Make It Right (12 page)

He drank. And drank and drank and she gave it to him, gave him everything she had. He wanted to weep, hoping she wasn’t some mirage and he’d wake up tomorrow dying of thirst.

Before he could flood, she pulled away. He opened his eyes and she stared down at him, those glossy pupils reflecting his need back at him. He’d never been this naked.

Her lips were wet and swollen and she quirked them in a grin before raising her hand and closing his eyelids. “I didn’t say open,” she whispered. He didn’t protest.

A tongue dipped into the indent in his chin and who knew that was some kind of erogenous zone, because his dick twitched where it was nestled in her heat.

Then her lips traveled down his neck and across his collarbone. A nail scraped over his right nipple and his brain melted. “Oh my God,” he moaned and her chuckle came with another scrape along his left nipple.

“Men have sensitive nipples, too.” Lea’s voice came from above but he didn’t dare open his eyes because then she might take this delicious feeling away. Her fingers rubbed his lips and he stuck out his tongue and licked them. She giggled and then fingers returned to his nipples, this time wet with his saliva.

“Christ,” he whispered, fingers tightening on the bed slats. “That feels fucking awesome.”

Then her hands were on either side of his waist. Her weight shifted and two points of cool metal scraped along his body.

“Please, please let me open my eyes.” He’d never begged in his life but he felt no shame.

“Since you asked nicely,” she said.

When he opened his eyes, her face was near his waist, eyes wide under long lashes. Then oh so slowly she slid her body up his, the rings on her nipples running along his skin and chest hair.

When she reached his head, she lined up her right nipple with his lips and lowered. He opened immediately, sucking that ring into his mouth, swirling his tongue along the edge and through the hoop and then pushing it aside to get that swollen bud in his mouth.

She tasted delicious, hot skin and cool metal and Lea. He closed his eyes again and tugged the ring with his teeth while she writhed above him, her breath in pants on his forehead, his name on every exhale. He let go of her nipple with a pop and she shifted so he could give her left one equal attention. No Nipple Left Behind.

When she pulled away, he was drunk. Completely drunk on Lea and his moment and feeling weightless for once in his life.

There was the sound of a drawer, a crinkle of plastic near his ear and then cool air hit his aching cock and heavy balls as she slipped his boxers down his legs.

A hot hand wrapped around his shaft and stroked and he arched his back off the bed.

“Open your eyes.”

He did, looking into those dark eyes he craved, like an aged Scotch. “Lea.” Her name was a plea on his lips and her returned, “Max,” was his granted wish.

She ripped open the condom wrapper by his head and slid the condom down his length. At some point, she’d removed her underwear and now straddled him, gloriously naked. Her nipple rings beckoned to him and those tattoos on her hips tempted him.

“Touch me,” she said, and sheathed him with her heat.

He came apart, like his bones flooded and ligaments dissolved. He never wanted to dry out and be pieced back together.

Lea leaned down, her hair in a curtain around his head, hands braced on the bed, and rotated those hips on him.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

So slowly. Giving him enough to make him crazy but not enough to drive him insane.

“Lea.” His brain had one mode. And that was it.

“Max.”

“Lea.”

“Max.”

She sped up, her hips not just rising and falling, but rolling and he knew he didn’t have much more time.

He gripped her hips just so he had somewhere to put his hands, because she was in charge. She changed her angle and then cried out after a few more thrusts. Once her muscles clenched him, he went over the edge, shouting out his climax in a Lea waterfall.

They lay together, a tangle of limbs and sweat and heavy breaths.

Lea was on her side, the sheet wrapped around her knees. He ran a hand over the skin of her right hip, fingers tracing the ink, just dark lines in the moonlight. “What is this?” He spoke in a whisper, worried anything louder would make him wake up and he’d be back in his bed, cuddling with his cat.

“A devil.”

He lowered his face to her hip and could make out a horned head, hooved feet and pointy tail. “A devil?”

She shifted onto her back and pointed to her left hip. “This is an angel.”

He ran his fingers over the angel, naked with outstretched wings, and felt bumps under the surface. Scars.

“Why?” he asked.

