Day 5 Point Pleasant, NJ — BEACH DAY!
ROXIE
“UUNNNHHH, WHAT IS THAT — fucking — obnoxious —” I wave my hand in the direction of the window, trying to block the light that’s stabbing me in the fucking face.
“It’s the sun, sweetie,” Blake replies. He’s already sitting up in bed, reading. What a fucking nerd. Affectionately. I guess.
“Weren’t you supposed to turn that shit off?”
“I’m sorry, I’ll get right on that.” He marks his place in the book and slides back down under the covers, gathering me up in his arms and shielding my eyes with his hand. “Is that better?”
“Mmmm, yes.” I stretch, snuggling into the mattress and pushing my ass back against him as I do. He’s already hard. Excellent. “What time is it?”
“It’s about 9:30.” He’s holding me close, dragging his lips down my neck as his fingers find my tit. “Do you know what I was thinking?”
“What were you thinking?” I part my thighs, and he takes the hint, sliding his hand down my belly and over the damp gusset of my underwear.
“We’re alone,” he whispers emphatically.
“No dumb boys in the next bed bothering us with their gay drama —”
“Which means —”
I turn my head over my shoulder, and he’s already there, ready to press his lips against mine.
He’s cradling my face with his free hand, still shielding me from the bright sunlight spilling across the head of the bed as he slides his fingers inside me.
He’s good with his hands, and I could let this happen — I could lie here, cossetted and safe, licking into his mouth while he strokes my clit until I squirt.
But I’m in the mood for something a little different, and so I squirm in his arms, writhing until he rolls onto his back, letting me straddle him.
I grab his wrists and pin him to the bed, and his cock twitches underneath me.
“Hi —” he whispers, and I’m not gonna say that his eyes are so big that I could fall into them, because that would be lame.
I let go of his wrists and pluck at the front of his T-shirt. “Take this off.”
He sits up hurriedly, stripping his shirt over his head, and gives me another look of longing with those goddamn chocolate eyes. “Do I get to see you?”
I trace the edge of his jaw with my finger. “What do I want to hear?”
“Please, baby —”
I sit back in his lap, grabbing the bottom hem of my tank top and pulling it off.
My tits are barely there, two darts sticking out of my otherwise flat chest, but he looks at me like I’m some sort of fucking goddess.
And when I let him kiss me, when I knock him flat on his back and press our bodies together, I wonder if maybe I am.
Don’t fucking tell anybody I said that.
SAM
“So, do you think they know how thin the walls are in this place?” Max muses, turning his head to look at me.
“Honestly?” I stretch luxuriously, then roll onto my side in Max’s direction. “It doesn’t sound like they give a flying fuck.”
We’re lying in bed in Roxie’s aunt’s beach house, listening to the sound of vigorous sex in the next room, the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall.
The house is a two-bedroom cottage less than a block from the beach, and I swear that every object in the place has its own individual doily.
It’s funny to think of Roxie being related to someone so fussy and frilly — but then again, I guess I went to Sunday school every week until I put my foot down in the eighth grade and told Mom I was an atheist.
Beside me, Max is pretending to play an imaginary guitar in time with the thumps from next door. “I didn’t know Blake had it in him.”
I snort. “She probably pegs him.”
“Do you think she makes him wear a collar?” Max grins.
“Or a cock cage —”
We both start to laugh, but then Max looks at me, stricken. “Fuck, I just realized —”
“What?”
“We have no fucking food, unless you count those potato chips from yesterday.”
There’s a drawn-out groan from the other side of the wall, and I sit up, pushing the covers back. “Breakfast? I’m pretty sure we passed a diner on the way here last night.”
Max nods. “Yeah, let’s get out of here before we find out what it sounds like when Blake nuts.”
I meow piteously, and Max smacks me with a pillow. Which means I hit him back, which means he flattens me on the bed and sits on me. And then we both scramble out of bed and get dressed very politely.
Somehow we make it out of the house. The walk to the diner is a little longer than I remembered from last night, but it’s a perfect morning, the sun bright blue overhead.
It’s going to be an excellent beach day later, and I’m in a good mood, just happy to be here with Max, doing what we want to do, everything as it should be.
Well, almost everything, but even that’s barely a dull ache at the moment.
When we arrive at the diner, we slide into a booth, and the waitress takes our order. After she brings us our drinks, Max stares at me thoughtfully over his giant mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream.
“Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”
I lift an eyebrow. “When have you ever asked for my permission to ask a personal question?”
“Okay, fair enough,” he laughs. “Last night —”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “If you ask me to explain how anal works again before I’ve even had my coffee, I swear to God —”
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s —” Max takes two packets of sugar and one coffee creamer and stacks them on the table in front of me, almost like a peace offering.
“I’m just curious — I know you've told me how cruising works before, but like, how do you actually know? How do you go from making eye contact with a guy for two seconds to letting him suck your dick?”
I take my time preparing my coffee, folding up the two empty paper packets and putting them inside the little plastic creamer cup. Finally, I look up at Max and shrug. “I dunno, you just know.”
He leans forward eagerly. “Can you show me?”
For a beat, we stare at each other. Then I shake my head, a nervous titter escaping my lips. “This is a fucking terrible idea —”
“Come on —” Max whines.
“No fucking way —” I tap the empty creamer cup against the table, then put it to the side. “You’ll fucking lose it on me and it’ll be weird. I’ll melt your straight little brain right out of your ears.”
“I promise I’ll be fine.” Max pouts at me, and I’m embarrassed to say that it works. “Just do it.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
I close my eyes, and I think of every time I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and longed to crawl into Max’s arms, every time I’ve watched him coming on to a girl from across the room, every time I’ve jacked myself raw picturing things that could never happen.
When I open my eyes, I start with his hands, the long fingers unexpectedly elegant, musician’s fingers that fly so dextrously over the strings of his guitar, and I think about how they would feel pressing into my skin.
I drag my gaze up his torso, and as I do so I lean forward, putting my elbows on the table and letting my knees fall open.
Finally, I lock eyes with him, and I let it all shine out — the love, but more importantly the lust, every sweaty, desperate thought that has ever kept me awake with his name branded across my consciousness.
Max blushes, but he doesn’t waver.
Instead, he licks his lips. “So, uh — like this?”
He tries his own version, eyes dragging over my skin like a hot knife, and by the time he meets my gaze, I’m pretty sure I’m shaking, because I’ve wanted him to look at me like this ever since I knew what wanting another person really was.
But I force myself to nod, to keep my voice steady as I reply.
“Yeah, it’s — just like that. You’ve got it. ”
“So what would you do next? Once you got me outside?” Max isn’t breaking eye contact, and he’s talking to me in a throaty whisper that I’ve never heard from him before.
My mouth is so fucking dry I can barely talk. “I’d, um — I’d do something to break the ice.”
“Like what?”
I reach for Max’s wrist, circling my fingers around it gently and extending it across the table.
On his inner forearm, there’s a stick and poke tattoo of Bart Simpson, and I draw a circle around it with the forefinger of my other hand.
Of course I know where he got it — at a party the summer before college while I hovered anxiously in the background — but I play dumb.
“This is so cute. Did you just get it because you like The Simpsons, or does it have some deeper meaning to you?”
Max smiles crookedly, and his brown eyes have never been warmer. “Funny story, actually — my best friend used to call me Bart sometimes because I caused so much trouble in school.”
I lean in, closing both hands around his arm. “And this friend — was he the Milhouse to your Bart?”
He chuckles. “More like the Lisa, actually.”
I almost break character to mock-slap him, because what the fuck? But I keep my composure, dragging my fingers along his inner arm even as I’m freaking out internally that this is happening, that he’s letting me do this. “Oh, really? How so?”
It’s Max’s turn to lean a little closer, to pin me down with his eyes. “Because he’s wicked smart. And because he knows what he believes in, and he’s never afraid to do what’s right.”
Oh. Oh. He is going to fucking kill me.
There’s a cough beside the table, and we both turn suddenly, the spell broken.
“One pancake platter and one two-egg breakfast?” the waitress says kindly. “Unless you boys need some more time to yourselves.”
“No, sorry —” I clear the space in front of me so that she can put down my plate of eggs.
Max grins apologetically. “Yeah, we were just playing around.”
As the waitress walks away, he looks across the table at me, and he’s Max again, mischief playing across his face. “So, how did I do? Would you have gone home with me?”
I roll my eyes as I surreptitiously tug at the leg of my jeans, willing my boner to go down. “Let’s just put it this way — Don't ever do that to a guy for real unless you're actually planning to get down on your knees.”