by Elise Faber
After moving his hands to her breasts, he shifted down and let his mouth join the party. That meant her fingers slipped off his cock, but that was okay because he had a mouthful of nipple and that was just as good. It puckered to a hard point as he ran his tongue over and around it, and the way Angie hissed out a breath as he sucked it deep into his mouth had him repeating the process until she moaned and gripped his hair. Then he switched breasts, thrusting a leg between her thighs and groaning as she ground her pussy against him.
Fuck, she was wet.
He licked the underside of one breast and ran the stubble of his beard across her skin, tracing a path with his tongue and mouth, ready to dive back between her thighs and make her come for a third time.
Angie had different ideas.
“So, help me, God. You are going to put on a condom and get inside me, or I will pay off Mandy to dull every pair of skates you own.”
He flicked his tongue into her belly button. “You play mean.” His fingers slid lower, brushed the top of her pussy.
“Max.”
“Fine.” He reached for his pants and extracted a condom from his wallet then rolled it on. Then he knelt between her thighs and licked her in one long stroke. She cursed, legs flexing, eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her back arched, her hips jumped, and moisture pooled against his tongue.
Only when she was writhing on the mattress, eyes closed tight, breath coming in rapid puffs, and liquid beneath his touch did he rise on his knees and position himself above her.
Then paused.
“Angel,” he said.
Dazed eyes opened.
“You sure?”
One long leg hooked around his waist in answer, and he slowly slid home, giving her time to get used to him and attempting to wrestle the urge to pound into her under control.
Her hips shifted, encouraging him to move.
He pulled out, pushed back in, loving the way her lips formed a little O, loving the soft moans as he moved.
“More,” she said. “Max, baby, I need you—”
Fuck. He loved that she called him baby.
He moved a little faster, sliding in and out but in a measured pace, not wanting to hurt her, not wanting this to be anything but good for her.
Sweat dripped down his spine, pleasure coiled in his dick, spread outwards throughout his entire body, hampering his rhythm, wanting him to move faster, harder, deeper.
But he forced himself to stay steady, to go slow . . . at least until Angie wrapped her other leg around him and demanded, “Fuck me, Max. Hard.”
And then the leash snapped.
He pounded into her, driving them both up and up and up until Angie screamed and clenched around his cock and finally—thank fuck but, finally—he exploded.
The orgasm was torn from him, locking his spine, fire shooting down his limbs before pleasure engulfed every single nerve and his vision went black.
Max came back to awareness on top of Angie.
He was limp with pleasure and no doubt heavy as fuck, but when he tried to shift off her, not wanting to crush her, she closed her arms around his shoulders and murmured, “Not yet. Just . . . just a little longer.”
Kissing her shoulder, her jaw, her cheek, he nodded and stayed in place, feeling both sliced open and totally vulnerable, and yet . . . finding there was no place he’d rather be.
Angie. His Angel.
Without even trying, she’d managed to stitch herself right into his heart.
And Max found that he didn’t mind the feeling one bit.
Twenty-Five
Angie
“Hi!” She sat down at the table across from Mandy, coffee in hand and happy to have a break from the office. Her department had six projects running concurrently, which meant Angie was basically juggling knives and axes and flamethrowers, all at the same time.
Oh, and maybe a chainsaw or two along with them.
No big deal.
Her sister smiled. “Hi, yourself. You okay? You look like you’ve been pulled backward through a bush.”
Angie’s eyes widened. “Dad used to say that.”
“Oh”—Mandy’s breath caught—“I’d forgotten.”
Angie reached up and attempted to smooth her hair then stopped with a shrug and a laugh. “And, he’d probably say me attempting to make myself presentable after the morning I had would be like putting lipstick on a pig,” Angie said.
“Yeah. He would have.” A pause. “Also, this just in: Dad was an jerk.”
Angie snorted. “Yup.”
