I spent the rest of the afternoon editing my novel while Max slept on the couch. My mind drifted from the pages of text to the revelations about Margarite and Max's father. Not only did the affair explain who she wrote the stories about, but why she never gave her heart to anyone else.
What was uncanny was her descriptions of Max's father. Those delicate, sensitive portrayals sounded so much like Max. I wondered if that sensuality was taught to succeeding generations in non-verbal messages. Genetics couldn't begin to explain the similarities.
I stared out the window as the sun set over the lake. The tranquillity of the moment belied the tumult of the past twenty-four hours. On the couch, Max stirred and groaned. I knelt on the floor next to him and smoothed his hair from his face. He opened his eyes and smiled. In this half-sleep state he looked like a boy again, innocent and trusting. He reminded me that a little girl still smiled within my soul if I had the courage to acknowledge her. He kissed my hand and winced as he sat up.
"Sore?"
"Yeah..." He looked up at the ceiling and rolled his neck. "Reckon I'm kind of useless for a couple of days."
I kissed him softly. His response caught me by surprise, as he hand gripped the back of my neck and held me for a longer kiss. When he let go, I rocked back on my heels and let out a long breath.
"Your lips still work."
"Don't forget my hands." He winked.
"Hmm... lips and hands." I pretended to ponder the possibilities. "We could find a use for those--if you're creative."
Max wiggled his toes. "Toes work too!"
"Your toes." I laughed. "I'm sure the doctor prefers you rest for a couple of days."
Max yawned and tried to stretch, but cut himself short as breathing hurt his ribs. I shook my head.
"More Advil?" I asked.
"Yes," groaned Max.
When I returned from the kitchen with tablets and a glass of water, Max was standing.
"Don't do anything stupid." I handed him the tablets.
"Thanks."
"Tammy called awhile ago."
"She called here?" he asked.
"Your phone rang when I went to get you a beer."
"Oh..." He looked irritated.
"Sorry, if that was the wrong thing to do."
"No, that's okay."
"She wanted you to call."
"Okay..."
I took the empty glass and watched as he tried to bend from side to side, testing the ribs. He could barely move.
"How about I cook us some dinner?" I suggested.
"Yeah," groaned Max. "I am getting hungry."
"Pasta?"
"Anything is fine."
"I'll get started. Maybe a hot shower would help."
"Hmm..., it might."
"You can use the one upstairs."
"That's okay. I'll use mine and change into some clean clothes while I'm there."
"I'll have dinner ready in about 30 minutes."
"Sounds good."
Max gave me a quick kiss and left. I wandered into the kitchen to start dinner. I would saut� frozen prawns to toss in with the pasta. I had them sizzling in garlic when the phone rang. Officer Moorehead sounded tired.
"Jamie, I have a guy in custody who would like to give you a formal apology for his behavior last night. Can you come down to the jail."
"Oh...," I stammered. "I don't have any way of getting into town tonight. I don't have a car and Max is in no shape to drive."
"I suppose you're right. How's he doing?"
"He's pretty sore."
"Doesn't surprise me."
"Well, I guess if Mohammed can't come to the mountain, I'll bring the mountain to Mohammed."
"I'm sure he's regretting everything about now."
"I think Riley and I have come to an understanding today," he continued. "I'm making it clear what won't fly in my county. We'll be out later if you'll be home."
"Max is feeling pretty banged up." I didn't want to see Riley again, and I knew it would upset Max. "He needs to rest quietly."
"I don't suppose it will do any harm to let Riley sleep in the jail tonight. Might do him some good. I'll bring him out tomorrow."
He wasn't taking the hint. Smelling the garlic, I agreed to the visit and hung up. I stewed over the situation as I cooked dinner. Riley needed to take responsibility for what he had done, but I felt I was once again a victim. I would have to relive the ordeal for an apology that probably didn't come from his heart.
I poured a glass of wine to calm my nerves as Max opened the kitchen door. He was wearing a pair of cut-offs. He carried a beer in one hand and a freshly cut rose in the other. I noticed a bruise starting to show along his lower rib cage.
"Boy, that smells good." He sniffed the air and handed me the rose.
"For me?" I batted my eyelashes.
"Watch out for the thorns," he warned, sucking on his finger where one had pricked him.
I laid the rose on the counter and took his hand. "Poor baby. Should I kiss it."
"Don't waste your lips on my fingers."
