Almost a week had passed without seeing Max, although I heard from him through several mediums. Friday night had ended with Max and Jackson helping a very drunk Seph find his way home and Max staying over there, before they both headed to their parents for the rest of the weekend. I’d spent the weekend somewhere between the university, Jacob’s and trying to encourage my landlord to fix yet another leak in the roof. It was old water too and contained a certain smell that was both unpleasant and concerning. Jackson had suggested I may well receive an interim payment in the next week or two and if that was the case, I’d definitely be moving apartments.

“There’s a core chapter to read on the conversion of the Danelaw,” I said to my small bunch of first year history students, who were still all bright and shiny with their new stationery and youthful expressions. “We won’t be discussing it for the next couple of weeks, but it might be worth reading ahead, especially if you need to get the textbook from the library.” It was our second seminar and I was enjoying teaching again. I’d done a couple of years delivering the A-Level syllabus at a private college before starting my master’s degree and as much as I’d liked it, I preferred to lecture and lead seminars with undergrads.

“When do we start with tutorials?” one of the more confident students asked.

“In a couple of weeks. I’ll post a list of times on the forum and you can sign up to one that suits you. In the meantime, have a good evening.” I swept up my papers from the long table that took up the middle of the room and offered a smile. Sometimes students would want to talk after a seminar, to discuss aspects they’d found interesting or needed some help getting their heads around. This evening, most seemed keener to get to one of the nearby bars where some band was playing.

“Will we be in this room next week?” Jemima, a quieter, mousy looking student asked.

“No, the one next door. We’re alternating with one of the law faculty,” I said. “Long story.”

“Damn right.”

I turned to the doorway where Maxwell was standing, hands in his pockets. The man was sex personified as far as I was concerned and I wondered how obvious my reaction was.

“Has your seminar finished?” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall and realising that I’d overran by nearly half an hour.

“Some time ago. I decided to wait for you and when no one left I came and enjoyed the last twenty minutes of some historical shit.”

“That’s a very disparaging remark!” my mousy student said, almost out of the door herself. “And one that completely typifies lawyers.” She turned and walked and I figured she probably wasn’t going to listen to the band.

The rest of my students had gone; the building falling silent. “Busy week?” I said, knowing it was. He’d called me last night at ten thirty, still at his desk.

“Long. Productive. Tiring,” he said. “Better for seeing you. I wanted to see you earlier in the week but I knew what my diary was like.”

I nodded. “I haven’t stopped. I’ve covered two lectures and taken on another three seminars, plus one of the admin systems wasn’t playing so I’ve had to re-enter a job lot of data. It’s good to see you now though.”

“Are you busy for the rest of the evening?” he said, drawing a little closer. “Can I take you out for dinner?”

Despite over two weeks of communicating, we had yet to go out on a proper date. Some of that was arguably down to my decision that we should just be friends—and his agreement—so actually being out together for a planned meal, without his work colleagues or siblings, seemed like a huge step. One that made me slightly nervous. “I’ve nothing planned. Maybe somewhere casual though, otherwise I’ll need to go home to get changed.”

He eyed me a bit like a large cat would a small, already trapped and powerless mouse. “I need to take you to one of the balls at the law society and see what you look like properly dressed up,” he said. “Because right now, I’d be happy to be with you anywhere.”

I grinned, unpinning my hair partly for the effect but also because the pins were digging in my scalp. I wasn’t wearing anything other than office clothes; a pencil skirt and fitted sweater, with a pair of patent leather stilettoed court shoes and sheer black stockings. I tried not to look like a conventional history professor, liking clothes and fashion almost to the extreme, just one that was cheaply found in charity stores. I had a decent designer wardrobe—when it wasn’t being wrecked by rain—most of it being sourced from rich people’s charitable donations. “That’s kind of you, but I’m also starving and eating somewhere my nicest table manners aren’t required would be good.”

“There’s a good pasta place near my office. We can probably get a table there?” he said.

