Chapter 7
7
M ax might know how to make his words sound tough, but his kisses tell another story. Instead of stripping me and going for his stated goal, he gathers me close and kisses me. Soft, gentle kisses with firm lips and absolutely no tongue.
I press closer, trying to turn up the energy. Max pulls me away ever so slightly, leaving his hands braced on my upper arms.
“Why so impatient?” he murmurs into my neck.
“Because…” Because I’m anxious about becoming truly intimate with a man I barely know who sets my heart on fire. I don’t say those words out loud, however.
“Did I mention that I plan to make you cum without removing any more of your clothes?” Max chuckles at my bemused expression.
“How is that even possible?”
“It’s probably easier to show you. Any more questions?” he inquires dryly, somehow implying that I’m the one holding things up.
Shaking my head mutely, I sigh softly and resign myself to a long wait.
And I wait. Finally, glancing up to see what the holdup is, I catch Max regarding me with a thoughtful expression.
Abruptly but still with utmost gentleness Max removes me from his lap, standing me on my own feet between his spread thighs. His hands remain firm and unyielding on the exposed skin of my waist. Then he begins to speak.
“Let me describe to you what I see in front of me, Jenna. You aren’t just any twenty-something making her way up the career ladder one painful rung at a time. You have more passion than ambition for your work. You truly care about the words, the evocation of emotion. If a book was guaranteed to never sell a single copy, you would bring the same dedication to it as if it were the one to put your name in bigger font on the cover.”
I giggle nervously. He’s not wrong, but what does this have to do with anything?
“It’s rarer than you can possibly imagine,” he responds slowly, as if I had voiced those very words. My eyes narrow at him with suspicion.
“That kind of passion makes a man wonder how deep the vein runs. Will she bring the same enthusiasm to her personal life? To the man who wins her heart? Will she defend him against the enemies who sling words even as he protects her from those who throw stones?”
I quiet in his grip, entranced with the light dancing in his eyes. He’s both teasing me and making subtle promises. I wait breathlessly for more.
“A young woman so full of passion and promise…” Max muses. “How would she respond if a man woke her every morning with his tongue buried deep between her legs? Would she reflexively kick or sweetly sigh and open to him like a flower?”
My mouth goes dry at the image he’s painting. Probably because my pussy is beginning to flood and called in extra resources , I conclude silently.
Max continues without shame. “I wonder if she prefers his tongue to penetrate her or to caress her hard little clit after he’s sucked it into the warmth and safety of his mouth?”
It’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. My hips jerk, my body suddenly needing to move, to release some of the building energy, but Max’s hands hold me fast.
“Regardless, when she cums, it will be with everything she has. Her sweet cries will fill the room, her breasts will offer themselves up for worship as her back arches off the bed. But to do them justice, a man would have to stop his attentions to her pussy.”
A small moan escapes me, but Max ignores it.
“Unless, of course,” he muses thoughtfully, “he were to replace his mouth with his cock. That would free him up to pay attention to her aching breasts, to suck gently on those distended nipples while his cock fills her to completion.” He sounds satisfied with this plan.
And something about that sends me over the edge. My body bucks in his hold and I cry out as wetness floods my pussy, soaking my panties and I’m sure extending to my jeans. The suddenness of it has me slightly panicked until Max pulls me close once again, his hands going back to running soothing paths up and down my back even as my pussy spasms at its very emptiness. I whimper into his chest, slightly embarrassed and yet knowing there’s no reason to be. That was, after all, exactly what he wanted.
“So very beautiful, Jenna. I knew you would be. Now I promised an answer for every orgasm, didn’t I? So what question would you like to ask?”
His voice is soft and gentle, but the reminder of a transaction has me stiffening again. Why does he feel the need to mete out information instead of simply sharing in a conversation?
In a fit of rebellion, I ask him that very question, half expecting him to clam up and set me down again.
He does go very still before a chuckle begins to work its way up beneath my cheek, eventually erupting for a brief moment.
Max kisses me gently on the forehead, seeming to linger for a long moment with his firm lips pressed against my skin, before responding to my question. “Words are precious, aren’t they, Jenna? You’re one of the few people who truly understands that. I’m not hoarding my answers so much as protecting them from uninterested parties. Oversharing is a little too common in the world today, yes?”
