CHAPTER FIVE
The start of a splitting headache is the first thing Max notices when he wakes up. That, and an accompanying, all-consuming thirst, informing him he really hit the jackpot in the hangover department this time. Then Max realizes he’s not in his own bed – it doesn’t feel or smell like his own bed – so he turns away from the light and opens his eyes just a fraction. And although Max doesn’t recognize the room he’s in, everything comes barreling back to him within the second, so he turns his head (too fast) again, only to discover that Stella is not in bed with him. Max rolls back and stares at the ceiling, willing his lurching stomach down, telling himself the reasons for her absence are probably totally innocent and she is not about to drop another bomb on him by telling him off and asking him to leave. Max couldn’t leave if he wanted to, to be honest, because even though he is sending repetitive orders to his rebellious stomach to settle the fuck down, it’s not paying him any heed. Max measures the distance between the bed and the bathroom door, thinking he might be able to make it in time, as getting into an upright position will most likely exponentially worsen the situation. Max frowns, wondering for a brief moment how he always gets himself into impossible situations like these before he knows he really must get up and make for the bathroom.
At least he feels a little better when he sags against the cold, tiled wall.
“Hey,” Stella’s head pokes around the door.
Fucking great…
“You okay?” Stella throws him a tentative smile.
“Sorry,” Max starts, but even talking is too much and he rests the back of his sweaty head against the wall.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Stella says. “I’ll be downstairs. Call if you need anything, okay?” Stella pins him with a closer look. “Or is there anything you need right now?”
Max just moves his head gingerly from side to side, closing his eyes to shut out the light, and he can hear the door close, her footfalls on the stairs. It takes Max at least another ten minutes of silence and darkness and immobility before he dares to move and flush the toilet. Then he gets up to take a closer look at himself in the mirror, clutching the edge of the washbasin.
Nice going, Robertson.
Max spots his jeans and his tee and puts them on as gently as he can manage, searching the little cabinet on the opposite wall for a bottle of aspirin. When he finds one, he doesn’t hesitate to pop three pills dry and then needs another ten minutes on the edge of the tub to wait for the roiling of his stomach to subside. When everything feels steady enough, Max decides to go downstairs and see what Stella is up to, hoping he can cope with the inevitable smells of toast and tea.
“You okay?” is the first thing Stella asks as he comes down.
“Barely,” Max replies, managing a weak smile. “It’s all your fault anyway.”
Max smiles at that and walks towards him, resting her hands on his hips. “Don’t tell me you have been doing this for the past seven weeks?”
“More like seven days,” Max replies, kissing her forehead.
“Non-stop?” Stella wants to know, eyebrows high.
“I guess you saved me just in time,” Max mutters, detaching himself and sitting down at the kitchen table. Moving to stand behind him, Stella wraps her arms around his shoulders and chest and rests her cheek on top of his head.
“You stupid boy…” Stella says quietly, nuzzling his hair before dropping a kiss on it.
Max feels too weak to object to the boy part, hoping she meant it as an endearment and nothing else. And somewhere deep down he understands their twenty years will sometimes cause her to refer to him as a boy. Max knows he’d better find the appeal in it. Or - if he's more honest - find the reasons why he'd ignored the appeal in it.
“I guess you’re opting out of breakfast?” Stella asks, stepping away from him.
Stella walks to the counter to pour herself a cup of tea. “I can make you a really weak one?” Stella offers, lifting her cup to him. “Chamomile? Something to settle your stomach?”
Max just shakes his head, wrinkling his nose, patting his pockets.
“Your coat is on the chair in the bedroom,” Stella smiles, reading him all too well. “And the door to the balcony is through there too.”
“No smoke then,” Max grumbles. “I doubt I’ll make it back up those stairs of yours.” He just rests his chin in his hands and closes his eyes, waiting for the aspirin to kick in.
“You should go back to bed,” Stella suggests, touching his face, and he opens his eyes. “If you feel the way you look right now that’s honestly the only place for you to be.” Stella curls her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand free, closing her own around it. “I don’t mind, you know. You can sleep as long as you want.”
When Stella throws him that soft gaze, the one with the little twinkle – the one that tells him how she feels about him – suddenly everything inside of him seems to collapse. Max felt like an over pulled bowstring for the past months, and now that he’s here, finally sensing something safe in Stella’s behavior, embarrassing though it is, he wants to just crash and cry and get this all-encompassing tightness out of his system.
“I’m upstairs,” Max mutters, getting up, pulling his hand away, making for the stairs as quickly as his tender stomach allows. For some reason, Stella understands that now is not the time to crowd him and he is infinitely grateful for it as tears are already squeezing their way out even before he’s reached the top of the stairs. Trying to ignore them as much as he can, Max undresses and curls up under the comforter, pulling it all the way over his head and then just let's go, sobs racking his battered body, hoping sleep will come and take him away sooner rather than later.
***
Stella naked when she crawls into bed with him, waking him up. Her hand slides across his chest, and he cracks an eye open.
“Afternoon,” Stella chuckles softly, locking her fingers around his upper arm, squeezing gently. “Feeling better?” He nods; he does feel better.
