Power to the Max (18 page)

She pushed back along his legs, and his hands trailed down her arms. She took him in hand, but couldn’t resist a short, quick pump. His hips surged, and cum beaded in the tiny crevice. Her mouth watered. She wanted to taste him so badly and had no clear idea why she didn’t bend down to lick it off. Except that the condom had taken away ... something. She was practiced and sure in the operation, and he couldn’t help but know that.

He held her hip with one hand, positioned her over his cock. “Fuck me, Max, if that’s all you can do.”

She slammed down onto him, wet enough to take him all the way, hitting high in that first thrust. She almost came. He groaned and broke skin with his nails in her butt.

“Jesus.” He gulped air.

Impossibly hot and hard, he pulsed inside her. She relished the feeling. “Was that good?”

“You are definitely going to be the death of me.”

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the pillow beside him. He plunged, his thighs tensing beneath her. She closed her eyes and moaned with the impact.

“You want me to ride you or do you want to try to do all the work?” Max didn’t care which he chose. He felt too damn good either way.

“Make me come. I don’t give a fuck about heaven this time. I want to come inside you.”

Her body moved on its own. She leaned low, pushing back and bringing her clit in contact with his wiry pubic hair. Just enough friction inside and out. Her nipples grazed his chest. His hands flexed her butt, squeezing her tight around him on every downslide. She swiped at his throat with her tongue, bit his shoulder, licked a bead of sweat from his forehead, taking him in any way she could get him without losing the hard rhythm.

The bed creaked. Witt groaned. Max panted. He throbbed inside her, slamming hard, and she knew when he rolled his head back into the pillow that he was about to shoot.

She let go, came with him, taking his mouth with hers, milking his cock with her pussy. Contracting around him, she stole his essence, wringing it from him. She tasted blood on her tongue and reveled in the sting of his nails breaking flesh again.

She climaxed with the power of his cry against her lips.

The bed was too short for Witt’s long legs and too narrow for the two of them. Sometime in the night, he gathered Max in the blankets and settled on the braid rug covering her bare floor. She fell asleep cradled to his chest, his big arm around her shoulders. She’d never felt quite so secure.

A jay squawked outside the window a little before first light, and she woke submerged with Witt in a bundle of bedclothes on her bed. He’d managed to settle her while she slept. Talk about feeling safe and secure, she hadn’t even felt him make the move. His deep breath fanned her hair. She’d spooned with him in her sleep, and now, with the cleansing scent of a fresh morning breeze through the open window, she pushed back against him, gently rotating her hips. He was asleep. He’d never know. She could luxuriate in the feel of a man in her bed.

A hard man. His cock rose along the crease of her backside. Max stopped playing and held her breath, afraid she’d wake him if she moved again. She wanted this time for herself, when she didn’t have to worry about keeping up any barriers.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured in her ear.

Darn. She’d woken him, and his warm breath was making her all gooey and hot. “I wasn’t doing anything,” she said.

“Then you musta been dreaming about doing me.”

“I most certainly was not.”

She tried to shuffle away. He bound her to him with his arm across her belly, his fingers splayed just above her mound. This time he rotated against her. “Nice way to wake me up. Other nice things we could do, too, since it isn’t even light out yet.”

“You have to go home and change for work.”

“I have to do something to keep you remembering me all day.” He slipped his index finger to her clitoris, rocking gently at her back with his cock while massaging her sensitive sex. “Open your legs.”

“Witt.”

“You argue too much. Open up.”

He was right, and his touch was too good to argue with. She raised her leg and hooked it behind his knee.

“Ah yeah. Are you always this wet in the morning?” He slid deep, breaching her with two fingers.

She moaned. “Are you always this hard in the morning?” It was sort of amazing after the wild time they’d had last night.

“Your influence. Perpetually hard around you.”

She pushed her head back against his shoulder as he gave her clitoris a particularly delicious swipe.

“God, I want to fuck you. Again. I can’t get enough.”

But she liked the slow tantalizing thrill of his fingers, too, the rhythm of his body as he pumped lightly along the crease of her butt.

“Not gonna do it, though.” His voice was just a husky breath caressing her throat.

“Why not?” Darn. She shouldn’t have asked. It shouldn’t matter. At least she didn’t want him to think it did.

“I like living on the edge, with thoughts of you spread out on my kitchen table. A smorgasbord.” He worked her clitoris as he spoke, keeping her on the edge, making her hotter and wetter, but never increasing the pace, holding off on the final burst.

She loved it.

“But how can you concentrate at work?” When she was hot and horny, she couldn’t even use her ten-key adding machine without screwing up the numbers.

“Makes me more alert, more aware. Things are clearer. Scent and sight and sound are sharper.”

She stretched, feeling every inch of his flesh along her body, his coarse hair tickling her calves and thighs, smooth skin caressing her back, taut nipples teasing her shoulder blades, and his persistent erection at her ass, sliding in droplets of pre-cum. Reaching back, she pulled his mouth to the curve of her neck.

He sucked on her, teased her flesh with a love bite, then he whispered, “Don’t come.”

“I don’t think I can help it.” Her body oozed moisture, coating his fingers and creaming her thighs.

He dipped into her channel, easing the pressure on her clitoris. The near orgasm slipped away, and though her body still vibrated, the terrible need softened to a heated buzz between her legs.