I laughed and kissed his lips. I could tell he wanted more, but I pulled away teasingly. "How's that?" I released his hand and placed the rose in an empty vase on the window sill.
"A hell of a start."
"I'll save the rest for dessert."
Max sat his beer on the counter and put his arms around my waist. "Can't we eat dessert first?" He kissed the back of my neck. I melted in his arms.
"That hot shower must have soothed all pains."
"Beats the hell out of cold ones."
He pressed me into the counter as his hands caressed my body. I felt his cock through his shorts. He slowly worked that hardness across my backside. My body had already begun to respond. I stared at the bowl of pasta in front of me.
"You're supposed to be taking it easy."
"Do I feel like I'm suffering?" He boldly slipped his hands under my blouse and caressed my breasts.
"I don't want you to hurt ..." I gasped when he pinched my nipples and nibbled on the back of my ear lobe.
"Pain is a signal that you're alive," he whispered, running his hands down my stomach and tucking his fingers inside the waist of my jeans. "A little pain heightens the experience."
I closed my eyes and dropped my head, savoring the kisses on the back of my neck. I pressed into him and felt his cock stiffen more. I wanted to feel him inside me.
"Oh Max...."
"Let's go upstairs." He took my hand and led me. I was surprised and yet delighted by his newfound boldness.
"What about dinner?" I pointed at the pasta.
"We'll save it for later. You're going to be hungry."
I followed him. When we entered the bedroom, he turned to look at me. His boldness seemed to wane, and I wondered if he was reverting to his old habits. Perhaps he realized the condition of his body.
"Are you okay?" I wrapped my arms around his waist and looked into sparkling eyes.
"I was wondering the same thing about you."
"What do you mean?"
"Am I pushing you too fast?"
I suddenly realized how much he cared, how he didn't want to hurt me.
"You're not pushing me."
He kissed me deeply and squeezed me as tightly as he could without causing pain. When he released me, we looked at the empty bed.
"You better get on top," grinned Max, unsnapping his shorts. He pulled out a condom and grinned sheepishly as he laid it on the bedside table.
"If I didn't know better," I said, pulling my top over my head. "I'd say this was premeditated."
"Men always premeditate sex." He gingerly lowered himself to the bed and watched me wiggle out of my jeans. His cock stood rigidly.
I picked up the condom and crawled on the bed, straddling his legs.
"How do you put this on?" I opened the packet and held the round latex in my fingers.
"Just slip it over the tip and roll it down."
"You better do it."
"Give it a try."
"Really?"
"Sure."
I pressed the center of the condom over the tip of his cock. He jerked in response. When I giggled, he jerked on purpose to make it harder.
"Stop it!" I laughed.
"I'm not doing anything."
I managed to roll the condom down his cock. Feeling accomplished, I crawled further until I was straddling his waist. His rubberized cock rubbed against my pussy as I frowned at him.
"When I was fifteen," I began. "I watched an X-rated movie."
His eyes widened, and I felt him working himself along my body, testing my readiness.
"Susie Oliver's father had these tapes. I guess you would call them stag tapes, the kind of thing you'd show to guys."
He reached up and began to knead my breasts, his fingers roaming freely.
"Dawn Hollister and I were spending the night, and Susie's parents went to a party. We sneaked out a tape. I remember it was titled, 'Fun at Lunch'."
His lips parted, and I could read excitement in his face. His stiffness seemed to feed at me, sipping. "Go on," he rasped.
"We were in her basement, the lights off. The tape wasn't the best in the world, kind of grainy. But you can imagine how big our eyes got when the action started."
I reached down and gripped his cock, rubbing it against me, coating the latex with my wetness.
"This woman with wonderful, full breasts was fixing a sandwich. She wore an apron, and she practically spilled out the sides. She turned. You could see that she was naked. She put the sandwich on the table and called for the guy."
He pinched my nipples, and the heat inside deepened. I had forgotten about Susie and the porn flick, and I didn't really understand why I was telling it to Max. But the story excited him. I could feel the blood throbbing through him.
"Now, you can imagine what three fifteen-year-old girls thought when they saw the guy. He was huge, so big it looked fake. We all sorta gasped. I mean, even today, I can't believe how big he was. And he was hard, almost as hard as this thing." I squeezed, and Max sucked air. "It was like a club."
"Christ," he said. "That feels so good. Keep going."