She rolled back onto her side and cuddled closer. “The devil, on my good side, tells me I can do anything, take any risks, dream any dream. And the angel, on my scarred side, reminds me life is finite. Risks and decisions have consequences.”

Max wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. He didn’t know what consequences this night would have. But he did know that for a brief moment in time, Lea had given him peace. A moment in time where he’d given it all up to someone else.

And that was the best souvenir of the night.

Chapter 12

A
SEARING PAIN,
like daggers carving into her flesh, penetrated Lea’s brain and jolted her from sleep to wakefulness.

She blinked at the early-morning sunlight glowing through her thin curtains. She turned her head to the clock on her nightstand. 7:32
A.M
.

She turned to face the other way but was stopped short by the bulk of Max’s head, shoved into her neck. His breath heated her skin, and the vibration of his soft snoring tickled her nerves.

His arm was thrown over her stomach while she lay on her back, his elbow bent, hand curved around the side of her breast.

Her leg screamed again, and she shifted out from under his weight. He made that soft, sexy sound in the back of his throat as he rolled away from her, and she was glad he hadn’t opened those eyes, the ones that sucked her in every time. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, and took a deep breath, stomach churning with the anxiety of a pain-filled trek to her medicine cabinet.

She reached under her bed for the cane she kept just for mornings like these. And quietly, so as not to wake Max, she hobbled to the bathroom, the door only fifteen feet away but feeling like miles.

Tap. Thunk. Shuffle.

Tap. Thunk. Shuffle.

She focused on the sounds and hummed a made-up tune to take her mind off of her leg. She’d known all along last night would lead to this. Max had her makeup on his shirt and nail marks in his jacket.

Her souvenir was pain.

By the time she reached the sink, her whole body was shaking and sweat dampened her brow. She fumbled for her bottle of pain killers and swallowed the pills dry. Then she sat on the edge of the shower tub until she didn’t want to die anymore.

Half an hour later, Lea stood at her kitchen counter, sipping hot coffee from a Bowler U mug her mother had bought her when they visited the campus in high school.

Her brain was so scrambled about what happened last night, she didn’t know what to think about first. There was the lovely date, her rare breakdown, Max’s confessions and tenderness and then there was what happened between her sheets.

She’d always enjoyed the upper hand during sex, conscious of only wanting to show her good side and requiring positions that were easy on her leg.

But last night was new. All night she’d looked into Max’s eyes, occasionally glimpsing behind them the utter yearning to please. To make others happy. To avoid disappointing.

And she wanted to give him a couple of hours where he didn’t have to think about what he was saying or what he was doing. He could just feel. Feel her and their bodies and a connection she was wholly unprepared for. Because while she gave him that peace, he’d given his surrender and it was now wrapped around her heart, keeping it beating.

“Shoot,” she muttered.

She hadn’t felt like this . . . ever. Even though Jason had broken her teenage heart, he’d never made her pulse beat like Max did, never made goose bumps race across her skin. This wasn’t okay. She’d almost been ready to give Max everything last night. She couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t show him he’d gotten to her. That he had more control than he thought. Because while he might trust her, she didn’t return that trust. Or rather, she didn’t
want
to return that trust.

A shuffling in the hallway announced Max’s arrival into the kitchen. He stood in the doorway, one hand braced on the frame just like he’d done when he arrived to pick her up for the date. It’s likely he knew how well it showed off his biceps and shoulders and muscled pecs. She’d never dated a guy like Max, someone who looked like he belonged on a romance-book cover or action-movie poster.

His full lips were parted slightly, his checks flushed from sleep and hair mussed. He’d pulled on his jeans, but left them unbuttoned, giving her a glimpse of that trail of hair leading to that beautiful part of Max she’d so thoroughly enjoyed. His eyes were warm and content, his body loose. Part of her wanted to grab him and take him back to bed. Forget the day and just get lost in Max’s eyes.

She needed to slow this down. This was all so fast. Her leg still hurt, the pain barely dulled by her pills, souring her mood. She opened up the top cabinet to the side of the sink and grabbed a mug. “Coffee before you go?” She winced because her voice was brusque. Cold.

When he didn’t answer, she looked back at him. His eyes had shuttered, those relaxed shoulders now bunched with tension around his neck. “Sure,” he answered, just as icily. “One sugar.”