“Anyway, old news aside, I’m guessing by the wrinkled clothes and messy ponytail that work has been crazy for you, too?” Mandy asked and when Angie nodded, added, “Thanks for taking the time out to meet me. I feel like things have been nuts with the long road trip and then Blane and I moving in together.”
“Work has been insane, but just with the usual stuff,” she said. “How’s the house hunting been going?”
They talked for the next little while, each of them sipping their coffees and nibbling on the yummy apple tarts that this particular bakery was known for. They’d been trying to get together a few times each week for lunch or coffee and had discovered a shared love for all apple pastries as well as a hatred for romaine lettuce and sweet tea. The house hunt hadn’t been easy, especially in the competitive Bay Area, and they spent a few minutes discussing neighborhoods and school choices before getting into the non-secret work projects that Angie could discuss.
Her phone buzzed just as she started sharing a story about hanging with Kelsey and company at Bobby’s and the “little barely-legal”—Cora’s words, not Angie’s—who’d tried to pick up Kels with a horribly sleazy line. Angie glanced down at her cell to see a text from Max and felt a huge smile break out on her face.
“Max?” Mandy asked.
Angie nodded. “Yes. He’s just . . .”
“Special.”
Another nod, but this time followed by Angie biting her lip. “I really like him. I didn’t think it was possible after Dad and the contract and the assault. I just thought I would always be gun shy and that I was destined to be alone.”
“But you and Max are different.”
“Yeah.”
“You realize I do have to ask you what you meant by ‘contract’,” Mandy said. “And attack, for that matter.”
Angie blew out a breath. “I know.”
She’d promised herself that if she were going to try and have a relationship with Mandy that she had to be open and honest about everything. As painful and uncomfortable as it was, Angie knew it was the only way forward—for their relationship and for her chance at a happy future.
She wouldn’t be the shameful secret.
Not any longer.
And if by a slim chance, the contract did become an issue, Angie had never touched the money that came along with it. Until recently, she hadn’t understood why she hadn’t spent it, but now she knew.
Yes, things had sometimes been tight.
But she’d recognized the myriad of strings attached to that payout. They were as heavy as giant steel chains and thankfully, or maybe luckily, she hadn’t wanted to shoulder that burden.
So now, older and hopefully wiser, Angie was damned glad she’d left that money alone.
Mandy reached across the table and touched her hand. “You don’t have to.”
“Have to what?”
“Share any of it,” Mandy said. “I’ll ask because I care and because I want to know you, but you don’t owe me anything, Angie. I’m just so glad to have you here now.” She smiled sadly. “I always felt so alone as a kid. Isolated and just not wanted, and I would have given anything for a sister. I feel so lucky to have that chance now.”
“Shit.” Angie pulled her hand free and glanced down at the table.
“Um, did I overstep?”
She blinked, turned her gaze back to Mandy. “No. I’m”—she sniffed—“I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.”
“Oh.
” Her sister dashed a finger under each eye. “Try being pregnant. The waterworks are fucking ridiculous. I can’t even hear the first notes of those SPCA commercials without bursting into tears.” She rolled her eyes. “Yesterday, Blane bought me an organizer for all of my tape, and I sobbed for a good fifteen minutes. I swear, an alien has taken over my body.”
Angie raised a finger. “First, the animal commercials are sad as hell so I feel you, and second, you need an organizer for tape?”
Mandy waved a hand. “There are so many types—athletic, plastic, scotch, stick, KT, paper—and those are just what my baby-addled brain can think of. I’m sure I missed some that I use on a daily basis. I was complaining about how they kept shifting around in the drawer, stopping it from opening normally and he”—she blinked—“bought me one. And now, look, I’m crying about tape again.”
“Sorry.” Angie bit back a smile.
“No, you’re not.”
“That’s true.”
She and Mandy looked at each other and started laughing.
“Thanks for pestering me and continuing to reach out,” Angie said, once they’d stopped. “I was so wrapped up in my life, in protecting myself, that my life was empty. You prompted me to take those first baby steps into getting out of my own head.”