I wanted to drown in his eyes.

Nodding, I took the few steps I needed to be able to put my hands on his shoulders, feeling the taut muscle beneath his shirt. “Sounds good,” I said, his hands coming to my waist.

Footsteps, loud and impatient ones, broke the silence that hung in the building. We both turned towards the door as my half-brother attempted to strut in and I stifled a groan. I never needed my brother and his bossy attempts to control the aspects of my life he was concerned about: in this case, money.

“Victoria, this is absolutely abominable,” he said, finishing his strut just two feet away from where we stood. Max’s hand remained on the small of my waist. “I don’t know which shysters you’ve appointed as solicitors, but you have to see that this is both unfair and completely wrong of you.” He finally glanced at Max and rolled his eyes. “As your older brother I should warn you to look out for men who are simply after your money too.”

“I’m pretty sure that Max isn’t interested in my pitiful inheritance,’ I said, unable to stop a grin. “But thank you for warning me because some men would certainly be put off a relationship with me given your strangely protective approach.”

He clearly got the sarcasm in my tone, which was unusual so I did wonder if I’d laid it on a bit too thick.

“I think we should speak in private. God knows who you get yourself involved with nowadays.”

The slight shake I felt from Max’s hand told me he was fighting laughter, which was definitely the best response. “This is Maxwell Callaghan,” I said. “His brother, Jackson, is my solicitor. Max, this is my brother, Francis Davies-West.” My brother’s expression was one I wished I could photograph. “As you may have now worked out, Max isn’t interested in any money I may inherit.”

“Will inherit,” Max corrected. “Your solicitors confirmed today that there is no other will so the one that stands means Victoria inherits your grandfather’s estate in full. Given that you’ve already been paid money from the estate, the suggestion is that you don’t contest it else charges of fraud will be brought.”

His tone was relaxed and non-confrontational, but still my brother’s face drained of all colour.

“I don’t think here and now is the right place for you to be discussing it with me,” Francis said. “This is hardly proper—”

“Then why did you come here to find me?” I said, stepping forward from Max. “You knew I’d be here; my guess is that you contacted the history office this afternoon and fed them some story about needing me to sign something. If you think you’re going to guilt me into letting you have what Grandad left me, it isn’t going to happen and if you continue hounding me, I will get a restraining order against you.”

“I’m the only family you have left—”

“I’m not entirely sure you can call yourself family, seeing as you were trying to defraud me of rather a lot of money. You sold my grandfather’s house without my permission, something that should not have been done as that’s probably where I would’ve lived. The only times you’ve wanted to have anything to do with me is when it’s been of benefit to you,” I said, the words flying out of my mouth like mud from under a tractor’s wheels. Mud with a hell of a lot of cow shit in it.

“I can see there’s no use in reasoning with you,” Francis said, his usual ignore-everything-that-I-don’t-agree-with tone making an appearance. “I’m sure my solicitors will agree that the will needs to be taken to probate. I was his grandchild too and he would want to see me just as much supported as you have been. With all your tuition and the money you’ve saved living with him, it’s only fair that I should benefit just as much.”

“And you should consider the four hundred thousand and the fact that we’re not pressing charges for fraud what you benefit from,” Max said.

He stayed in situ, not even taking half a step towards Francis or trying to intimidate him in anyway, which made me shudder with something that was anything but fear.

“This isn’t the time or the place to discuss this, although you seem certain to do just that. You will leave and from now on, the only contact you have with Victoria will be through your solicitor. No more seeking her out, no more phone calls and no more messages. Everything has been logged and if it continues there will be a restraining order. Are we clear?”

Francis looked at me. “Are you really going to let him talk to me like that?”

“He’s being nothing but clear and polite, Francis, and for the final time, I am not discussing this with you,” I said, feeling waves of anger start to fire through me. I had a temper, as Max had discovered and it was being stoked more thoroughly than a steam engine’s fire. “I’m more than happy to pretend you don’t exist. You’ve been nothing but a gold digger for years. When Grandad was diagnosed the first thing you asked me was whether or not I knew if he had a will. Then you asked him the same thing. Where were you when he needed taking to the hospital for treatment? Where were you at the end?” The red mist started to descend and I knew that this wasn’t what was needed right now.