“Brought some water,” Stella continues, and he can tell she’s reaching for the bedside table. “Your stomach will be fine now.” Max sits up and takes the bottle from her, unscrews the cap and downs a good deal of it, realizing he’s completely ignored the thirst he woke up with earlier that morning.
“What time is it?” Max asks, putting the water bottle on the floor, pulling her close.
“Almost four,” Stella says with a wide smile on her face. “I got groceries, cleaned up, called Augustus, checked in on you every now and again. It was a good day, really, knowing you were up here in my bed.”
“So, what’s changed, then?” Max wants to know, running his hands down her body, resting them on her buttocks, pulling her on top of him.
“Not that much,” Stella admits. “It’s just that I’m tired of fighting what I can’t fight. It’s so goddamn obvious we need to be together. And I am still scared. I’m still old and full of unwanted baggage. I’m still unable to reproduce, and I’m still the one to ultimately leave you behind. These are never going to change and fighting them or pretending they’re not there won’t help. But more importantly,” and here Stella pauses for a few seconds, looking up and into his eyes. “I realize how much I’m hurting you. I find it hard to believe I let that happen for as long as I did because I could never hurt you – ever.” Stella kisses him. “You’re much too precious to me.” Stella kisses him again, longer this time; her body writhing under his hands and he can feel his cock stir. “Odds be damned,” she smiles, breaking away. “A good friend told me to live a little, and I guess I finally realized he had a point.”
“He?” It’s out of Max’s mouth before he can stop himself and he’s not too happy about showing her his possessive streak this early on. Stella smiles, though, and bites his bottom lip.
“Augustus,” Stella says and continues to explain what had happened the evening before that had caused her to finally ring him and persuade him to come home and give her another chance. Max nods his understanding, but the fact that it took Augustus to make her see sense is causing him to want to claim her harder than before.
“So,” Max starts, his voice a little hoarse, his legs locking her body against his, wriggling his hips. “You’re not going to kick me out then; tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after?”
Stella shakes her head, kissing him again, deep and wet – their mouths open and hungry – and his body’s responding violently. “Can we stop talking for a bit?” she asks, and Max must chuckle as he realizes how their roles seem to have reversed overnight.
“Why?” Max asks, his tone teasing. “Did you need your mouth for anything?”
Stella pushes up, shaking her head while she laughs her full, throaty laugh and he can feel his cock twitch against her behind. “Want me to blow you then?” she asks, crawling up, her soft, swollen lips against his. Max groans in answer, beyond proper speech with her blatant offer, but after a moment’s hesitation he flips her on her back and stares at her, pinning her wrists over her head with one strong hand.
“Later,” Max mutters. “I’m going to fuck you first.” He licks a broad stripe across the tender skin of her neck before biting her jaw, lowering his other hand to dip one, two fingers deep into her wetness, pushing her open. Sealing his lips over the pulse point in her neck, he sucks roughly.
“Marking me, are you?” Stella asks, breathing hard, freeing a hand to palm his cock, pulling it in short, determined bursts, causing him to add teeth to his lips sucking her neck.
“Always,” Max pants, breaking away. “You’re mine.” Max picks another spot, a little lower down her neck and repeats his actions.
“Be glad –” Stella breathes, pushing her body up against his, closing a hand over the fingers he’s slipping inside of her again and again as if to make sure they’re not going anywhere, “that he –”, Stella arches under his teeth that are angry on her collarbone, “made me see sense.”
I don’t want you to mention that man.
“Don’t talk about him,” Max grits out, removing his hand, licking his fingers. “Get a condom.” Stella reaches for the bedside table once more and manages to pull one out, toppling the box to the floor, sticking the condom between her teeth as she returns to his embrace. “Up on your knees,” Stella orders and tears the foil as she’s sitting up, rolling it on in a fluid motion.
“Up on yours,” Max counters once he’s caught his breath. “It’s about time you think of no one but me.” He has absolutely no clue where this degree of possessiveness is coming from suddenly, but Stella is on all fours faster than he can blink and her obedience is infinitely more arousing than anything else she’s ever said or done.
Pushing in is like the ultimate coming home, and Max grabs her hips so hard a distant part of his brain tells him she’ll have bruises later. That same part also informs him to take things slow, or he’ll finish before they’re really getting anywhere. Max thinks she might be calling him a boy on occasion, but he’ll make damned sure she won’t have any cause to call him that in bed. Concentrating on slowing his breathing helps, though, and when he lowers himself, covering her body, sucking and kissing the back of her neck, he's finally able to get into a rhythm that won’t rush him to the end too soon.
“Been a while,” Max breathes after a few minutes, everything already comfortably numb inside. “I’m afraid I won’t last very long.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Stella mutters. “We’ve got time.” She twists her head, and they kiss. “Plenty of time, you and me.” Max suddenly finds it hard to take her words at face value and pulls out, groaning as he does.
