Chapter Thirty-Two Max
Chapter Thirty-Two
Max
I clock the stupid one as Will, lead guitarist of Atlas Veil. The way he obviously ogles Gemma opens a pit in my stomach, and a wave of possessiveness laps at my skin like an incoming tide.
He wants her. And he isn’t subtle about it.
Gemma’s eyes shift to me, a brief panicked glance, and I watch her with indifference painted across my face.
Not doing anything is foreign to me. I’m used to taking what I want, and what I want is Gemma.
But with my sister sitting across from Gemma and me as we’re seated at the table, I’m unable to show Will that she’s mine.
The word mine echoes in my head.
She isn’t mine—not really. But God, I think I want her to be.
It was hard enough to peel away from her after the optometrist. After ensuring her eyes were okay, I saw her home safely and proceeded to my apartment, pumped iron until my muscles screamed, then fucked my hand in the shower.
Gemma is sitting in the middle of the long dining table that’s dotted with various trays, plates, and bowls of meats, salads, and roasted vegetables.
The spread is impressive, but I’m finding it difficult to focus on the food when all I can think about is the curve of Gemma’s neck as she deliberately avoids looking at me.
April and James give each other loving looks from the far end of the table.
Meanwhile, Gemma sits between Will and me.
Anna is opposite us, next to Oliver with Mason on her other side, the tension evident as she maintains just enough distance from him to make it obvious she’s avoiding his touch.
Something you’d only notice if you were really paying attention.
I’ve seen him attempt to slip his hand into hers or wrap his arm around her waist, but each time she’s sent him a small smile and pulled away.
“Do you like my sausage?” Will’s voice cuts in, and I see him lean into Gemma with a sly smirk that makes me want to introduce his face to the table.
“You’re in my burger,” Gemma says, her voice low and dry.
Will pumps his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, really?”
“No. I mean, your sleeve is actually in my burger. Move it.” She shoves his arm away.
Will looks down at his sleeve and huffs in frustration when he sees sauce on his cuff. Gemma and Anna roll their lips to stop from laughing, their eyes dancing with amusement.
“So, Max,” Oliver says across the table as he cuts into his steak, “April tells me you’re in from New York.”
I appreciate the guy making an effort. He seems like a nice bloke, and I can tell he’s the most similar to James out of the group.
If I’m honest, it’s an honor being invited to this dinner.
Anna and April have been best friends for the better part of thirty years, so I’ve known April a long time, seen her through some of the most horrific events as she leaned on Anna and my family for support.
Growing up, she was like another little sister to annoy and pick on, so I carry a lot of affection for her.
“I am, yes. I’ve only been there for two years, but it’s become home.” The words feel true as I say them, but there’s a twinge of unease when I see Anna’s eyes drop to the table and Gemma’s fleeting glance.
“What brings you back?” he asks.
“Work, mainly. And seeing family, of course.” I gesture to Anna, who gives me a warm smile. “I work with Grayson Livingstone—”
“Shit,” he says with light laughter. “He’s a big deal. What do you do for him?”
“I’m his chief development officer.”
“Ah, that’s right,” he says, nodding. “You’re opening that swanky new hotel.”
“That’s right, Gray Hotel.”
“His company hired mine,” Gemma inserts before looking at me with a quick smile. “So we’re working together too.”
“You are?” Will says, looking around Gemma to regard us both.
His jaw tightens as worry creases his face.
He’s jealous that I’m working with Gemma.
I know the guy is harmless and certainly no competition, but I revel in his obvious discomfort.
The fact that I’ve seen Gemma naked—that I know the exact sound she makes when she comes all over my cock—while he’s sitting making immature sausage jokes, is a silent but assured victory.
I meet Oliver’s gaze coolly.
“Yes. Gemma’s agency is handling the marketing for the hotel launch, so we’ll be working closely over the next six weeks.” I look at Gemma as I say the next part. “She’s proven herself to be one of the most capable people I’ve worked with.”
The compliment comes easy because it’s entirely true.
Under the table, Gemma’s knee briefly presses against my thigh. I’m not sure whether it was deliberate or accidental, but it sends a jolt up my leg and straight to my dick.
“Wow. Impressive,” Oliver says, lifting his brows appreciatively. Just as I’m about to elaborate, James’s mother cuts in, taking over the conversation. I notice Gemma place her napkin over her lap before she scoots her chair in closer to the table.
The dinner proceeds around us—April describing wedding plans, James’s brother, Lucas, sulking in the corner while he taps away madly at his phone, and Will entertaining the other end of the table with band stories.
Stealthily, I slide my hand under the table and play with the hem of Gemma’s skirt. I feel her tense beside me as she nods along to something Anna is saying, but she doesn’t shift or stop me, so I take it as permission to continue.
I gather the fabric in my hand, bunching it up as slowly as possible before dragging my fingertips along her soft skin.
Her breath hitches as I reach the delicate skin of her inner thigh.
She widens her legs ever so slightly, granting me better access while maintaining composure.
Everyone seems to be occupied with their conversations, completely oblivious.
Gemma takes a sip of her wine with her left hand.
