Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Zoe
We’re wrapped in towels, making our way silently to Max’s penthouse after he rescued my undergarments from the pool. My mind is racing, not only because he literally blew my mind, but also because I’m trying to figure out what this means for our friendship. The cool air and the lingering heat of what he did in the pool create a heady mix, leaving me both exhilarated and anxious.
We step into the elevator, and Max swipes his key card. The doors close, and the elevator glides smoothly upward. When a bell dings, the doors open, we’re right in the foyer of his penthouse—fancy.
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel. “Is there somewhere I can take a shower?” I ask, wanting a minute to myself.
“Of course, this way,” he says. He gives a quick command to a smart speaker and the lights come on at a comfortable, warm luminosity. We head through the primary bedroom, which is as luxurious as I expected, with sleek furniture and a view of the city lights that takes my breath away.
I follow him, still lost in my thoughts. What if this ruins things between us? What if it doesn’t? My stomach flutters with a mix of excitement and fear. He leads me to the bathroom, which is massive, with a rain showerhead and multiple jets around the walls. It’s luxurious, just like everything else in his life.
“And here we are,” he says, his voice soft but confident. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab a t-shirt and some sweats for you to change into.”
I take a moment to look around, my fingers trailing over the cool marble countertops. The bathroom is beautiful, with a large mirror that reflects my flushed cheeks and tousled hair. The rain showerhead looms directly above, promising a cascade of warmth and relaxation.
Max returns quickly, a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweats bundled in his arms. “Here you go,” he says, his voice low as he hands them to me. His eyes meet mine, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, hesitant smile. “I’ll take care of your wet clothes. Just leave them outside the door when you’re done.”
“Thanks, Max,” I say, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. My fingers brush against his as I take the clothes, sending a jolt through my body.
As I step into the shower, I let the hot water wash over me, hoping it’ll clear my head as easily as it rinses away the chlorine. But my thoughts are a whirlpool, circling back to the same questions over and over. What does this mean for our friendship? Can we go back to the way things were, or is this the start of something new?
I finish showering and dry off, slipping into the comfortable clothes Max provided. The shirt hangs loose on my frame, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, and the sweats pool around my feet. But they’re warm and soft, carrying a faint scent that’s unmistakably Max.
Emerging from the bathroom, I notice the enormous bed that looks even bigger than a king size. It dominates the room. The lack of personal photos strikes me, the walls devoid of any family pictures or snapshots of friends, adding to the sterile, impersonal feel of the place.
Following the faint clinking of utensils, I make my way toward the kitchen. The penthouse is spacious with a sleek, modern décor and an open floor plan that exudes sophistication. I pass by the living area, noting the immaculate arrangement of furniture and the stunning view of the city lights through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I wonder what he has on the upper floor, but that’s a question for later—if there’s ever a later.
When I reach the kitchen, I stop in my tracks. Max stands at the counter, wearing only a pair of sweats. His hair is still damp, and his back muscles ripple as he moves, catching the light in a way that makes my breath hitch. He’s focused on his task, and I watch as he expertly handles a knife, chopping vegetables with practiced ease.
The sight of him like this—relaxed, natural, and undeniably attractive—sends a warm shiver down my spine. It’s a contrast to the polished, controlled image he usually presents.
He turns slightly, catching sight of me. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought you might be hungry, so I’m putting something together.”
I step into the kitchen, the scent of fresh ingredients mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne. “Thanks,” I reply, my voice sounding steadier than I feel. “I really appreciate it.”
He gestures to a stool at the island. “Sit. Make yourself at home.”
I slide onto the stool, watching him work. “So, you actually know how to cook, huh?” I remark, trying to keep the conversation light despite the swirling thoughts in my head.
“Yeah, at some point eating takeout gets boring,” hestates.
I nod, my eyes drifting over his form, appreciating the way the sweats hang low on his hips, the way his muscles flex with each movement. It’s a simple, domestic scene, but it feels incredibly intimate.
As he finishes up the salad, he places a plate in front of me and one across the island for himself. He sits down, and for a moment, we just look at each other, the air thick with tension or . . .