Along with Max and Kelsey pushing her, of course.
But that first email from Mandy the previous year had created those hairline fractures in her protective shell, had made her wonder what if, rather than what could happen.
“I’m so glad I found out about you,” Mandy told her. “I’m just sorry it wasn’t sooner.”
“You want to know the really sad part?”
Mandy bit her lip. “Do I?”
“Maybe not.” Angie sighed. “But I think in the spirit of building an open relationship, I should tell you two things.” She took a sip of her coffee, delaying for just a moment longer before finally blurting. “I knew about you. I knew you existed my whole life.”
Mandy’s jaw dropped open. “But how? No, why? Why didn’t you—?” She broke off, staring at Angie with hurt eyes.
“I should have reached out. I really regret that I didn’t, but I just—”
Angie swallowed hard.
“What?”
She shook her head.
Mandy laced her fingers with hers. “Just what, Ang?”
“I hated you.” Mandy recoiled, trying to pull back, but Angie gripped her fingers tight. “No. That’s not what I meant. I mean, I was hurt. Dad would come to our place and tell me the reason he couldn’t see me was because of you and your mom and that it was your guys’ fault that he couldn’t be there more.” She sighed. “I was young and didn’t understand he was trying to manipulate me, and then he got into the accident and I saw you on TV with him and not me, and I just . . .”
“Hated me.”
Mandy’s voice was dead, icy-cold, and Angie flinched, wondering if she’d just ruined everything. She shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have risked hurting her sister. “I didn’t know the bigger picture. I’m sorry. I should have—”
Mandy pulled her hand free and jumped to her feet.
And Angie’s heart clenched.
She’d fucked it all up, screwed up her chance to have a sister. Throat tight, she dropped her gaze to the table. Why had she suggested the coffee shop? Now she was going to be a sobbing mess, sitting alone with a half-finished espresso growing cold.
In other words: pathetic.
A hand on her arm made her startle, eyes flying up.
Mandy was kneeling by her side. “I’m going to hug you now. Brace yourself.”
Angie croaked out a laugh. “Okay.”
They embraced tightly, sniffing and Angie knew she wasn’t the only one blinking back tears. “Our dad was a real fucking asshole, wasn’t he?” Mandy asked, still hugging her.
Angie nodded. “That he was.”
Mandy shifted and Angie let her go. “You’re going to hurt your knees. You should sit down.”
Her sister waggled her brows. “Blane likes it when I kneel.”
“Ew.”
Mandy dragged her chair over near Angie’s. “Sorry. I had to.”
Angie wrinkled her nose, took another sip of coffee. “Yeah, I don’t think you had to tell me you like to give your fiancé blow jobs.”
“Maybe.” She took a seat. “But at least we’re not crying now.”
Angie chuckled. “True.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of their gazes on the busy coffee shop, but no doubt their minds were on their respective pasts and their fucked-up parentage. “So, despite the risk of having more tears, I do have to gently probe about the assault. Are you okay? Is there someone I need to have killed?”
“Sadly, the attack is almost easier for me to talk about than the contract. I was nearly raped on a dark street corner. I was naïve, didn’t know how to protect myself, and though the man hurt me, the assault was stopped by a Good Samaritan.” She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “He did—you know—get inside me, but only with his fingers. They stopped him before it got worse.”
Mandy’s face was pale, and she pushed her coffee away. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“Me, too. For a long time, I couldn’t even stand the most casual touch from a man, but Max . . . he’s different. He makes me feel different inside.” A shrug. “Not broken, I guess. Almost normal.”
Mandy smiled.
“I just feel like my heart has known him my whole life,” she said. “Almost from the beginning, I’ve trusted him, deep down and with every fiber of my soul.”
“Poetry trust.” Mandy nodded sagely.
Angie’s brows drew together. “What?”
