Chapter Fourteen
Mary Ann glanced over at Amanda, who was doing her best to ignore the insistent ringing of her cell phone in the background. When her cell phone wasn’t ringing, the house phone was.
“Sweetie, you aren’t going to answer that?”
“No, it’ll go to voice mail.” From the living room, the beep of the machine sounded. “Or the answering machine. See?”
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Mary Ann pulled the cookbook closer. She laid a finger on the page. “This tells you to sift the flour first. Since you don’t have a sifter, this is what you do. Give me a cup of that flour.”
Amanda popped the lid off the Tupperware container and dipped the plastic measuring cup into the flour, creating a puff of white dust. She choked as she involuntarily inhaled some, the force of her cough causing an even greater cloud. She wrinkled her nose, trying not to sneeze.
She gladly handed the cup over to Mary Ann, who shook her head. Amusement twitched the older woman’s lips as she dumped the flour into a strainer. “Now I’ll just hold it over the bowl and tap it gently. You don’t want a cloud. That will shift the flour well enough—”
Her cell phone rang again.
Mary Ann dropped the makeshift sifter to plant her hands on her hips. “Amanda, how do you know that it’s not important? Someone must really want to talk to you.”
She was right. Amanda couldn’t put it off any longer. She was going to have to deal with the caller at some point. It might as well be now. She snatched up her cell from the kitchen table. “I’ll take it in the living room.”
Amanda braced herself as she went into the other room and answered. She didn’t need the caller ID to know who it was. “What?” Right now he didn’t even deserve the courtesy of a “hello.”
For a moment there was silence.
“Hey. Uh, I was surprised you answered.”
“Well, I figured I’d better before you killed my cell phone’s battery.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you know I’ve been trying to reach you by all the messages I’ve left.”
“Oh? I haven’t heard any of the messages.”
“’Manda, I know you’re upset, but—”
“But nothing.”
“Just hear me out.”
“I heard you, Max, and I didn’t like how you said it.”
She heard a long sigh through the phone; then Max replied, “I can’t do this on the phone.”
“Me, neither, so stop calling.”
“I’m coming over.” He was clearly determined.
Amanda thought of his mother in the other room. “Now is not a good time.” Wouldn’t he be shocked to find out how much time they’d been spending together?
“It’s as good a time as any. I’ll be over in ten minutes.” He hung up before she could get in another word.
She ended the call and looked toward the kitchen. Let him show up; he was only going to embarrass himself in front of his own mother.
He didn’t want his mother finding out what was going on between them the other night. Well, he wouldn’t be able to avoid it now.
She went back to the kitchen to finish her red velvet cake lesson.
* * * *
Nine minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Max rang the doorbell.
He was nervous; he rubbed his damp palms against his jeans.
He sucked in a breath when Amanda opened the door. She was wearing a pink tank top and skintight black yoga pants. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Without a stitch of makeup on, she reminded him of a high school cheerleader. A very perky one at that.
He reached out his index finger to brush white powder off the tip of her nose.
“Are you staying out of trouble?” He rubbed his fingers together and brought it up to his nose to sniff. “What is this?”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Puh-leez. It’s flour.”
“I knew that.”
“Right.” When Amanda turned away, he followed her inside. “So what do you want, Max?”
“I don’t like the way we left it the other night.”
Once in the living room, she walked over to the antique secretary’s desk and found sudden interest in it. She let out a long, deep sigh. “Neither do I.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“Look, you’re the one who had to come over here. What are you going to do about it?”
He swung her around to face him, studying her. An instant later he released her and stepped back. “Apologize. Say that I’m sorry for being such an idiot. Tell you I wanted you to stay; I really did. But…”
“But?”
“But…you heard my mother at Christmas. All she does is nag the three of us to get married and produce children. I just don’t want to give her…false hope.”
“So basically what you’re saying is that you’re not looking for anything permanent.” She straightened, standing a little taller. “Well, maybe neither am I. I don’t know how long I’ll be here in Manning Grove. As soon as I can convince Greg that he’d be happier in Miami, we’re leaving.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. She was just blowing smoke. Because there was no way he was going to let her leave. Ever. This was her home now. This was Greg’s home. She had to stay. He liked spending time with her—when they weren’t rubbing each other the wrong way. He liked when they were rubbing each other the right way.
