21
Rough Seas
Max
The low, throaty tone of Mitch’s voice, which has none of the softness of his younger days, digs into me, coaxing out something unexpected. It’s enticing, but also a little scary. Not that I’m afraid of him—he’d never hurt me. There isn’t a bone in his body that’s mean or sadistic.
What frightens me is what these emotions make me want to do to him. The way my knees weaken and my pussy clenches with need when his warm lips and soft beard tickle my ear.
Captured between his arms, his solid body and the door, I can’t leave, and yet there’s nowhere else I want to be.
Still, something tells me I need to get out of here as soon as possible.
“Get off of me.” I shove back, my ass slamming into his hips, and he groans.
“You don’t get it, do you?” I say, turning to face him.
“You and I? It all disappeared the day you took off. It killed me, Mitch. It still does.” I lay a hand over my heart as if trying to protect it from the surge of pain flowing through it.
There’s a challenge in his eyes, as if he’s trying to cage me in again. Enticing, arousing challenge that makes my body tingle with anticipation and curiosity.
I slam my eyes shut, dipping beneath his outstretched arm and scurry to the opposite side of the room like a scared little mouse.
His dark gaze doesn’t falter. There’s a faint hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Like a predator getting ready to pounce and I’m his prey.
I should be worried, right? Try to flee?
Only I’m not worried. Nope. Not even a little.
This isn’t about power or pain. If it was, Mitch would have overpowered me by now.
Simple common sense proves that. He’s huge compared to me.
He’s over two hundred pounds of muscle easy, whereas I’m an out of shape one-forty.
Sure, I’m strong. Sure, my knees are rock hard and would collide with his crotch like a wrecking ball, but the truth is if Mitch wanted to hurt me, he’d have done it by now.
That’s not what this is about.
He’s waiting me out, like back when he’d chase me down and tickle me. He’s trying to see exactly how interested I am in what might happen.
My eyes drift down and see the hint of a thick, solid line beneath his swim shorts, telling me how much he wants something to happen. There’s no denying his interest. It’s clear as day.
His eyes keep dancing down to my chest, where I’m sure he sees my pebbled nipples. I wonder if he knows how hard they ache for his mouth.
His gaze slides up my body, painting my skin with so much heat, I’m worried I’ll catch fire. My eyes flicker to the bed, and I regret it instantly.
Too late, he notices. That coy smirk appears.
“Mitchell,” I warn.
Luring me in, he skates his tongue across his lower lip before biting down. He takes a few steps closer until we’re about a foot apart. I breathe in his scent—all manly with a mix of the sea—and immediately wish I hadn’t. It stirs this semi-dormant urge inside me that’s desperate to emerge.
“We can’t,” I say, my voice shaky and entirely unconvincing.
“We could,” he counters with confidence.
I don’t see him move, but somehow, he closes the distance between us, and his nearness sparks shivers all over my body. He brushes his fingertips against my hand, but I snap it away.
“No, we can’t,” I repeat.
“But we already have.” He arches an eyebrow.
“And that was a stupid, stupid, horribly stupid—”
“Mistake?” He smooths a knuckle along my cheek, then skims it along my jaw, under my chin, and tips my head back. Searching my eyes, he leans in. “I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re lying, Toots. And right now, you’re lying bad.”
Steamy with a side of fuck, his words light up my insides like the Fourth of July.
“I hate when you call me Toots,” I say.
A wide smile stretches across his face, and he winks. “Something tells me you like it when I’m a little bit of a prick.”
I frown, shaking my head. “No, I don’t.”
I do. I so fucking do.
Distracted by his soft chuckle, I’m barely aware of his hand slipping down from my chin to my throat. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s enough that when I swallow, my throat rubs against his palm. Back and forth, his thumb traces along the bottom of my jaw, forcing me to squeeze my thighs together.
He must notice the shift, because he tilts his head. “Are you sure you don’t?”
“I hate you.”
His smile drops and he nods once. “That’s nice to hear.”
He relaxes his hold as if giving up, but the momentary release has me lunging at him.
In a nanosecond, his hands are beneath my ass, scooping me up, then he throws me onto the bed. He hurries to cover me with his body, his hard cock pressing deliciously against my core, teasing my need that’s near boiling point.