“Please turn around,” Max asks, waiting for her to move onto her back within the confines of his arms and knees. Stella looks at him, bringing up a hand to caress his cheek. “You mean that?” Max asks, and this time he does feel like a boy, what with all the unexpected insecurity kicking in, causing his stomach to lurch all over again.
“I mean that,” Stella answers and he thinks she holds fairly steady under his unrelenting gaze. “I do.” Stella reaches up, one hand in his neck pulling him down and she seals her mouth over his, licking into it, her hand moving up around his head and into his hair, her nails scratching his skull. “I do,” she repeats as they come up for air. Max catches himself biting his lip, always a sign of uncertainty, and she smiles watching it happen. “Please,” Stella says, sliding her hands down his back to pull him down in the cradle of her thighs. “Please trust me.”
Max nods as he continues his piercing stare, searching her eyes for anything insincere. When there’s nothing there, Max smiles, almost apologetically and hooks his arms under her knees, pulling her body closer, twisting her legs up. Stella wraps them around his waist, and he nearly comes on the spot as he watches her eyes glaze over when he enters her again in one smooth, slick move. “Oh, fuck, Max,” Stella moans and digs her nails into his shoulders. “Do it. Do it, please.”
As if I have a choice.
Max pushes in again, and this time the angle is a little less demanding, so he settles in for the long haul. The same possessiveness that caught him unawares a while ago rears its head again, this time thinking he won’t lose it prematurely like an inexperienced teenager.
“Good?” Max grits out, opening eyes that he hadn’t realized he’d closed. Stella is taut underneath him, her hair damp, her pupils shot fully to black, her nails digging deep into the skin of his back. It hurts in the best possible way and before Max can stop himself from telling her about all the things he likes and wants and needs, his treacherous mouth has already begged for her to scratch deeper, to pull closer, to fuck harder; and he drives in faster, her core wet and warm and – goddammit – so tight around him.
“Amazing,” Stella says, and his eyes shoot open again, realizing she’s, in fact, answering his question.
Max drops down, face between her breasts, and her arms come up around him. Stella is muttering his name over and over, and it’s taking his breath away, his climax trying to sneak up on him. Coming to a stuttering halt, he pulls out, forehead sweaty and slick against her breastbone, and she’s running her hands through his hair. “Easy, baby,” Stella whispers, her legs dropping to the side. “Get on your back.”
Stella lies down by his side, and they kiss, her hand on his hip pulling them close, his leg curling around hers. When they break apart, she kisses her way down his neck and his chest, her palm flat on his stomach. Stella grazes a nipple with her teeth before sitting up and moving on top of Max, holding him, guiding him in. It’s new for them, he’s dimly aware, they hadn’t yet gotten round to doing it this way, and he pushes into her slowly, experimentally.
“Knees,” Stella mutters, reaching behind and it takes a few seconds for him to catch on, pulling his knees up, feeling her fingers slide to the back of his thighs. When she starts moving he curses under his breath; it’s that fucking good. It doesn’t take Stella long to get back into the same rhythm they had enjoyed before but the angle is different again, and the urge to finish has diminished slightly. When Stella giggles he opens his eyes, again totally oblivious to the fact he’d closed them in the first place.
“What?” Max groans, hands roaming the side of her thighs all the way around to her bum, holding it as she moves down on him.
“You’re babbling,” Stella giggles some more. “It’s cute.”
“I’m not fucking cute.”
“You are cute, even while fucking.”
“Shut up.” Max can’t help a sheepish smile from dancing around his lips, though, and it takes the sting from his words. He runs his hands from her buttocks to her breasts, and he cups them lightly.
“We need to do this again,” Max mutters as he watches her boobs bounce against his hands and she chuckles.
“Can easily be arranged,” Stella breathes, a wide smile on her face. “Maybe finish this one first?”
“No,” Max grunts, moving his hips up against her downward movement, clearly snapping back to the here and now. “Not yet. Too good. Too. Bloody. Good.” Max utters the words in time with her movements, and she falls forward, hands on either side of his head, and they kiss, sloppy and wet. When she bites his bottom lip, they both shudder the feel of that traveling all the way down his body, causing his dick to twitch inside of her and his balls to draw up. “God, I’m gonna come,” he groans, pulling out just in time, wrapping his arms around her to flip them over one last time.
“You first,” Max mutters and pushes her legs up. Max dips down, nosing the soft skin of her thigh, fingering her clit to expose it and then sucks it roughly. It takes him only a little while to make her peak and push her over, and as she shakes against him, he drives into her one last time and stops thinking about it at last; finally allowing his body to succumb and take what it needs. Holding the back of Stella’s knees, pushing her thighs apart, he sits up on his knees to tower over her, and he fucks her, oblivious to the sounds she’s making, the things she’s saying, the world they’re spinning.
Max knows he's too loud about it, but he’s almost gone, almost, and the simple fact that there’s nothing to restrain him any longer once everything starts shutting down. It makes him greedy and fast and rough and raw and then it’s there and his body feels like this giant wave of liquid heat that incinerates everything – his thoughts, his senses, his fucking everything – and finally he’s there, collapsing on top of her, his thundering heart blocking out everything but the fact that this is home.