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I like you, Amanda. I really do. I thought it was obvious. But whatever is going to happen between us…whatever is happening between us, I want to do on my own timeline. Not my mother’s. Can you understand that?”
“Oh yeah. I can understand not wanting someone else to make decisions for you.”
“I deserve that. I get it.” He shifted closer to capture her hips, pulling her just a breath away. “But I do know one thing…” He brushed his lips along her temple, winding his fingers in her ponytail, and tugged gently until her head tilted back, exposing her neck. He nuzzled the little dip at the base of her neck, then moved to capture her lips. She tasted so good—
“Sweetie, we need to finish making the cream-cheese icing for—” Mary Ann stopped. “Oh! Oh, Max! Hi, honey. I thought I heard voices out here.”
“Mom!” He dropped his arms, quickly stepping away from Amanda. Heat crawled up his neck. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, I come over here all the time. Amanda didn’t tell you?”
He closed his gaping mouth with a snap. He shot a look at Amanda before replying, “No.”
“I’m teaching her to cook. We are having so much fun together. She’s going to make someone a great wife.”
Max groaned. This was what he was trying to avoid: his mother seeing Amanda as daughter-in-law material. And even worse, his mother thought she was training her to be a good wife. This wasn’t good. This was extremely bad.
“How did you get here? I didn’t see your vehicle out front.”
“Your father dropped me off.”
His father knew what his mother was doing and hadn’t warned him? Max was going to have a talk with him.
Max approached his mother, taking her elbow firmly. “I’ll take you home.”
His mother jerked her arm away. “No, Amanda and I have to finish this red velvet cake.”
“You can finish it another time.”
His mother looked at him with disbelief. “No, Max. Your father will pick me up. But I’ll go back into the kitchen and give you two a couple minutes alone.” She winked knowingly at him.
Max gritted his teeth. His mother went back into the kitchen with the mistaken belief that they needed some privacy.
Max whispered fiercely, “What are you doing?”
“Baking.”
“How long has this been going on? How much does she know?” His voice lifted and then cracked like a teenage boy’s.
Fuck!
“About us?” Amanda shrugged. “She’s not stupid, Max.”
They stood staring at each other in a standoff: ice blue versus emerald green. The seconds ticked by in silence.
“Sweetie, are you coming?” Mary Ann called from the next room.
Keeping a steady, pointed gaze, a wicked smile crossed Amanda’s face. “Yes, Ma. I’ll be right there.”
Max was the first to break eye contact as he grabbed his chest. “Ma?” What was that shooting pain in his chest? He was having a heart attack. “Why are you calling my mother Ma?”
“She said I could. It’s her initials. Mary Ann…Ma, get it?”
The hole in the earth was widening; he might as well just leap in now. His mother was hanging out with the woman he’d been sleeping with. The woman he’d been sleeping with was calling his mother “Ma.”
“That’s screwed up. I’ve—I’ve got to sit down.” He sank onto the nearby couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“No, it isn’t. It’s great. She’s a great mother, and you should be proud of her.”
“Oh, I am.” Proud that she’d found someone to groom to be his future wife. Proud that she has stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. Hey, that sounded familiar. How many times had Amanda accused him of doing the same? Like mother, like son? He grimaced.
“She has been spending her spare time teaching me to cook and bake because I asked.” Amanda shook her head. “All I had to do was ask her. And you know what? She was thrilled that I asked.”
“You could have asked me.”
“To teach me to cook?”
“No, damn it. You should have asked me first if I minded my mother—” Max stopped, watching Amanda’s face darken. Oh shit.
He stood up quickly and caught her arms before he got belted in the mouth. With a sigh, he let her arms go. If she cracked him upside the head, he deserved it.
He had come over to apologize for being a jerk, and here he was again…being a fucking jerk. It was becoming a pattern for him. One he needed to break.
“Amanda, I came over here to apologize for the other night. I did it, and now I am apologizing for what I just said. And let me just get this out of the way now: I’m sorry for every asinine thing I do or say in the future. There, that should just about cover it.”
“If you think a simple apology is going to be a Band-Aid for all our—your problems… Well, it’s not. Your apologies come too little, too late. If you think you can do or say what you want, that you can be bossy, try to control my life, and then just say, ‘I’m sorry’ when you want to get me into bed? And then everything is all right? It doesn’t work that way. It hasn’t. It won’t. It never will.”