His lips land on my throat, traveling down and over my chest, where he sucks a nipple into his mouth through my bathing suit.
From beneath his hooded gaze, he glances up, silently asking if it’s all right.
Needing him to continue, I push down on his head, because if he stops, doubts will come screaming in.
And the last thing I need is a reminder of how wrong this is, or how badly this will complicate our lives.
What I need is to live in blissful ignorance and have Mitchell destroy my body, taking as many bites or kisses as he wants.
I need him. I need this.
Using his teeth, he pulls my top down, exposing my breast, then circles my nipple with his tongue, slowly at first, before nipping down lightly. The hunger in his dark, green gaze is as clear as if he’d spoken the words aloud.
“Harder,” I answer, surprised by the urgency in my voice.
That smart-ass smirk appears, and Mitch bites down. The small twinge of pain mixed with pleasure is enough to make my hips lift off the bed. He does it a few more times before moving to my second breast, and repeating, circling my sensitive flesh with his mouth.
The sight of him feasting on my body is so unbelievable it doesn’t feel real.
But I need more and rub my pussy against his thigh, desperate for release.
He keeps sucking on me, biting, twisting, bringing his hand to the apex of my thighs, sliding my bathing suit bottom aside and running his fingers along my slick core.
I’ve imagined this happening once or twice.
Okay, maybe more than that. And every time, I wondered how I’d feel if it were to happen in real life.
Would it be awkward? Uncomfortable? Would I giggle and get embarrassed?
Never in a million years did I expect to react this way.
Even what happened in the woods didn’t come close to this.
There’s a burning, spiraling in my head and in my body. Fiery heat pulses through my veins, and my skin is cold, yet electrified at the same time.
And when Mitch pushes his thick fingers into me, circling my clit with his thumb, bringing me to the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I know I’m screwed.
There’s no way I can turn back now.
Mitch
I try not to focus too much on the fact that I’m sucking on Maxine Nolan’s nipples. Or that she keeps rubbing her pussy against my crotch, as if trying to tear off my bathing suit.
Instead, I focus my attention on her taste, on how delicious her skin is, like some sort of rare wine. On how her body molds beneath my touch, and her nipples call out for my tongue. How she bites down on her lip, running her fingers through my hair, guiding me with her hands.
She keeps her eyes open the entire time, watching me, too, as if she’s taking in every single second of this, like she can’t believe this is happening between us—again—either.
Even with her dripping wet and riding my fingers like she’s chasing her orgasm, something’s missing. I want to move down, to pair my tongue with my fingers, but each time I make a move to, she tugs on my hair, keeping me above her waist. It’s like a need for control.
Is it because my going down on her would mean something greater? Like opening a door neither of us is quite ready to walk through. Or maybe I’m overthinking things.
She tightens around my fingers and her hips lift off the bed, and suddenly I’m wondering if this isn’t so much about sex, but more about her… using me.
I shouldn’t mind, after all, this is just about sex, right?
But if it was, why would I have this crushing pressure in my chest? Why does it feel like I’m missing out on something bigger that’s just beyond my reach?
When her orgasm hits, she grips my face, her fingers claw my cheeks, and her thighs tighten around my hand. She rides the waves of pleasure, biting back her scream by digging her teeth into her bottom lip.
She’s so flawless with her hair disheveled and her skin softly flushed a pink hue.
So natural and delicate I can’t help but kiss her stomach gently as she relaxes, her breathing slowing down.
Then, I fix her bathing suit, tucking it back into place, skimming my fingers over her still-hard nipples and run my fingers between her breasts, her heart hammering beneath my touch.
“What are we doing?” Maxine asks, roughly as she digs her fingers into my shoulders, shoving me away.
I roll onto my back with a grunt and gaze at her, then smirk and move my hand along her lower stomach. “Well, I know what I was doing.”
She stops me, gripping my wrist. “I’m serious, Mitch.”
The insecurity in her expression wipes the grin from my face. She drops my hand and rolls away, sitting on the edge of the bed. Readjusting her bathing suit, her gaze drifts over her shoulder. Her brow sinks, and she hurries to fix the messed-up comforter, smoothing it down.
When she’s done, she looks up at me, her voice calmer. “Why did you do that?”
I fold my arms behind my head and glance down at the tent in my shorts. “What can I say? Making you angry gets me going.”