The one cup of coffee she’d already drunk sat in her stomach like acid now, and she hated that look on his face, hated herself for not reaching for him like she wanted to. Her hand shook so badly that the packet of sweetener slipped out of her hands when she tried to rip it open, the white powder coating her pristine, cobalt-blue-tiled counter.

“Damn it,” she said, slamming her fist down on the counter, tears building in her eyes. What was it about Max that made her some sort of weepy, wilted woman?

She reached for a paper towel to wipe it up, but arms slipped around her, pinning her arms to her side. One hand rested on her lower belly and the other below her neck.

“Lea,” he whispered into her ear. That same voice that chanted her name like a prayer last night as she moved over him, around him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, head dropped between her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

He turned her around in his arms and gripped her head in his big palms, searching her face with wary eyes. He smelled like the leather from his jacket and sex and why couldn’t she have greeted him this morning with a smile and a kiss?

Because that wasn’t who she was.

She took a step out of his arms. And then one, two, three deliberate steps away from him, each one feeling like she was swimming against the current. Max’s hands dropped from her head, his face falling, clearly showing a brief sting of rejection. But then his jaw and eyes hardened, the cocky smirk returning in the tilt of his lips. She wanted to slap it off of his face, because she knew how fake it was now. Then she wanted to slap herself for putting it there.

“You know what? I’ll stop and get coffee on my way home. No biggie, doll.”

He grabbed his T-shirt off the couch where he’d dropped it on the way into the kitchen, then grabbed his shoes and slipped them on, not bothering with socks. Like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Right there on his shirt showed all the souvenirs he’d take him with him. But he could wash them off of that shirt. She couldn’t wash Max off of her heart.

As he walked to the front door, she didn’t protest. Didn’t say a word, just stood there holding her coffee like a mute and absorbing the irritation rolling off of him in waves, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

He snatched his keys off of the table, knocking over the mini Christmas tree in the process. And last night came back to her in a rush. She almost staggered from the weight of it. From Max’s kind eyes, his big hands massaging her leg, his eyes closed and mouth open in orgasmic bliss.

She shut her eyes, but the images replayed behind her lids.

The front door opened and she snapped her lids open. His lip was a sneer but the hurt shone through in his eyes. Max wasn’t that good of an actor.

“Thanks for a good time, doll. See ya around.”

She flinched as the door slammed shut, then walked woodenly to her Christmas tree, lying on its side on the floor. One of the balls had broken and she picked up the pieces carefully, then threw them in the trash. A couple balls had fallen off and rolled away. She crawled across the floor to pick them up, then righted the Christmas tree and gingerly hooked the ornaments back on the branches.

It wasn’t until she carried the tree into her bedroom and placed it on her dresser that she realized her cheeks were wet.

M
AX SWORE LOUDL
Y
and dropped the hot pan on the counter with a clatter.

“Shit. Fuck. Shit,” he said, throwing the worthless oven mitt in the trash and sticking his burned fingers under cold water.

He drooped his head between his shoulders as the sting began to fade. He glanced at the spot on the kitchen floor where Wayne had been, watching Max make his treats.

But he was gone now, probably scared off by the pan and Max’s swearing.

“These are for you, so the least you could have done is stick around!” he yelled after his cat.

He’d been at work with his dad all day, so why he thought it was a good idea to come home and attempt to cook was a mystery. He turned off the faucet and wrapped his now numb fingers in a paper towel. He had to wait for the baked mush in the pan to cool before he could cut it into pieces. So he left the kitchen and sank into the couch out in the living room, head leaned back, eyes closed, feet crossed on the coffee table.

It was now Sunday, so two days after he woke up next to Lea and was then kicked out of her house for a walk of shame.

He’d been pissed all day Friday, spending most of the day at the gym, sweating out his anger. Then he got plastered Friday night, threw up a lot of rum and spent all day at work Saturday hungover.

His dad wasn’t amused and shouted extra loud whenever he was around Max.

Jackass.

And the fact that Max
was
pissed made him even
more
livid. Since when did he care if a girl kicked him out the next morning? Since when did he sit around like a love-sick teenager waiting for a phone call?