I nod reluctantly. It’s true. I know far too much about my roommates’ personal lives, considering we only cross paths for a few hours a day.
“I’d rather not overwhelm you, baby. To be so busy rushing to some imaginary finish line that the two of us are moving at different speeds. If we are both equally invested in the outcome, then we will arrive in tandem.”
Suddenly, what seemed coldly transactional a few minutes ago feels like a cherished gift. I snuggle into his embrace, inhaling his warm male scent. He smells of security and pine needles. “Guess I’d better make a list then,” I mumble.
Max chuckles again, running his hand slowly down my back. “I expect nothing less,” he murmurs before tilting my chin up with a firm finger and claiming my mouth once again.
Melting. That’s what my body feels like doing as his tongue teases the tip of mine. He’s not overpowering me. If anything, he’s holding back, giving me just a taste of what he’s thinking about. I want to know it all.
A moment later and Max sets me on my feet again. “Enough of that temptation, Jenna. It’s time to get to work.”
I blink in consternation. “I just quit my job,” I remind him.
“And started a new one. Why don’t you look over your new client’s manuscript and then we can discuss terms after dinner?”
My mouth falls open. “You have another manuscript?”
Max smirks before inclining his head ever so slightly. “I do. You can read it now or stay for another orgasm.”
My head spins. I don’t like those choices at all. Frowning, I place my hands on my hips.
Max bursts out laughing with surprised delight. “My Jenna, you are an absolute treasure. It’s a good thing my ego is soothed by either choice. Your inability to choose is priceless. So I will make the decision for you. Read the manuscript while I take care of some correspondence. Then we’ll renegotiate around lunchtime.”
He doesn’t wait for my acknowledgment, simply leading me back downstairs to the sunny office. This time, he takes me to the large leather armchair in the corner with the matching ottoman practically large enough to sleep on. I settle into the luxurious upholstery with a nervous twitch. New manuscripts can go so many different ways and something tells me Max went out on a limb with whatever this is.
A typed manuscript secured in the upper left corner with a purple binder clip lands on my lap. I stare up at him in astonishment. “This one is typed?”
He nods. “If you hadn’t come, then it would be going out with my agent to new houses. Since you’re here… we will decide its future together.”
Max turns and settles behind his desk, instantly moving his intense focus to the contents of the screen, leaving me to stare at him in bemusement. Eventually, out of sheer curiosity, I glance down at the pages on my lap. It’s not his usual beginning. In fact, it’s nothing like it. It’s gentle, with just a hint of stronger emotions beneath the surface.
Flipping the first few pages, I scan quickly. This is a romance. Not extra drippy and certainly not a romcom, but… sweet. I go back to the first page and begin reading more carefully.
Just as the two thirty-something characters are sizing each other up with some intensity, a large hand waves in front of my face. Irritated, I glance up to Max’s smirking face. His eyebrows arch. “It’s noon, baby. You should at least get up and move around a little. Do you want lunch now or later?”
Again, my heart is torn. But he’s right, I’ve been sitting completely still for at least an hour. “Okay, lunch,” I acquiesce with a sigh.
Max nods. “I thought we’d do a picnic.”
Flummoxed by the lack of formality in that suggestion, I follow him out of the office and down the hall. There’s a picnic basket already waiting on the kitchen counter, along with a folded blanket. I can’t remember the last time I went on a picnic, but I was probably around eight? And we didn’t do it in the backyard.
Max strides purposefully down a faint path in the grass leading towards the back of the property. I stare back at the kitchen door I’ve just closed behind me. “Shouldn’t we lock it?” I call.
He turns his head to smile back at me. “No need. We aren’t going far.”
And this isn’t New York, I remind myself, scurrying to catch up with him. Across a small meadow and up the rise on the other side, Max finally sets down the basket while I stare in wonder. We’re standing on a slight bluff overlooking a protected cove of a lake. Water was this close the whole time, and I had no idea. It’s completely still except for the graduated ripples as two loons glide past, eyeing me suspiciously with their eery red eyes.