“I don’t need snarky comments and a cocky grin right now. We can’t keep doing this. It’s pointless.”
“Sounds to me like you’re trying to convince yourself.” I slide to the end of the bed and sit up. “You didn’t stop me, did you? You could have, but you didn’t. You want this as much as I do.”
She runs her fingers through her messy hair, braiding it. “Sure, I’ll admit that seeing you in a bathing suit gets me going, but have you looked in the mirror? Most red-blooded women would react the same way. I’m sure most men would, too.”
I glance down at myself and chuckle before pointing at her. “And what about you?”
She grimaces as if I’ve spoken a weird dialect she doesn’t understand.
“No way.” I drop my hands to my sides. “Don’t tell me you still don’t see how fucking gorgeous you are.”
Another grimace, but she pairs it with an eye-roll and a cute, shy smile. “Shut up.”
She plants her hands on her hips, sticking her chest out, but when my eyes lock on her breasts, she rethinks her stance and crosses her arms, stealing away the show.
“This isn’t right.”
“What isn’t? We’re two friends passive-aggressively getting over our shit.”
“I asked you to stop with the snark,” she says and I feel the corner of my lips lift. “And the smirk!”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “It gets you going, doesn’t it? My smirk.” I arch an eyebrow. “You sort of like it, don’t you?”
“That’s not the point. We need to draw a line somewhere. We’re partners. Business partners,” she tacks on. “And even that is insane, but necessary.”
“I strongly disagree.”
“Mitch, you’re leaving.”
Absentmindedly, I drop a hand to my thigh, squeezing the muscle. “Well, I need to meet with Phil—”
“Exactly,” she interrupts. “So, if you think I’m going to let this—whatever this is—continue, you’re wrong.”
Now that I’m thinking with my big brain, I realize she’s right. “And what is this?”
Defeated, she drops her chin, then rubs her eyes. When she looks at me again, the fire in her gaze has gone cold. “I guess it’s how you put it so perfectly. Just two friends passive-aggressively working through their shit.”
I’m aware I said it first, but the moment she echoes my words back to me, I realize I didn’t mean them. We’re so much more than that.
“Max, I didn’t—” A buzz fills the room as my phone vibrates against my ass, but I pretend not to notice.
Maxine’s eyes widen, traveling from the bed up to my face. “Was that your phone?”
I tug on my earlobe and play dumb. “What was?”
The phone buzzes again, but this time I can’t help but smile.
“You bastard.”
I pull out the phone and read the text.
Spencer
All done yet?
Me
Nearly.
I send my reply, then shove the phone back into my pocket. Max scowls at me, her eyes ablaze but not in the good way.
“You’ve had your phone this whole fucking time?”
“Spencer’s coming to let us out,” I reply, ignoring her question.
“You could have gotten us out of here before—” She glances at the bed, then squeezes her eyes shut, turning her back to me. “You’re unbelievable!”
She stands by the door, waiting like a caged animal dying to get out.
I hadn’t been a fan of Spencer’s plan even when he insisted it would help us. But I never thought he’d actually go through with it and lock us in. Now I feel like an asshole. All it’s done is make a messy situation even messier.
“We needed to talk.”
She spins around, her eyes narrowed. “And your solution was to hold me against my will?”
“You wouldn’t have had this conversation if I’d just asked. You’ve dodged the topic every single time.”
She leans against the wall, drops her head back, and stares at the ceiling. “Whatever. I’m so done with this.”
“Tell me the truth, do you regret what we just did?”
“Oh, I do now,” she answers with a derisive laugh.
I step up beside her and brush my fingers down her arm, watching shivers erupt across her skin. Her eyes follow my hand, but she doesn’t swat it away.
“You’re only pissed that I lied. Deep down, you enjoyed it. And I think you want more.”
Her eyes meet mine, softer now but sad, too. “No, that’s where you’re wrong.”
The doorknob jiggles and the door swings open. Spencer stands in the hallway, looking amused as he takes us in. “Everyone alive in here?”
“You’re both such pricks,” Maxine spits, and shoves past him, storming down the hall.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Spencer replies, but then he snickers. “Rough seas?”
I release a loaded sigh, leaning against the doorjamb. “The roughest.”