He asked himself those questions in his head but his heart answered. Because when he closed his eyes at night, he still felt her lips brush his. He still smelled her skin, with just a faint hint of coconut. He felt her fingers on his face and her voice in his ear.

He jolted his eyes open as a key sounded in the front door. Cam walked in, shut the door behind him and then stopped when he saw Max on the couch. He looked around and then quirked an eyebrow. “Uh, dude, what’re you doing sitting here in the dark and quiet by yourself?”

“I’m not alone. Alec and Kat are upstairs,” Max grumbled.

Cam dropped into the recliner and unlaced his boots. “That doesn’t change the fact you’re sitting here by yourself.” He paused after shoving one boot off. “And why the fuck does it smell like a chicken’s asshole in here?”

“How do you know what a chicken’s asshole smells like?”

Cam shoved off his other boot and leaned back. “I have an active imagination.”

“I made Wayne treats.”

Cam blinked, not moving for a moment, before his head jerked forward. “You made food for your fucking cat?”

“Is that really so weird?” Max snapped.

“Hell yes, it’s weird. Why don’t you buy pre-made food like a normal person?”

“I don’t know. I guess I felt bad. He’s probably been eating trash most of his life.”

Cam smiled then, his dimples cutting into his cheeks. “Maxi’s going soft.”

“Shut up.”

“So what’s going on? I haven’t talked to you since your date. How’d it go?”

Max clenched his jaw. It was the best date of his life until he woke up. “It was . . . great. We got along and she kisses like a dream. I spent the night and then she turned Ice Queen on me in the morning and kicked me out. Haven’t talked to her since.” Normally, he would have given Cam some details. Hell, those nipple rings deserved to be talked about and Max had always been one to kiss and tell. But what happened with Lea had been . . . private. Absolutely private and precious and talking about it out loud felt like sacrilege.

Cam waited, like he expected Max to keep talking, but he remained silent. Cam held his eyes, in that direct way he had, waiting him out, probably some stupid thing he learned in the military. “Are you going to say anything?” Max asked.

“You spent the night.” Cam said.

“Yes.”

More silence. More direct eye contact that made Max squirm. He hated when Cam did this.

“Okay,” Cam said, drumming his fingers on the arm rest of the recliner. “Since you aren’t even throwing me a fucking bone and telling me how hot she looks naked, I’m assuming shit got real.”

Max cleared his throat and confirmed. “Shit got real.”

“And then the next morning, she froze up.”

“Like Elsa.”

Cam rolled his eyes. “You and that fucking movie.”

His roommate did not appreciate the genius of
Frozen
. Max had never watched animated movies as a kid. He’d been raised on
Mighty Ducks
. But he’d watched
Frozen
with Kat when they’d been together, and Max had been hooked. He’d never admit that to his family though. Max pointed at Cam. “Elsa’s dress is hot—”

“Anyway,” Cam talked over him. “Do you think it was as . . . intense for Lea as it was for you?”

Max pictured her eyes, heard his name slip from her lips in a chant, felt the warmth of her body as she snuggled into his side like she belonged there. “Yes,” he answered.

“Yeah? Well then she kind of pulled a Max,” Cam said. “She probably got freaked out. I mean, this was your first date, you previously hated each other—“

“Hate’s a little strong—“

“And so she froze up. Acted out. Pushed you away.” Cam shrugged. “Classic defense strategy.”

“So . . .” Max’s head spun. “You think—“

“I think she might feel the same way you do. But she either got scared or decided to push you away before you pushed her away.”

Max hadn’t known Cam before he’d already been through basic training and showed up at Bowler a semester late. They’d met in the dorms. But as long as Max could remember, Cam could read people like a freak.

“You should be on a talk show or something and tell fortunes,” Max said.

Cam laughed. “I can’t tell the future. But I can tell when people got fucked-up shit going in their heads.”

“You always been like that?”

Cam thought about that a minute, his face losing all humor. “No, no I haven’t. And there are some people I’m not sure I could ever read.”

Max wanted to ask more but Cam stood and picked up his boots. “Gonna go take a shower and then get some studying in. I don’t know if you and Lea can make it work but if she does apologize, hear her out, all right?”