“You know, we need to talk about this more when my mother”—his eyebrows rose—“isn’t twenty feet away in the next room.” He jabbed his finger a few times toward the kitchen.
“Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“We can talk about it later.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t expecting her to be so agreeable. That was a switch. Wait a minute. There probably was a catch. Or it was a trap. With caution, he asked, “Okay, when?”
“Tonight. After Greg goes to bed.”
“When’s that?”
“Come around nine.”
Mary Ann peeked her head out of the kitchen. “Max, honey, why don’t you come help us finish up this cake?”
Panic shot through him. “Got to go, Mom!” he yelled. To Amanda he whispered, “See you at nine.” He took one last look at her “cheerleader” outfit. “Don’t change.”
Then he bolted; he had to get out the door before he got roped into wearing an apron.
* * * *
After making sure Greg was tucked into bed, Amanda stayed a few minutes by his bedside, talking with him until, after a final yawn, he drifted off to sleep.
Amanda had just descended the stairs when she heard a soft rap on the front door.
This was one of the few times that she had known beforehand that she was going to see Max, and she had been anxious ever since he had left earlier. In fact, the rest of the velvet cake lesson had pretty much been a waste, as she couldn’t pay attention. Mary Ann had given up and had taken the un-iced cake home to finish it herself.
Amanda’s pulse raced as she went to let Max in.
When she opened the door, she stood there mesmerized for a moment. He was wearing a worn—so worn that they were almost white—pair of jeans that fit real nicely. And under his leather jacket, she noticed a snug black T-shirt that she was sure would expose that tattoo—the one that drew her eyes every time. As her inspection moved upward past his broad shoulders, she noticed he hadn’t shaved the five o’clock shadow he had been sporting earlier—and it was damn sexy. The only thing that stopped him from looking like a full-blown rebel was the severe law-enforcement haircut. Not enough hair there to run her fingers through or to grip onto when—
“Done?” He raised one eyebrow and grinned. “Want me to strip right here on the stoop, or can I come in first?”
Amanda answered him with a smile and stepped back, but not enough to give him room. He had to turn sideways and brush against her to enter the house.
“Oh, you’re evil. I’m supposed to be here to talk, Amanda, remember?”
She shut the door and locked it. “I remember. Let’s go into the sunroom. That way we won’t disturb Greg.”
As they walked through the kitchen, she nodded her head toward the screened addition. “Go on in. I’ll get us a snack.”
Within a minute she had thrown some of her cookies onto a plate and carried them into the sunroom.
Max was sitting relaxed in the love seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed. He had turned on only one of the table lamps, giving the room a soft radiance. Soft and romantic.
Amanda shook her head to clear it.
He looked at the plate hungrily. “Peanut butter?”
“Yep.”
“What happened to that red velvet cake you were making earlier?”
“Your mom took it with her for the ladies at bingo.”
She didn’t want to tell him that Mary Ann had taken it unfinished, complaining good-naturedly about certain young lovers.
Before Amanda could even put the plate down on the side table, Max snatched one. He bit into it with enthusiasm. His chewing slowed, and he struggled to swallow. He cleared his throat.
“These aren’t like the other ones.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, not to be rude, but…uh…they aren’t as good as the ones you brought to the station. New recipe?” He gave her a hopeful look.
“No…” She caught her lower lip in her teeth, wondering if she should do it. “I have something to confess.”
A cop. A confession. Max sat up, alert. “Shoot.”
She had to come clean. “Those cookies…”
“Yeah?”
She turned away to hide her guilt. “Well, I didn’t make them.”
“Oh. So? Big deal.”
“And…” It wasn’t like she’d intentionally fed him tainted cookies. Right?
“And?”
All right, maybe she did, but he’d survived and he never had to know. “Mrs. Busy—Mrs. Myers made them.”
“Well, they were good. Thanks for sharing them with us.”
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t admit to letting him eat cookies iced with dog spit. That secret was going to go with her to her grave. “Sure.” She turned back to face him. “I might not be the best baker yet, but I swear I can make us the best pitcher of Alabama Slammers.”
