Pieces of Perfect (13 page)

But an even bigger part of me feared that this isn’t what he would say. That I was no more than the laundry list of others whose names had faded from his memory before they had any real chance to stake claim there. It was better not to press it any further than to risk completely blowing my ego to shit.

“I’m going to get us another round,” he said, effectively pulling me out of me head and back into the moment.
 

“No, you got the last one. I’ll go,” I replied, starting to move before he had a chance to stop me. As I walked, I noticed that the herd of teachers had thinned considerably. Now only a few were sprinkled here and there, deep in conversation with one another. The flock of females had left, probably off to find a virgin’s blood to drink or something.

“Can I have a tequila sunrise and whatever beer Mr. Samson is having?” I asked the bartender. As he handed me my drinks, I laid a $10 bill on the counter, telling him to keep the change. I put Max’s beer in front of him and sat back down with my own.

“So, why did you choose your former middle school as your image booster?” I hoped that this question would steer us back to comfortable ground.

“I liked Swift when I went there. And my agent said working with kids was always a winning option. Teenagers suck, so that left me with middle schoolers.”
Yup, this was the Max I could relate to.
 

As we drained our drinks, Max eyed me curiously.

“You wanna get out of here?” He smirked as he awaited my response.

“I thought you’d never ask,” I replied, already grabbing my coat and heading for the door.

*
              *              *

As I followed Max to his house, I pondered why, after all he had told me tonight, I was still overwhelmed with the need to fuck him? I practically ran out of the bar as soon as he hinted at continuing our private party elsewhere. Truth be told, he probably could have convinced me to fuck him at the bar, maybe even on it. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone with my thoughts for long. Max lived only about ten minutes away.

As I pulled into his driveway behind him, I was surprised by his house. I had expected some kind of extravagant, almost tacky thing in a gated community somewhere. But this was a simple two story house, made of brick with dark shutters. It had a two-car garage and a well-manicured lawn. We walked up the stone path and climbed two stairs to his front door. “You’re not afraid of big dogs are you?” was the only thing he had asked since we arrived, and it wasn’t until he opened the door and I saw two gigantic great danes galloping at me that the question registered.  

I ducked behind Max, trying to figure out if these dogs were friendly or not. Once it became clear that they were not going to eat me, I dropped down to my knees and began petting them excitedly. I
loved
dogs, but they were prohibited at my apartment complex.
 

“Well, I see I’m not the only male in this family who likes you.”

I ignored Max’s comment, unsure of how to take it. “What are their names?” I asked instead.
 

“The brindle one is Hercules and the tawny one is Achilles.”

“And you thought it was weird that I named my dog Charlotte? Why would you name this poor dog Achilles?”

“Because Brad Pitt was badass in that movie.”
Boys.  
“Do you want a drink?” Max asked as he walked further into his house. I followed him, looking around, taking everything in. The light colored hardwood floors contrasted with rich brown furniture. His house was tidy, with not a thing out of place except for a few dog toys sprinkled on the floor. He led me into the kitchen and motioned for me to sit at his glass table. The appliances were all stainless steel, and his cupboard doors were made of glass so that one could look into them. It was simple and modern. Very much like Max.
 

“I have beer and wine in the fridge. Or we can go downstairs. I have a full bar down there.”

“Wine works.” I usually had a rule not to mix my alcohols, but I always broke all the rules with Max anyway. Why stop now? He poured me a glass and grabbed himself a beer. I stood as he handed it to me.
 

“I’m giving myself a tour,” I said smiling, hurrying out of the kitchen before he could stop me. I left the kitchen and found myself in the formal dining room that housed only two large dog beds. I made my way back down the hall, toward the living room, where I had entered the house. As I passed the kitchen, I saw that Max was still there, sipping his beer as he leaned against his granite countertop.
 

I entered the living room and my eyes scanned the rest of the room that I hadn’t noticed when I first arrived. There was a huge flat screen TV mounted on the wall, as well as a pretty impressive surround sound setup.
Boys and their toys.
 

Then
, I walked over to a glass display case. It housed all of Max’s hockey awards, including an all-star medal and an MVP plaque. I wondered what it must be like to be so good at something. His walls were bare, except for a few framed pictures of people I didn't recognize next to the display case (
family maybe?
) and a menagerie of framed pictures on the wall behind one of his couches. I moved closer, trying to get a better look at what they were of, when I stopped in my tracks, completely surprised.
 

I reached out with my hand to touch the frames.
Had Max taken these?
That was a stupid question; clearly he had. I processed the photos slowly: a picture of the Swift Middle School sign in front of the building, pictures of the boys on his hockey team practicing and goofing around in the weight room, a few shots with Max and some of the teachers (
I hadn’t even known he’d been friendly with any of the others)
, and there were some of me. One captured me teaching. He must have taken it from the hallway. And another of me from the side.
When had he taken that?
The last was one we had taken together at lunch about two weeks ago. We were making silly faces, trying to mimic the self-portraits the kids are always taking.

As I stared at them, I felt my skin prick to life, sensing him before he actually touched me. When he did make contact, his touch was soft, affectionate, caressing. My nipples immediately hardened as my mind reeled. Should I feel awkward that he had these pictures of me hanging in his house? Perhaps I should have, but I didn’t. My feelings were actually leaning in the opposite direction. I had never felt more aroused by Max. And that was really saying something.