When I reach the juncture of her thighs, my fingers glide over wet fabric as it clings to her pussy, creating a perfect mold of her intimate parts. I almost groan at the contact.
She half coughs, half gasps as soon as I graze my knuckles against her.
Anna lifts her eyes to Gemma’s.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Gemma squeaks, lifting her glass. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
“Maybe you should slow down,” Anna says with a laugh.
I realize this is totally messed up. I’m playing with my sister’s best friend right in front of her, but I can’t stop.
Gemma tilts her pelvis ever so slightly, just enough to press against my fingers. I move my hand back down her thigh and begin to draw slow, tight circles over her skin.
Her spine straightens and she sucks in a deep breath when I hover back over her entrance, running my fingers over her wetness before withdrawing my hand completely. My cock thickens beneath my zipper.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Anna says, concern etched on her face.
“Mm-hmm,” Gemma responds, snaking her hands underneath the table and gripping my wrist.
Anna drops her fork and leans in closer to whisper-shout. “Are you holding in a fart?”
“No!” Gemma says, looking thoroughly mortified.
April appears behind Anna to refill her glass. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” Gemma grinds out, tightening her hold on my wrist. I’m still able to move my fingers, so I do, sawing the tips of my fingers back and forth over her slit as subtly as possible.
“Gemma just has a little gas trapped, that’s all,” Anna says.
“Oh no,” April says. “Do you think it’s the food? Have you had too much dairy? I told James we overdid it with the cheese.”
“It’s not the bloody dairy,” Gemma grinds out.
I hide my smile by lifting my wine glass with my free hand and taking a long pull, finding her discomfort far more entertaining than I should.
“Is this like that time you douched too hard, and all the air got trapped in your bum?” Anna continues.
The wine almost escapes from my nostrils as I hold in the liquid, forcing myself to swallow rather than spray it across the table.
“Anna!” Gemma hisses, shooting a panicked glance around the table to see if anyone else heard. “Can we not?”
“I’m just looking out for you.” Anna shrugs, completely unbothered. “You couldn’t fart properly for three days.”
“Oh, yes!” April says, snapping her fingers as she recalls the memory. “That was awful, remember? You were in so much pain. I have a container with all sorts of medications in the utility room. Help yourself if you need to.”
April walks away, refilling empty glasses as she goes before taking her seat.
“Anna, not everyone wants to hear about Gemma’s hygiene issues over dinner,” Mason cuts in.
“Excuse me,” Gemma says. “I do not have hygiene issues.”
Anna waves a hand at Gemma. “Exactly. Because you don’t douche anymore.”
Gemma looks at me sheepishly. I agree entirely with Mason. The topic isn’t exactly dinner party material, but right now I’m too caught up in the way Gemma’s squirming under my touch.
Her pupils are blown wide, chest rising with a shaky inhale as I keep a steady rhythm—fingertips dragging back and forth across her skin, teasing her pussy with feather-light strokes before pulling away again. Then her thighs clamp shut around my hand, trapping it.
If it weren’t for company around us, I’d sink three fingers knuckle deep inside her.
“I think I need some air,” Mason mutters, tossing his napkin on the table before making a quick exit.
“That’s it—I can’t let you suffer in silence any longer, Gem. I’m going to find some Wind-Eze,” Anna announces, already standing and heading off in search of meds.
“Screw. You,” Gemma grits out between clenched teeth.
I lean in, close enough that only she can hear. “I’m dying to sink my fingers and cock into this sopping-wet pussy.”
She fiddles with the cutlery as she tries to distract herself from my touch. Before it goes too far, I pull out my hand and wipe my fingers over my own napkin before taking another sip of my wine.
When I sit back, April’s eyes are already on us. Her expression is tight with worry, her lips parted like she just witnessed something she can’t quite make sense of.
“Everything all right?” James asks April, noticing her sudden silence.
“Perfect,” April chirps, her voice overly bright. “I’ll go check on Anna and Mason.”
Gemma shifts in her seat, reaching for her water as I discreetly readjust my napkin to conceal my obvious erection.
She tips her head toward me, keeping her voice low enough that only I can hear. “You’re going to pay for that.”
I lick my lower lip. “Yeah? How wet are you, Gemma?”
I swear I hear her whimper. “So wet.”
I survey the room to see what everyone’s up to. No one pays us any attention, all preoccupied drinking, chatting, or cleaning up.
Through the French doors connecting the open living area to the courtyard, I spot Mason seated alone. He looks deep in thought. Anna flits around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets until she pulls out a plastic tub filled with small boxes—medication, I’m assuming, for Gemma’s supposed wind.
“Gem,” she calls across the room, waving a box labeled Wind-Eze around like a flag. “I’ll leave it on the bench here for you.”
Every head in the room turns toward Gemma, who attempts to hide behind the rim of her glass.
“Fuck my life,” she mutters, and I stifle a smirk.
Anna joins Mason outside, balancing a drink in each hand as she approaches him.
With everyone now distracted, I make a quick decision.
If I want Gemma’s tight little pussy—and I do, with an intensity that’s beginning to burn—I need to act now.