He looked up at her in surprise. “You can? You know how to make Alabama Slammers?”
“Of course. I was a bartender for three years. I was good at it too. It was fun. I worked at a top nightclub. I made some good money. Met some cool people and some celebs too. Plus, the free drinks didn’t hurt either.”
“I could see you slinging drinks—especially wearing outfits like that. You probably pulled in some nice tips. Do you have the stuff to make Slammers?”
“Sure. I put a lock on one of the kitchen cabinets. I’ll be right back.”
As she turned to go, he stopped her. “Amanda, you can take the plate.”
She picked up the cookies. “Now you know why I asked your mother for help.” And went back into the kitchen.
Amanda unlocked the makeshift liquor cabinet and pulled out the Southern Comfort, sloe gin, and amaretto.
She heard his deep voice behind her. “Want help?”
Amanda turned to see Max leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb between the two rooms.
“All right. Go in that cabinet over there and get us a couple of big glasses. Oh, before you do that, grab the bin of ice out of the freezer.”
She pulled the blender away from the wall and plugged it in.
Max stopped her. “You can’t use that!”
Amanda laughed. “Oh yeah. Poor Greg, he would have jumped out of his skin.” Unplugging it, she pushed the appliance back against the wall. She reached into a nearby cabinet and found a shaker. “I’ll just shake them gently.”
“Shaken, not stirred,” he said in a bad James Bond accent. Max slid the bin of ice next to the shaker. “What else?”
“Um. I need the lemon juice. It’s in the fridge door.”
When she was done mixing the concoction, she poured it into a big pitcher and carried it, while Max followed her with two large glasses, into the sunroom.
He settled back into the love seat while Amanda, after filling their glasses, sat in the rocker across from him.
Max took a drink. “Now that’s a lot better than those peanut butter cookies.”
Amanda took a sip. She had to agree. “Mmm. That’s good.”
They were silent for a few minutes as they savored the drinks and contemplated each other, the alcohol quickly relaxing the both of them. Before she knew it, Max’s glass was drained, and she reached to fill it again. “More?”
“Sure. Keep them coming. So…” Max’s cool blue eyes pinned her into the rocker. “Did any of those celebs hit on you?”
“Maybe.”
“And?” he prompted.
“And they are like anyone else. They’re human.”
“From what I’ve seen of them on television, I don’t know if I’d call some of them human.”
“Call them what you like. I had my fair share of attention.”
“So you went out with some?”
“No. I had a boyfriend. Believe it or not, I’m very loyal. In fact, so loyal I consider it a fault.”
Max frowned. “Why?”
Amanda just shook her head. “Never mind. I thought we were going to discuss us.” She emptied her glass. The strong alcohol was starting to warm her belly and give her a nice little buzz.
Max reached out to fill it again. “We were. We are,” he corrected.
“Okay, so start.” She watched him down his second round of the Slammers. He was clearly struggling with his emotions. Did he need the booze to bolster him to talk about their relationship? If you could call it that.
Max grimaced and shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know where to begin.”
“Okay, so I’ll start. Look…” She crossed her legs and with one foot put the rocking chair in motion while she tried to organize her thoughts into words.
Maybe the Alabama Slammers weren’t the best idea. Her thinking was a bit fuzzy. What the hell, here goes…
“I don’t know if I can deal with your indecisions. I’m having a hard enough time dealing with my own. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. I don’t know where I’m going to end up. I don’t know what I want to do when it comes to staying here in Manning Grove or heading back to Miami.”
“So what you’re saying is that you expect me to accept your indecision but you can’t accept mine?”
“I don’t know. I’m so freaking confused. You frustrate me. My mother is so controlling. I don’t need that in a man.”
“I can’t help it. That’s me. That’s why I’m a cop. I don’t know if I can ever change that.” He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Genetic makeup, if you will.”
“Bull. That’s the easy way out. Genetic makeup…please.”
“So don’t believe me. But believe this…I told you to keep that outfit on. And you did. I think you like it, and you just don’t want to admit it.”
Was he right? Did she need someone who was controlling in her life at all times?
“Give me a break. Maybe I kept this outfit on because I didn’t think you were worth changing for.”
Max chuckled at her blatant lie. He filled his glass for the third time. He emptied the pitcher. “Look, let’s just have a compromise. Another truce? Let’s agree to take it slow and see where this goes.”
