blood. Not at first. Than he sort of slid down the rack of Doritos, dragging all the bags with him."

  She pulled back then, looked at Witt, then raised her hand, palm to his forehead. As if that would somehow keep him safe. She didn't tell him why they didn't shoot her then. He already knew because he'd read the file. She didn't tell him how they'd raped, beaten and left her for dead. Witt knew that as well. What he couldn't have read anywhere was that she'd wanted to die, too, would have if not for Cameron. Cameron, who'd lain on the cold, hard dirt with her, talked to her until dawn when a jogger found her. At the time, she actually thought he was still alive, that he'd miraculously escaped fatal injury. In the hospital, after they told her he was gone, she'd thought she'd imagined him. By the time she got home, she knew that though he'd left in body, he'd remained in spirit.