Chapter 9 Action #3
I falter and gaze across the property, my eyes landing on a red motorcycle. "You rode Bronson's bike?"
Max watches me hesitate and clenches his jaw. "Yeah. Look, stop searching around for daddy. I saw Konnor when I pulled up. He was getting blind drunk out front. Don't worry."
My breathing stammers. "Is he okay?"
He shakes his head and smirks. "I don't really care. Your brother is too much drama."
"You actually are a jerk," I bite out.
"Another thing I've heard."
My cheeks are still warm and tingly. I run my hands down them as I contemplate. Narrowing my eyes at Max, I stroll over to him because there is literally nowhere else I'd rather be. It's frustrating as hell.
As I crawl onto the daybed, I settle between his thighs, my back and head pressed against his chest.
Moments pass and we breathe together in comfortable, pleasurable silence. I hate that my irritation towards him is dwindling.
The last minutes of the day are displayed in an orange and pink glow above the rooftops.
I can smell Max all around me. I can feel his deep breaths behind my spine.
I find his tattooed forearm draped across the armrest and drag my nails softly through its soft hair.
As his skin prickles, he twists his wrist to encourage me to keep stroking him.
“Tell me about this role,” he says, kissing my temple.
His interest in my life makes me smile. I'm glad he can’t see it. “What do you want to know?"
"Anything you want to tell."
"Well, the Sugar Plum Fairy is the guide for the Land of Candy, which sounds weirder than it is.
The whole story follows Clara on this adventure.
It's kinda Alice in Wonderland-esque, but instead of the Mad Hatter, you have the Sugar Plum Fairy.
She's sweet and spice and everything nice.
She's sort of like a conductor. Her choreography is playful and even a little flirty. "
I think he chuckles, but it's barely audible. "Is it the main role?"
"She's one of the main roles." I roll my head across his chest and wonder if he's making conversation for the sake of it or if he's genuinely interested. Max doesn’t usually banter.
He doesn't sugar-coat. His words are like knives that stab straight to the point. "She has some very complex sequences."
"Have I said congratulations?"
I bite back another smile. "Yes."
A few moments pass. Before I was content in our silence, but my comfort is weighed down by my insecurities. "Max?"
"Yeah?" he asks, his tone wary with suspicion.
"I'm going to the wedding. Did you know that?"
"Yes," he states, the word curt.
"Do you... mind?"
I imagine him frowning. "Why would I mind?"
"I don’t know." Because I'll cramp your sexual prowess? I wish I could see his face. His body is tense behind mine and his breaths have become more exaggerated. "You were so angry when you saw me with Aurora," I press.
"I was. I am. It has nothing to do with you."
"Well, it seems to have had everything to do with me... Are you fighting with your brothers or something?”
"No, Little One."
I drag my fingernails up the curve of his bicep, making him twitch. "Wanna talk about why you're mad?"
"Nope."
I huff. "Why not?"
"Don’t be pushy or I’ll bend you over this couch."
I press my knees together and try not to wince.
Max must have sensed my discomfort, though, because he caresses my outer thigh and then cups a hand between them. "Are you in pain?"
I'm familiar with muscular tearing—fatigue or throbbing of overworked muscles, and this feeling is no different. "I'm fine... Max?"
As he gently strokes between my legs, he says, "Yes?"
I draw in a breath for courage. "Why can’t we–"
"So, how’s your dickhead mate, Toni?"
I can't help but laugh. "Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce the Master of the Subtle Transition."
He slides his hand inside my shorts and continues to tenderly caress the swollen valley between my lips. "I like the master part."
I try to ignore his touch, but it's soothing and sensual and I don’t want him to stop. "He isn’t a dickhead. He's my best friend."
"Great friend."
"What makes you say that?"
He pulls his hand away. "He left you in heat while some dickhead was trying to get inside you."
I twist on the daybed to glower at him. "Firstly... not in heat. Secondly, he isn’t my keeper."
His face tightens. "Right."
"I'm a big girl." I turn a little farther toward him. "I can look after myself."
"Not from where I'm sitting."
"Well, sit somewhere else then!" The air around us thickens. His teeth grind. For a second he looks like he wants to punch a wall.
But then he slumps down and grins. "Nah."
I twist back around towards the main house. "You aren't so good at this ‘getting to know you’ stuff, are you?"
"Nope."
"Master of the Single Word Responses."
He laughs loudly and presses his lips to my ear before pushing his hand down my shorts again, stroking me softly. "I'm the master of a lot of things today."
I swallow and drop my head to his chest. "I'm sore."
"Get inside." His tone is salacious. "I'll lick you all better."
"I thought you had things to do?"
"I prioritise."
A distanced yell makes me jump. It's coming from the house and is soon punctuated by loud slamming. My feet are on the ground and running across the grass before I even register the motion. In the next step, I slam into Max, who has outpaced me and is now holding me back.
"Get out of my way!" I yell at him.
"I'll go." He throws me over his shoulder and tries to walk me back inside the studio.
"I swear to God, Max Butcher, if you don't put me down!"
"Shut up!"
"Max!" My voice breaks.
He freezes. With a curse, he places me back onto the grass and grabs the nape of my neck hard, manhandling me to focus on him. "Go up there, but I'll be listening. If things get out of control, I'm coming up."