“Another truce?”
“How about we call it a compromise this time, since we failed at our so-called earlier truce. I promise to try not to be so controlling—”
“Bossy, overbearing—”
“Okay, okay. And you give Manning Grove—and me—a chance.”
“Max, I can’t promise that I will stay in this town. But, how’s this: I won’t say that I am definitely leaving.”
“Good enough. Now about my mother—”
“No, that’s not in the ‘compromise.’ I get to spend as much time with your mother as I want.”
Max leaned back with eyes hooded, his lips pressed together.
“Max,” Amanda warned. “Do you want to fuck this up before it’s even started?”
“No. But I want you to discourage her if she starts picking out invitations and cummerbund colors.”
She tried to appear serious. “Agreed.”
“If she starts taking you on a three-hour drive to Harrisburg to Babies”R”Us, I want you to escape and head toward the nearest phone to dial 911.”
Amanda’s lips twitched. “I do have a cell.”
“And anything we do in private is off limits from her ears.”
“Deal.”
“And…”
“Enough, Max. I get the picture. I won’t tell her how horny you make me. And how you make me cry out when I orgasm.”
Max’s grin twisted. “Well, you can tell me instead.”
“Do you want me to make another pitcher?”
Max shook his head and stretched out a hand. “C’mere. You’re too far away.”
She studied him a moment before getting out of the rocker and joining him on the love seat. She settled onto his lap. “Better?”
Max curled his arms around her and pulled her tighter against his chest. “You bet.”
She laid her head on his shoulder and snuggled her nose into his neck. She could feel his strong pulse against her cheek.
It felt so good to be in his arms. She circled his tattoo with her finger. Semper Fi. Mary Ann had made sure to tell Amanda that it meant “always faithful.”
“Did you always want to be a cop?”
He had one hand on her hip and the other on her thigh, rubbing it slowly back and forth. “Yes.”
She waited a moment, and when he said nothing further, she prodded. “Why?”
His deep voice resonated through his chest. “I was always in awe of my grandfather and my father. That’s why I followed in their footsteps. That’s why all three of us did. The Marines first, to serve our country, and then the police department, to serve our community.”
“To protect and serve, huh?”
The pride exuded from his words. “It’s the Bryson family motto.”
She moved her nose up to nuzzle him behind the ear. “Well, you can protect and serve me anytime.”
“I’d planned to since the minute you bitched me out in that parking lot when you first came to town.”
She raised her head, pushing herself up with a palm against his chest. “You were only trying to get into my pants.”
“True…” he said slowly.
Amanda grabbed a nearby decorative pillow and whacked him.
“Hey! You didn’t let me finish. True, but when you saw me in my uniform, you just wanted a big ol’ piece of this bad boy.” He opened his arms wide as if offering himself to her.
Amanda whacked him again. “Yeah, right.”
“You can’t say you didn’t want this.” He reached out, and his long fingers cupped her face as he leaned in to kiss her. It was only a slight brush, leaving her wanting more.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Would you have kissed me if I had torn up the ticket?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“For twenty-five bucks? Get real. I wanted to take out that retractable metal stick you carry and beat you over the head.”
Max laughed. “You mean my ASP baton?”
“Whatever.”
“Only because you were sexually frustrated.”
“You wish.”
He poked her side gently. “Admit it.”
“No.”
“C’mon.”
“Okay. You’re right. I was sexually frustrated because I couldn’t jump your bones right there in the middle of town, in the free parking lot on the pavement amid a bag of spilled dog toys, while Greg looked on. Satisfied?”
His smile widened. “Yep.”
“Good. Now kiss me again.” She grabbed the back of his head and pulled it down until their lips were a breath apart. “And do it like you mean it this time.”
The light peck was easily forgotten as he claimed her mouth with his, crushing her to him. This was what she had been waiting for. She groaned into his mouth, tangling her tongue with his. She felt a twinge and wiggled her hips in his lap, feeling his body harden.
He pulled back slightly. He ran a finger under the edge of her skintight black pants. “You know, I’ve drunk too much to drive. I guess I’ll have to stay put until I sober up.”
“Hmm. Maybe I should make another pitcher to make sure it takes you a while to sober up.”