“I had a family to look after, Victoria. I didn’t have time to see to Grandfather as well,” Francis said, looking agitatedly at the door.

He couldn’t cope when I made him feel in the wrong.

“Grandad was your family and you have the time to deal with solicitors and make up wills, so why didn’t you have the time to make a phone call or pop in to see him once in a while? Maybe because you weren’t being paid for it, because let’s face it, all you’ve ever been concerned with is money. So, Francis, fuck you, because if you so much as come anywhere near me I will file a restraining order and if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m not obsessed with how much money I have, I’d be instructing my lawyer to have a fucking good look at what shit you’ve tried to tangle everything in to ensure you got what he left, even if he didn’t want to leave you a penny. He saw you for exactly what you are: a classless fuckwit who needed cash to keep his wife because his dick isn’t big enough!”

Francis gave me one last half-scared look and took off, heavy feet slapping the tiled floor outside the room. The solid wooden door slammed shut in what was hopefully a final ending to the altercation, to all the altercations.

Me and Max looked at each other, my final words still hovering in the now silent room.

“‘A classless fuckwit who needed cash to keep his wife because his dick isn’t big enough,’” Max said, his mouth twitching. “Did you really just call your brother that?”

“I’ve thought worse,” I said. “I really shouldn’t have said that to him, should I?”

“Why not?”

“Because of the will and everything,” I said, cursing my temper. Although it felt good when I let everything out, afterwards there was always the regret, the hangover of words spoken in the heat of the moment.

“And there’s a lot he shouldn’t be saying. You’ve nothing to worry about. He has plenty. You’re right, he really is a fuckwit, and you’re hot when you’re angry.”

His eyes burned into me causing goosebumps to erupt on my skin.

I laughed and shook my head. “Maxwell Callaghan, you have some weird fetishes clearly.”

His chuckle was deep and throaty. “You have no idea.” He put his hands back onto my waist, drawing me closer into him. “Are you okay? I know you’re like steel, but you shouldn’t have to put up with that from a fuckwit you’re related to.”

Resting the palms of my hands on his chest, I looked up at him: dark eyes, dark beard, mussed hair. The tops of his chest tattoos were just visible at the above his shirt. “I’m fine. You’re right with what you say, but I’m fine. I’ve dealt with him being worse than that without anyone to support me, so I’m glad you were here.”

His head dropped to the top of mine and I felt him nuzzle my hair. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Sometimes,” I said with a smile. “Sometimes I’m sweatpants and no make-up with a tub of ice cream and Chinese takeaway. I’m not beautiful then.”

“I’d have to see it to make an assessment.” His fingers started to explore my waist, creeping under my sweater. When I looked up at him he caught my lips with his, softly at first. I nipped gently, the fight still not dimmed, which made him growl. “I can never decide if you’re a gentleman or an animal,” I said, as his hands cupped my ass and then moved round to the front.

“If I was a gentleman I’d move my hands away like this.” He shifted them back to his sides. “Then I’d take you out to dinner. Then maybe back to mine for a glass of wine before taking you home.” He clenched his fists and then relaxed them, looking as if he was battling with himself as to which he wanted to do.

My hands stayed on him, running up and down his arms, committing the route of his muscles to memory in case this didn’t happen again. “I like the idea of you taking me,” I said, pulling his head down to mine and bringing him to my mouth. Our teeth clashed and he fought me for possession. His fingers went into my hair, before moving down my back and then under my sweater.

“Off,” he demanded, pulling away from me as he pulled my sweater up and over my head, leaving me in just a blue lace bra that pushed up my breasts and barely covered my nipples.