“Stay on the edge with me,” he coaxed.

“You’re a tease.” She had to admit she’d done her fair share of teasing, and even without the clitoris massage, his fingers inside her felt awfully nice. Exceptionally pleasing.

“I promise it’ll make the next orgasm so fucking fantastic.”

Damn. He was trying to set her up to beg for it the next time. Yet, the offer was incredibly enticing. “What about you? I thought men couldn’t hold off.”

“Control, sweetheart. A man can’t let his body get the better of him.” For effect, he pumped the crease of her butt with a sure hard stroke, releasing more daubs of pre-cum. But he didn’t climax.

Hm. Control. She sort of liked the idea of Witt being out of control. Not that Witt was a control freak, but she’d never seen him completely lose it. Not even when he fucked her and cried out. He didn’t hold back, but she didn’t think she drove him totally out of his gourd either.

Maybe he didn’t want her again so soon after last night. He might have an erection, but maybe he just didn’t feel like getting all worked up again.

“I think you’re full of crap,” she said. “You just can’t get it up right now.”

He flexed his very up-n-at-‘em cock between her butt cheeks. The slippery tip rimmed her, almost sliding right in just as he swiped her clitoris with his roughened finger. Max gasped and climbed ten steps towards the orgasmic pinnacle before he backed off again, resting his hand just above her mound. Heat suffused her body. Her muscles tensed. Her nipples ached. Her very core throbbed. If she moved, she would come.

But Max fought off the orgasm. The sensations were delicious. He was right, everything felt ... more, just more.

“This is an experiment,” she said, her voice sounding breathless. She fought for air. No, no, she wasn’t going to sound like she was out of control. “That’s the only reason I’m going along with your crazy talk.”

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against her back. “Trust me, Max.”

He was always saying that, about everything. And damned if she didn’t trust him. He’d show her a good time, that was for sure. But what promises or admissions would he extract from her in the process?

She was terrified to admit she might give him everything he wanted. Now that was a very scary thought. Max sat up. “It’s getting late.” Yeah, the sun was just peeking over the horizon. She could see it through the tree branches outside her window. “Don’t you have to go change clothes or something?”

He stroked her hair back from her face and kissed her temple. “Yeah. Stay on the edge while I’m gone, ya hear.”

He felt just too darn good pressed to her back. She didn’t move, not even when he climbed from the bed. Behind her, his clothes rustled, his belt buckle chinked, and the chair groaned as he presumably sat to put on his shoes. God, how she missed hearing those sounds every morning.

“Good-bye, Max.”

He was gone before she focused on the word.
Good-bye.
Not
see you later
or
I’ll call you
. What did that mean? She hated good-bye. He hadn’t even kissed her one last time.

He’d have to come back. He promised her a fucking fantastic orgasm, and Witt was a man of his word. Besides, he was addicted. He’d admitted that.

But when addicts hit rock bottom, the only way back up was a twelve-step program and cold turkey off the drug of choice. Witt was the kind of man who would kick the habit with a vengeance when he set his mind to it. She wondered how far she’d have to push before he reached the bottom of his endurance.

Dammit, she had better things to think about. Make that easier problems to contemplate. Like what Cameron had suggested last night. She forced her mind away from Witt and what he might or might not mean. Business. It was time to get down to business.

Baxter Newton a murderer? It was certainly possible. In the past two months, Max had learned that just about anyone was capable under a peculiar set of circumstances.

What bothered Max was that Bud Traynor had led her right to Baxter. It automatically indicated there was far more going on. She had no more trust for Bud than she would for ... her uncle. Or the men who’d killed Cameron, all three of them, but especially not the big one, the ringleader with steel-toed boots capable of breaking her ribs.

So what was going on between Baxter Newton and Bud Traynor? Why did Bud want him out of the way? And was there any truth at all in the things Bud had told her?

Max pondered the issue for ten minutes. Then she went out like a light, the transition between sleeping and waking so abrupt that she wasn’t even aware of drifting in that intervening state.

She woke an hour later, hot and wet with memories—or were they dreams—of Witt teasing her clitoris. Her breasts felt heavy and achy, her sex slick and well-used, and her flesh flushed. Pleasant. Nice. Alive. Witt was right. Living on the edge felt good. She could move mountains feeling like this.

She could vanquish a killer.

Calling Sunny, Max told her not to worry and not to look for another job yet. Yes, she’d be okay for money, no, she wouldn’t have to sell her car, her one remaining asset, to survive, and thanks for caring. Sunny was a sweet blonde doll. Maybe someday, Max could stretch that description to include friend.

She called Julia La Russa, apologized for not returning the call yesterday and invited herself over at ten o’clock. Since Bud had driven, she was still a bit unsure of the route despite her concentration, so she left early in case she had problems and arrived at a quarter to ten, apologizing to Julia once again.

Julia had draped herself in a cloud of black chiffon, another full skirt, the neck of this outfit high and fastened with an ivory Cameo. Her cheeks rouged, lips glossed and lined, the ineffectually concealed dark circles beneath her brown eyes spoke to a sleepless night. Her body odor was slightly off, not offensive, merely off, reminding Max of old ladies, hospitals and musty old houses with too many knick-knacks that couldn’t be dusted.