“Forget it. I want to make sure you remember everything I do to you.”
“You’re right. I want to make sure you can do everything to me.”
“So we’re going to seal this new compromise with another kiss?”
“No, even better…” Amanda unfolded herself from his lap to take his hand and lead him upstairs.
As the steps creaked underneath him, she whispered, “We need to be quiet.”
At the top of the stairs, he answered, “I’m not sure that will be possible. You squeal like a pig.”
Amanda stifled a laugh and poked him in the ribs with her elbow.
“Ow!”
“Shh!” She pulled him into the master bedroom and shut the door quickly behind them.
She leaned against the door and watched him rub his ribs. His fingers were long and strong, and she knew what they could do to her, how undone she could become. Her stomach fluttered at the thought.
He splayed himself over the bed and held out a hand to her. “I feel like a teenager trying to have sex in my parents’ house and not get caught.”
Amanda reached behind her to turn the lock.
“Are you going to be able to stay quiet?” she asked him.
A wicked smile crossed his face. “Oh yeah. But I doubt you will be able to.”
“I hear a challenge.”
He laughed quietly. “You betcha. Are you game?”
She peeled off the pink tank top, over her shoulders, over her head, and then tossed it to the floor.
Her lips curled into a grin as she brought up her hands to caress her breasts. She held the heavy weight of them and squeezed. She purposely kept her gaze averted from Max as she plucked both of her nipples, then twisted the hard peaks between her fingers. She let one go so her free hand could slide down her belly and dip into her shorts. She flung her head back as she touched her own wetness, her heat.
Impatient, she wiggled out of her shorts, then leaned back against the bedroom door, spreading herself wide with her fingers so Max could see how ready she was. She slowly rubbed her thumb over her clit, circling it, making it swell.
She still hadn’t looked at him. She concentrated on herself, driving herself crazy. Because if she did that, she knew full well that it was driving him crazy too. She licked her lips, then peered at him through her thick mane of hair.
Yes.
His gaze was glued to her. He was slowly stroking himself over his jeans. His T-shirt was already gone, and his tanned skin wore a slight sheen, detectable even in the low light.
“I’m so ready for you,” he told her, his voice low and raspy.
“I see that.”
“Are you ready for me?”
She closed the short distance to the bed and climbed up and over him to straddle his waist. “I’m not sure. Do you want to test me to make sure?”
He slid a finger between her plump pussy lips. The shine on his skin left neither of them without any doubt. She was wet and ready.
She reached behind herself to unsnap and unzip his jeans. “These need to go.”
Within seconds, his shoes and socks had been kicked off, and he slithered out of his pants and boxer briefs without unseating Amanda from his waist.
“I want you on top.” His words were heavy with need.
“That was the plan.”
“Oh, it was, was it?”
She shifted back, the crown of his cock just barely teasing her opening. He twitched his cock against her, and in a quick lift of her hips, she seated him deep inside her.
Max let out a long, low hiss. He wrapped his fingers around the curves of her hips. Amanda closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of being completely filled. They fit perfectly together.
The pressure against her G-spot was intense, almost unbearable. He hit her in all the right places.
His fingers splayed against her ass cheeks, and he thrust even more deeply. She stifled a groan and put one hand against his chest, gently holding him still.
“Let me take control.” She wasn’t asking.
A series of emotions crossed his face. She could see the struggle within him to allow someone else control. He blew out a breath and nodded slightly. It was hard for him, but he was hard for her.
Amanda gripped him between her thighs and rode him hard and fast. She struggled to keep quiet and almost lost it until Max placed a hand over her mouth. Grabbing one of his fingers between her teeth, she fought to not bite down hard. She rose and fell on him, lifting until he was almost out of her, then sitting until he was balls-deep. He had to turn his face and smother himself into a pillow. The muscles in his neck bulged, and a flush ran from his cheeks down to his chest. He was fighting to not cry out as hard as she was.
She was so wet there was no friction, nothing to slow her down as she rode him, her thighs flexing, her pussy squeezing with every rise and fall. And that spot…she tilted her pelvis just enough so he hit it. Over and over. A gush of warmth ran out of her and over him.
“Fuck!” was muffled into the pillow.