He didn’t excuse his gaze on my chest, bring his hands up to gently cup them, thumbs running over my already erect nipples. I moaned, my eyelids feeling heavy with desire. “I like you touching me,” I said. “I like you looking at me.”

“Good,” he almost whispered. “Because I’m going to do more of both.”

I expected him to drop his head and take a nipple in his mouth, but he didn’t. Instead, he slowed the action down and simply touched me through the lace, gently pinching, softly massaging. I was sensitive anyway and could almost orgasm through my breasts being played with and watching a man’s reaction to them. Watching his expression, hearing his breathing change made the wetness between my legs start to soak through my panties and I wondered if he could smell my arousal.

“Fuck, Victoria. I’ve never seen anything like you,” he said, his hands shifting to my back and unclipping my bra. I pulled it to the floor and watched him look, my own hands now occupied with undoing his shirt, exposing his chest and those tattoos.

He didn’t rush me, letting me look and touch and taste as I traced my tongue from his pecs down the centre line of his body to the top of his jeans where I pulled away, undoing his button and zipper, feeling his erection straining beneath the fabric.

“Your skirt,” he said,

My articulate lawyer was now reduced to fragmented sentences. Standing up and pushing my breasts forward slightly, I moved my hands around my back and unzipped the skirt which dropped immediately, leaving me in panties and stockings. Again, we allowed time to keep us, looking our fill.

I slid off my panties, kicking them and my skirt out of the way. I was bare and knew that my pussy was glistening with my juices. “I need you to fuck me, Max. Here. Now. Then we can fight over who gets this room instead.”

“Is this just your plan to get the other room on a full-time basis?”

“I’ll settle for this every other week. The table’s firmer.”

He dropped his trousers and underwear, stepping out of them and towards me naked, pre-cum like a diamond at the top of his cock. My legs separated and I backed myself towards the table where my students had been sitting less than half an hour ago, the notion of it arousing in itself.

“The front door’s still unlocked,” I said. “Someone could come in.”

“Then they’d get a show,” he said, reaching down to his jeans and taking out his wallet. “But they’ll know they can’t touch. That’s just me who does that.”

I rested my ass against the table, watching him put on the condom he’d taken from his wallet. “You need to start touching, Maxwell.” My hands cupped my breasts and I squeezed my nipples, my eyes closing. I would come quickly, the anticipation almost too much.

He was as close as he could be to me without touching when I opened my eyes.

“Is all this wetness for me?” he said, one finger trailing down my stomach to my clit.

“Yes,” I said, meeting his eyes. “You. I hope you’re going to make good use of it.”

His finger moved away abruptly and I crushed my thighs together, trying to create some relief for the desperation I now felt.

The laugh he gave was deep and throaty and full of sex and all the feels. “Lie back,” he said, one hand gently pushing me down, leaving my legs dangling. He kissed one nipple softly and moved over to nip the other. My fingertips dug into his back and he copied the trail his tongue had taken but this time continued to between my legs.

It took two flicks of his tongue on my clit and I came like thunder, deep and wild. He pushed inside me with his cock before my orgasm had finished, fully inside me in one thrust.

My cry was loud, partly with the sweet pain, partly at finally being filled.

“You good?” He stilled, letting me feel all of him on me.

“So good.” I started to rock my hips, needing him to move. “Teaching in this room won’t be the same.”

“You shouldn’t be thinking of teaching.” One shift of his hips and I wasn’t thinking of anything. He started slow, deep each time, his eyes moving between mine and my breasts which bounced as he thrust. “Pinch your nipples,” he told me and it took all the wits I had left to comply. “Does it feel good? My cock inside you?”

“Yes.”

I was rewarded with a deeper, slightly faster thrust.

“You look amazing under me like this,” he said. “Your pussy is so tight and warm and all I want to do is fill you up.”

“Do it,” I said, as his rhythm changed in tempo to shorter, faster pulses. He pulled me further down the table, allowing him to fully possess me. I could hear my moans, the rest of my body liquid and pliant, ready to come again around him.