He took my drink from my hand and put it down on a table somewhere beyond my senses. He was then behind me again, splaying his right hand over my taut stomach, gently pulling me against him, his erection hard against my ass. He nuzzled my head to the side as he began showering my neck with short, sweet kisses. I began to grind against him slowly, eliciting a deep exhale from this god among men.
 

Our pace quickened, his kisses became harder, more passionate as I pushed myself into him. I could already feel my orgasm building despite his barely having touched me yet. He lifted my shirt, pushing my bra up with it as he cupped my breast and massaged it with a force that only he could make sensual. My left hand reached behind him, found his hair, and ravaged it, pulling and stroking it with the same rhythm that the throb deep in my pelvis had.
 

Suddenly, he put both of his hands to my waist and turned me toward him, hoisting me up, his hands firm on the backs of my thighs. I kept grinding into him, needing to feel his full length. He thrust his tongue into my mouth as the slow, soft Max disappeared and was replaced by this wild, commanding one. I knew then that this was why I craved Max so intensely. I didn't have to offer myself to him. He just took. And God, did I love being taken.
 

It took me a moment to realize that we were moving. And as my back felt the wall, I arched against it, bringing it into our erotic exchange. Max pulled back from me for a single moment. He looked at me, seemingly into me, and
told me all that I needed to know. I was the one he could change for, would change for, if only I gave him that chance.  

But I was too high on my need for him to do anything other than pull him back to me. His mouth went to my neck, frenzied and full of fire as he kept one hand under my ass for support and raised the other to begin loosening the buttons on my pants. My hands groped for his zipper, unable to stand the distance these clothes caused. He lowered me just long enough to pull my pants off and step out of his own.
 

His length sprung free and pushed at my panties, trying to breach the soft barricade that separated us. I threw my arms in the air and pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor as Max began to carry me up the stairs. We made it about halfway before he lowered me again, laying me on the stairs. He knelt between my legs, quickly removing his shirt before putting his hands to my panties. He lowered them with such slowness, I wasn’t sure where he had found the restraint. I moaned at his erotic action as my own hands rushed to my breasts, pulling my nipples, unable to quell the beckoning of my skin for contact.
 

Max then crashed down upon me, leaving no shred of skin without the moisture of his tongue. His cock was at my opening, the tip gaining entrance
and then being hurriedly removed. I wanted, needed, to feel the fullness of him. I groaned in anticipation of his thick, hard cock plunging into me, forcing me to stretch to accommodate him. I rocked my hips into him, trying to force him inside, but he pulled back. I groaned again, my heightened senses becoming too much to withstand.
 

He lifted me skillfully, with a grace possessed only by one who has done this before. I pushed that thought to that back of my mind, not wanting to dwell on the inevitable truth: Max had fucked on every known surface of the planet. But I didn’t care about that in this heated moment. All that mattered was that he was currently exploring my surface, navigating me with efficiency and patience.
 

My mouth devoured him as we moved, our destination unknown to me. One of his hands continued to support me while the other reached up and applied pressure to the nape of my neck, causing my head to loll back, giving him greater access to the soft flesh there
 Suddenly, I felt my world shift as my eyes found the ceiling and my back felt the smooth coolness of his comforter. He lowered us both onto his bed, managing to maintain our closeness as his kisses moved to my breasts. His teeth toyed with my nipples, elongating them, inflicting that brutal balance between ecstasy and anguish.
 

I was his in this moment. He possessed me fully and without apology. My attention focused on his every movement, every moan, every brush against my skin. I doubted whether I would ever be able to walk away from this. I lay there, hypnotized by the sexual power he exuded. I wanted to taste it, feel it, suck it from his cock and let it flood me. I finally gave him what I knew he wanted.
 

“Please, oh God, please,”

My voice was hushed and raspy, raw with the need that quaked between my thighs. But he didn’t respond,
nor did he enter me as I so desired. Instead, he raised his eyes to me, telling me that it wasn’t enough.
 

“Oh God, I want you so badly. Please. Oh, please. Max.” The uttering of his name was enough and he thrust into me, forcing me to take all of him. His hands fell to either side of my head and my own roamed his body, scratching his back, pushing down on his hips to increase his speed. He then lifted one arm at a time and captured my hands in his, pinning them by my head. He continued to pound into me as my own wetness coated him, allowing him to slide without friction or resistance. I arched my hips as my clit begged for more stimulation. He lowered himself slightly, as if sensing my need, so that his pelvis gave me the contact I craved.

He plunged deeply once more and my climax peaked. The euphoric climbing ended as I reached my destination. An uncontrollable spasm ripped through my body, causing all parts of me to clench and prohibit any further movement. He had spent me thoroughly. I yelled my satisfaction, unable to keep it inside my body. Max grunted, a sound full of heady desire, as he expelled his passion into me. He then crumpled atop me, both of us panting from this incredibly demanding and satisfying sexual experience.
  

I don’t know how long we lay there, our limbs tangled together, soft kisses floating from our already sore lips. But I was suddenly overcome with the need to get up. I told myself that it was because, if we kept kissing, he was going to have to take me again. And physically, I didn’t have it in me.
 

But it was more than that, deeper. Our encounter had been intimate, too full of meaning and blurred lines. I had to escape from it, get away from the tantalizing scent and feel of Max Samson.