There’s a very slight breeze, just enough to waft the scent of evergreens from the nearby forest. Max spreads out the blanket on the grass. Cautiously, I sit down on it, unsure of how to arrange my legs. He settles that by picking them up by my ankles and settling them across his lap before opening the basket.
My eyes close briefly in bliss. These aren’t the picnic foods I remember from my childhood — soggy egg salad sandwiches and broken potato chips. Max prepared a feast of different salads and gourmet finger foods. Tiny quiches and miniature filled buns. It’s delicious and I’m stuffed to the gills before I can force myself to stop.
Max watches me with a pleased expression, or possibly possessive, depending on your point of view. I groan with that sudden feeling of being too full and start to stand up before he stops me with a hand on my upper arm. “We should get back to work,” I comment, surprised at his insistence on lingering.
He shakes his head ever so slightly. “Stay, little Jenna. It’s my turn to feast.”
My eyes widen, unsure of his meaning beyond that he means on me. I got that message clearly. But which part? “Umm,” I offer hesitantly. His lips quirk in response.
“Come here.” He pats his lap and simply waits.
I’m too caught up in his magnetism to avoid crawling in his direction for long. I settle onto his crossed legs like this is my natural resting place. Max’s arms close around me. “Tell me about your family,” he orders gruffly.
I twist so I can raise a sardonic eyebrow in his direction. “What? Why should I spill secrets when you’re not willing to?”
His elegant lips twist upwards. “Because I am positive there is very little dark in your past, sweet Jenna. And I would like to know all parts of you better.”
His thumb leisurely drags down the length of my lower arm, making my spine tingle.
“Fine,” I sigh. “I grew up in Oregon, in a small farming community. My mom recently retired from teaching third grade and my dad is the Chief of Police. It’s only a force of three, so…”
Max huffs a laugh into my hair. “However, he has a gun and I’m intimately touching his daughter.”
I giggle at that. “He’d like you. My grandma would love you.”
“She’s still alive?” he murmurs before his lips make contact with the back of my neck. I shiver even as I attempt to answer.
“Yes,” I gasp. “She’s in an assisted living place because she refuses to live with my parents. Said she needs her independence and doesn’t want an audience while she flirts with the male members of staff.”
Max snorts a laugh. “No siblings?” His lips move around to my ear, nibbling the rim. My pussy is growing wet and eager.
“No.” I don’t think I can manage any more words than that. The man holding me so tenderly slows his kisses almost to nonexistence. I shift in his embrace.
“Jenna? If you want this to continue, I need you to remove one article of clothing. It’s your choice what it is. Or we can return to the house and the manuscript waiting there.”
It takes a minute for his words to sink into my hormone-soaked brain.
“Anything?” I query, confused.
“Anything,” he confirms, moving his hands from me to rest on his thighs. I feel bereft without his touch, even though I’m still surrounded by his solid body. I contemplate my options. I didn’t dress for strip poker. There aren’t that many choices. And while it’s a warm sunny autumn day, it’s hardly July.
“Fine,” I sigh and tug my t-shirt up and over my head. It’s the easiest and requires the least movement. Plus, I’m hardly that exposed with my bargain-rack white cotton bra remaining in place.
Max hums with approval. The next thing I know, his lips are tracing the line of my collarbone. My back arches to bring him into closer proximity, but his hands hold me firmly in place.
“Max?” I mumble, not even sure what my question is.
“Hmmm?” he murmurs in response, not bothering to lift his lips from my skin.
“What are you doing?”
He nips gently at the skin right at the edge of my bra cup before chuckling. “I think you know, Jenna.”
Max returns to teasing my flesh. A warm flush washes over me. I feel… almost awkward being the center of so much focused attention. At the same time, it gives me a sense of belonging, being in the right place with the right man.
Daringly, I reach behind my back with one hand and unfasten my bra. Max growls and flops me over onto the blanket. He braces most of his weight on his elbows over me, but allows some of it to pin me in place. My hands reach up for his shoulders.
“Who’s in charge here, Jenna?”
I shrug with a slight smirk. “I could answer that if I knew what the plan was.”
He snorts. “By that logic, the person with the plan is in charge, correct?”
I frown at him. “I’m not prepared to concede that.”