“Max . . .” I start, but I’m not sure how to continue.
“Yeah?” He looks at me expectantly. “Do we need to talk about what happened? Because I really didn’t like that you broke the rules. I mean, what happened to skinny dipping?”
He says it with such an exaggeratedly serious expression that I can’t help but laugh. The tension breaks, and I feel a weight lift off my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” I say between giggles. “I guess I got a little shy.”
Max grins, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just messing with you. But seriously, next time, no cheating or this friendship is over.”
Those last three words sober me up, because honestly, I don’t want it to be over. We really have to talk about what happened—and it has nothing to do with skinny dipping.
“But the other thing,” I say.
“Yeah?” He crosses his arms. “What thing?”
“That thing you did to me . . .” Since when am I this shy? I wasn’t downstairs when I was begging him to lick me, was I?
“What did I do to you, Zoe?” He’s waiting for me to say it. “You have to say the words, like a big girl who just got a really good prize for being very, very good. So. Fucking. Good.”
Those words make me squirm, my legs instinctively pressing together before I open them again, the memory of his touch making me ache with need.
He smirks, as if he knows exactly what just happened. “Say it, babe,” he insists.
“You performed oral sex,” I say, very clinical.
“Fuck, are you for real?” he says, exasperated. He leans forward, his eyes darkening with intensity. “I didn’t just perform oral sex, Zoe. I ate you out like I was starving. I licked and sucked every inch of your pretty, glistening pussy. I tasted how sweet you were, felt you squirm and moan under my tongue. I made you come undone with my mouth, finger fucking you and coating my fingers with your juices because I couldn’t get enough of you—and your sweet cunt.”
His words make me squirm even more, heat pooling low in my belly. I can’t help the way my body responds, every word making me want him more.
“You remember how you begged for more?” he continues, his voice low and dirty. “How you begged me to make you come? And I did. I loved every second of it, loved hearing you lose control, knowing it was all because of me.”
I can barely breathe, the intensity of his words and the memory of what he did overwhelming me. “Max . . .” I whisper, my voice trembling with desire.
He reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he says softly. “Because I want you, Zoe. I want your pretty body, your pleasure—you. ”
What does he mean? Like just as . . . I swallow hard, trying to steady myself. “But this . . . we’re just friends,” I say, even as my body tingles with the memory of his touch. My heart races, conflicted between what I enjoy and what I should want.
We’re opposites in every way, down to what we want out of our futures. Well, I don’t have an exact plan just yet. However, I know it ends in family—a man who wants to spend forever with me, a child or two, and a pet.
He wants . . . Well, just to have fun. And that’s great, for him. But for me, it’s a different story.
“Of course we’re friends,” he says after staring at me. “As I promised before, this time we’re spending together is to ensure that you know how to live—to see a different side of things. Now, we added a little . . . benefit. Sex.”
Knowing me, and how I’ve always had sex with someone that I not only trust, but have feelings for, I have to set up a rule that he shouldn’t break. And so I tell him how I feel about sex and even when I’m sure one-night stands are perfectly fine for him, I don’t think my mind can catch up as fast. “Oral is fine,” I conclude after he listens to my long explanation. “Just oral.”
Max’s eyebrows shoot up, but he nods slowly. “And maybe no sleepovers, of course,” he adds, his voice careful. “We wouldn’t want to confuse things.”
“Exactly,” I say, relief washing over me. My shoulders relax, and I feel myself smiling. This could work. We can have fun without complicating things.
Max’s lips quirk into a grin, and he glances at the clock. “Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s finish up. I should get you home soon,” he says playfully, but there’s an undercurrent of something I can’t quite place in his voice.
I nod, picking up my fork again. The salad is delicious, and the casual, comfortable atmosphere between us feels right. We chat lightly as we eat, the earlier tension now replaced with an easy banter.
As I take my last bite, Max stands up and starts clearing the dishes. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”
In the car, as he drives me back home, I glance at him and smile. The city lights dance across his profile, and I feel a sudden rush of affection. “Thanks, Max. For everything.”
He looks over at me, his expression softening. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before returning to the road. “Anytime, Zoe. Anytime.”