“Fucking you is everything I thought it would be,” he said. “Once won’t be enough. Going to need to fuck you again, see my cock in your mouth, my come on your tits again. Have you tied to my bed so I can make you come only when I want.”

That was enough. My pussy clenched and my hips began to jerk. He held me steady, his face contorting as his own orgasm began and I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper within me and wishing there wasn’t a condom between us.

He called my name as he emptied himself, standing stretched and tall, our bodies conjoined. His eyes were on mine and his expression softened. When he relaxed he didn’t pull away as I expected him to; instead he bent down to kiss me, helping me to a sitting position and bringing me on to his knee, removing the space between our bodies so he could hold me close.

“I need to take you home,” he said. “To yours so you don’t have to rush. Then we can order Chinese and recover and I can have you again before morning. Let me wake up with you tomorrow.”

I rested my forehead against his chest, my breathing starting to settle, my body sated. “My place is a mess.”

“Then pack your stuff and stay with me.”

I wasn’t sure whether he meant for the night or forever, and in the aftermath of the sex we’d had, I wasn’t sure which I wanted.

We lay curled up in each other, which surprised me. Maxwell was all physicality and hard sex, his body primed to make a woman happy and his mouth full of dirty words. But now, now that we were both spent and tired, he’d wrapped me in his arms and shielded me from the rest of the world with him.

“I like how you smell,” he said, a whisper against my ear.

“I smell of you, so you should,” I muttered. His hand was on my hip, keeping my ass into his middle.

He chuckled, deeply and quietly. “Yeah, not lying, I like how you’ve just become my territory, but I like how you smell. It makes me feel happy.”

I turned so I could see him in the faint light that seeped through the thin curtains. “What else makes you happy, Maxwell Callaghan?” I touched his lips, ones that I knew the talent of.

“Work,” he said. “I really enjoy my job. Lecturing. My brothers and sisters. As much as they infuriate me, I wouldn’t swap any of them, even Seph.”

“What else? What do you like to do?”

“Lift weights, play rugby, take an intelligent woman out to dinner and listen to her talk. I’m not a complicated man,” he said.

My fingers had moved down to his chest, tracing the trail of hair across his pecs. He was beautiful and delicious, a raunchy day-dream come true.

“I don’t think you’re as simple as you make out. Tell me about your parents. What are they like?”

He laughed, a deep, melodic sound that rumbled like thunder.

“Marie is my stepmother. She’s amazing and the most foul-mouthed person I’ve ever met. My dad is like me: a workaholic who probably shouldn’t have had such a large family—he’s always been dedicated to his job.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t have both,” I said. “Sometimes it just takes a while to find that balance. You spend time with him now, don’t you?”

Max’s hand went up my back, cupping me towards him. “Yes. And more so when we were teenagers. But if we hadn’t had Marie, I think I would’ have screwed everyone up. I was changing Callum’s nappies at six years old.”

I moved my head and kissed his chest. “So you’re nothing like your father in that regard. Although you may be as brilliant a lawyer as him.”

“I could be terrible as a lawyer. How would you know?” he said.

“Google,” I responded, enjoying the feel of having him so close to me, radiating in the heat from his body. “I searched your name.”

His grin was of the shit-eating variety. “You were into me from the start, weren’t you?”

My hands were taking in as much as they could of his skin, learning by heart how every inch of him felt.

“I thought you were a cockwombling asshole, so yes, I googled you. Only when my friend Jacob told me to; he thought I needed to check you out a little more.”

“Did I live up to your expectations?”

“You exceeded them,” I admitted. “All three occasions. But I really need recovery time.”

He shifted onto his back and pulled me on top, so I was using his chest as a pillow. “I’ll take recovery time too,” he said. “You good with me staying over?”

“More than,” I told him honestly. “I like being with you.”

“Good,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “The feeling’s mutual.”

I drifted off to sleep, feeling happy and safe being held by a man who’d brought more passion and intensity out of me than I’d thought possible.