She enjoyed the power she had over him. Even if it was just for a short time, she controlled his thoughts and his body. She felt him tense and she stilled immediately.
No. No. No. She wasn’t ready for him to come.
She leaned over and bit one of his nipples. His head whipped around to look at her.
“Not yet,” she warned. She bit the other one hard enough to leave a mark, and he bucked against her.
But the pain was enough to distract him. To delay his release.
“You’re not coming before me.”
His eyes narrowed, his hands tightened on her hips, and with a quick roll she was on her back and he was over her, looking down into her face.
A little yelp had escaped her from the quick movement and shift of power. But not loud enough to wake Greg.
“You want to come? What makes you so sure it’s up to you whether you come? Maybe it’s up to me whether you come or not.”
Amanda grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down. She ground her lips against his for a second, then pulled away just enough to say, “Make me come.”
He crushed her against him and thrust hard into her, grunting with each move. It was hard and fast and just what she wanted. She tilted her hips until he found her spot again. Her pussy got wetter with each stroke, wetter and wetter until finally…
He captured her mouth against his, muffling her loud cry,. And not a second later, she was capturing his release within her. After the throbs subsided, he lowered himself next to her to gather her tightly in his arms. Amanda fell asleep to his slow, steady breathing and the rise and fall of his chest.
* * * *
Amanda rolled over with a sigh. She stretched and reached out blindly with one hand to the other side of the bed. It was empty and cold.
She knew it. She knew he wouldn’t be able to stay the night. It was too much pressure for him. After she had fallen asleep, he had probably felt the walls caving in on him and hightailed it out of there lickety-split.
Well, so much for their new compromise. He had found a way just to get her into bed once again. Not that she had made it difficult.
She sat up. Her hair was loose and in tangles. A warm feeling vibrated through her body as she remembered that Max had ripped out the elastic band, releasing her ponytail the night before.
Her clothes still lay where she’d left them, littered across the floor in a hurry. Her heart began thumping all over again, when she recalled how he had…
Amanda shook her head. How the big, tough man had gotten his way, then moved on, back to his bachelor ways.
She pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a nostalgic Ramones tee and headed downstairs to make Greg breakfast. Before she even hit the last step, she heard noises from the living room. Greg was watching cartoons already.
She went in to turn off the TV and stopped in shock.
Max and Greg were both sitting on the couch with their legs propped up on the coffee table, each with bowls of cereal in their laps. And they were laughing at the antics of the cartoon mouse that was running in circles on the television.
At least Greg had a kitchen towel tucked into the neck of his shirt like a bib. It had already diverted milk and cereal from his shirt and lap.
Max hadn’t left. He actually had stayed the night. And…
She stepped in front of their view. “You’re letting him eat in front of the TV?”
Max at least had the decency to look at her sheepishly. “It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, ’Manda, no big deal,” Greg mimicked.
Amanda frowned at her brother. “All right. Just this one time.”
Max had actually stayed.
“Why don’t you go grab a bowl and join us?”
“Uh, okay.” He was still here. And had fed her brother. She walked into the kitchen, not sure if she should be happy or suspicious.
She looked at the variety of cereal boxes that had been pulled out of the cabinet and were strewn across the counter. The utensil drawer was still wide open. She opened the refrigerator. A gallon jug of milk sat empty in the fridge. Well, maybe there was enough for a swallow. Maybe.
She pulled out the almost empty jug and stared at it.
He had stayed. She frowned.
Why?
“Sorry.” Amanda jumped at Max’s voice in her ear.
“You already apologized for everything in advance yesterday, remember?”
“I didn’t mean to step on your toes and let Greg eat in front of the TV if you didn’t want him to.”
“We’ll just consider this a special occasion.”
Max stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’d say it was a special occasion.”
Amanda turned within his arms and tucked a finger into his T-shirt neckline and pulled.
Just as she thought. He had several sets of teeth marks marring his chest from her attempts to muffle her sounds of ecstasy during the night.
Love bites, she thought.
“War wounds,” Max said with a smirk. He released her. “Come on. Greg’s waiting.”
She grabbed a fresh gallon of milk, then poured herself a bowl of Honey O’s before following Max to the living room.
When the three of them were settled back on the couch watching Bugs Bunny, Max turned to her.
“Oh, by the way, I used your toothbrush.”