I inched forward and slowly slipped him inside me. The hardness was like the first plunge into a swimming pool, shocking and yet pleasurable.
"Yessssssssssssssssss," he hissed.
"You can imagine what happened next," I said. "He took one bite of the sandwich, spit it out, and told her it tasted like dirty socks."
I began to move on top of him, careful not to move too quickly or too hard. I knew pumping would hurt his ribs, so I rolled and circled.
"He was pissed," I continued. "He grabbed her and ripped off her apron, telling her she didn't deserve to be a cook. Then, he saw her breasts, how hard and long her nipples were. He grabbed her breast and sucked her nipple."
Max groaned but not with pain. I concentrated on squeezing him using nothing but my abdominal muscles, sucking at him.
"Things got a little crazy then," I gasped. My breath was beginning to become labored as I worked and spoke. "This guy with this huge tool swept the plate off the table, threw her on top, and spread her wide. She started to scream that he was too big, that she couldn't handle anything that size. He ignored her, worming that gigantic thing into her."
Max squeezed my breasts hard. While the excitement grew, it wasn't the frenetic passion of heavy movement. We concentrated on those parts joined together. I could tell he was trying to move inside me while I urged my small muscles to take him.
"She was groaning and moaning," I continued. "As if he hurt her. Then, when had buried that telephone pole inside her, she went crazy." My body suddenly came alive, using him, contracting and relaxing without conscious control. "You wouldn't believe it. She grabbed his ass and wrapped her legs around him and began to bang him like a wild woman. I thought she would impale herself on that spear. She couldn't get enough."
Max tried not to breathe deeply, sipping air as his body moved inside me. I nursed him, stroked him, fed on him, not jerking or hard, savoring the feeling.
"She pulled him out, and he shot all over her breasts, coating her. Then, she pulled his face down to her so he could lick her clean."
"Jamie," Max whispered. "I'm sooo ready."
"Easy," I said. "Enjoy this, concentrate on that one place, make that thing feel."
"What happened next?"
"I thought it was over," I continued. "But it wasn't. She squeezed him a couple times before she turned and leaned over the table so he could take her from behind. He entered her, and she goaded him, telling him a real man would do it again. I couldn't believe how hard he used her, like he was trying to split her. And all the time she was screaming at him to give her more. I never dreamed any woman could act that way."
My heart thudded in my chest, and I wanted to cavort atop him, dance and pump. But I couldn't. As I described the wild video tape, I concentrated on my pleasure, on focusing every ounce of energy on the join between Max and me. In a way, the remembered tape absorbed that energy I would have used on him, the need to scream and yell and gyrate. That woman in the kitchen substituted for me. She was the wanton hussy. I was sensual and subdued, grasping at climax without the ranting and raving. And I was achieving my aim. As my orgasm neared, I felt my body collapse upon that inner me. His hands and finger stopped moving. I sat perfectly still astraddle, and that moment of bliss neared.
Everything stopped.
My words died. My mind blanked. The only things that existed were his hardness and my wetness. In some odd fashion, I knew exactly when he would shoot, when his orgasm would burst. I matched mine with his, mine expanding like a flower. Not the hard burst, this was a slow moving heat, a wave that flooded and soothed. For a moment, I was blind and deaf. The flower within was my only sensation. I luxuriated in some warm, white light. I found a peace I had never dreamed possible.
"Man..." he sighed.
The light disappeared. I could hear. I could see his face below me, a look of wonder. I looked down and smiled.
"I think I'm getting better at this stuff."
Max laughed and pulled me down for a kiss. "I think you're ready to give lessons." "Hmmm, a sex therapist." I mused the possibility while gently climbing off the bed. "Now that would surprise a lot of people I know."
Max followed me into the bathroom and washed up as I slipped on a robe. "Perhaps I shouldn't encourage that occupational change," he added.
"Why?"
"You might realize that you like to make love to other men."
"So you like having me all to yourself, huh?" I leaned against the door as his slipped his shorts back on.
"I sure could get used to it."
"Hmmm..." I hummed.
He came over and nuzzled up close to me and kissed my lips softly. "Who else would make love to me for dinner and serve me pasta for dessert?"
"I am spoiling you, aren't I?" I turned and headed toward the stairs.
"I guess it's a two-way street," laughed Max.
©Copyright 1997 - 1998 Angela Preston. These stories may not be reprinted in any form without written permission.