“You have poetry trust with him. You know, like when you find someone in your life—it can be a friend or lover or spouse—that gets you so effortlessly that you could write sappy poems to them.” Mandy shrugged. “Blane was that for me. My heart recognized him for what he was almost before my body did and way as fuck before my mind accepted him. You too, you know. It’s why I kept emailing and holding out hope. I didn’t know you from anyone on the street, but I just felt like I had to keep trying or my life would be . . .”
“Missing something.”
Mandy nodded. “Yes. That.”
“Thank you for not giving up on me.”
“Shush,” Mandy told her. “You already said that.”
Angie grinned. “Okay then, if you don’t want my gratitude then at least tell me what my sappy poem would be.”
“Hmm.” Mandy’s eyes focused on the ceiling as she pondered. “Okay, I’ve got it. Sister, Sister. I’m your sister. We’re from the same mister but another sister—aw fuck.” She burst out laughing. “Ang, I’ve got no idea what your sappy poem might be, but I’m glad you’re here now.”
Angie was giggling so hard it was hard to get any words out. “Me . . . too . . .”
Mandy made a bowing gesture with her hand. “Sister from the Same Mister. An Amanda Shallows exclusive.”
And then they were both cracking up again.
Eventually they regained control. Mandy took a sip of her coffee, said, “I’m so happy you guys found each other. Max has had some tough years, and he and Brayden deserve someone as special as you.”
“Dammit,” Angie said, tone accusatory. “See? Now you’re going to make me cry again. Horrible poetry is better. ”
“Heaven help me,” Mandy said. “Quick. Tell me something that annoys you so I can play the condescending older sister role. I know!” She raised a finger. “You need me to give you relationship advice or scold you and tell you that you can’t borrow my clothes”—she wrinkled her nose—“except we’re close to the same size, and I think that would be kind of fun.”
Angie snorted. “Ha, girlfriend. This ass won’t fit into those jeans of yours. We can trade T-shirts.”
“My ass is going to be gigantic. But your shirts are the best, though,” she replied. “That mashu
p one you have with the avocado and the cat. It’s so cute.”
“I can admit that I have a T-shirt addiction.” Angie popped the last bite of apple turnover into her mouth. “It’s bad. Between that and flannel and Star Wars, maybe like five percent of my clothing can be considered adult?” She laughed. “And that portion is all work-related.”
“Hey, as far as I’m concerned, that’s pretty good.” Mandy’s own phone buzzed. “I only survive because ninety percent of my clothes are Gold-issued uniform shirts and pants.”
“You need to get that?” Angie asked.
She shook her head. “Just my ten-minute reminder so I leave in time. Pregnancy brain is real, yo.”
“Excuses, excuses.” Angie dodged the smack Mandy directed her way. “Sister abuse!” she teased.
“Not hardly.” But Mandy was grinning.
Angie drained her coffee. “So, if we only have ten minutes, should I tell you the last of it?”
It was the only piece left . . . not to confess, exactly, but to air out?
No. That wasn’t right. It was more like . . . the final portion that had power over her and her relationship with Mandy. Because it hadn’t just been her anxiety that had kept her from forging ties with her sister, but—
“The contract?” Mandy asked.
“Yeah.” Angie sighed. “Except, it’s not really a contract. I call it that in my head because it felt very much like one, but really it has to do with Dad’s Will.”
Mandy’s brows drew together as she reached for her coffee and took a sip.
“I mean, there were legal documents involved—my mom and I had to sign NDAs in order to see what he left us in the Will, and I did sign one and was of age when I did, so . . . but that’s not the part that made things so difficult.” She exhaled, tried to steady her words, her thoughts. “Things got screwed up because the Will stated that in order for me or my mom to inherit anything, I could never have a relationship with you.” She shook her head. “I didn’t understand that the two documents were separate until my mom died and her lawyer sent me her papers. And I couldn’t bring myself to even look at her things until last year. She was all I had, and—”
