“Because I should’ve seen the signs. I can’t believe I was so stupid to not see something was up. I thought we were pretty good together.” He laughs. “You have no idea what that does for a guy’s self-esteem. The woman I was planning on spending my life with was into girls, and I had no fucking idea.”
“People who have something to hide are experts at keeping that side of themselves secret,” I say. “What I love about you is you went all in, barriers down for her. Why would you question her love for you? Who wants to be in a relationship where you’re analyzing every little detail, wondering if there is another meaning to it?”
“What you love about me?” He grins. He sits back and turns to face me, his eyes sparkling.
My face heats up. I can’t work out if he’s being serious or winding me up.
“It’s a figure of speech,” I say dryly.
“Is that all it is?” he asks softly.
I swallow hard as his hands edge closer to my face. His fingers gently stroke along my cheek. I sigh, my heart racing at the feel of his touch. He leans closer, his eyes not leaving mine. I can barely breathe, but I don’t move. The only thought running through my mind is how much I want to feel those lips brush against mine.
I lean forward and initiate the kiss. His lips brush against mine and a rush fills my body. I sigh as his fingers caress the side of my face, his deep blue eyes penetrating mine, as though they’re looking for a sign to continue. Closing my eyes, I move my hand to the back of his head, where my fingers roam his soft hair as I pull him gently toward me. Our mouths connect, this time with more urgency, leaving him little room to doubt what I need from him.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he breathes, his soft kisses trailing down my neck.
My heart pounds like it’s beating out of my chest. I want him so badly right now it takes all my resolve to slow myself down and think about things.
Do I want this? Am I ready for this? I’m honestly not sure of the answers, but I know if I don’t try, I’ll regret it.
In response to his question, I reposition myself so I’m sitting in his lap, his strong hands on either side of my thighs. My body grinds against him, his erection becoming very apparent. I bite my lip trying to hide a smile, loving that I turn him on so much.
As he kisses me again, his fingers work my shirt up over my stomach, his warm skin electric against my own. He lifts the shirt over my head, disposing of it on the floor. Next he reaches behind me and unclips my bra—faster than I could do myself. I narrow my eyes, wondering how many times he’s done this before.
He chuckles as if he can read my mind, and brings my face down for another kiss. The moment those lips press against mine, all my concerns disappear. It’s just me and him—there’s nobody else to think about.
Gently, he rolls the straps of my bra down over my arms, tossing it onto the floor with my shirt. He admires my form, naked from the waist up, his fingers gently trailing over the soft skin of my stomach.
I’ve never felt so exposed, yet strangely I love it. I love the way he looks at me, like nobody else in the world could satisfy his desire. When his hands cup my breasts and he slowly massages them, I groan, an unfamiliar buzz pooling in the pit of my stomach.
“Stand up,” he whispers.
I do so and he sits forward, slowly unbuttoning my jeans, not taking his eyes off mine. I feel the unmistakable sensation of my jeans rolling over my thighs and I shiver with anticipation and nerves about what I know is coming next. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
He stands up and pulls my body against him, his hands firmly clutching my ass. I squeal as my feet leave the safety of the ground, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m in his arms.
He marches down the hallway with purpose as I wrap my arms around his neck. We move into his bedroom, where he gently lays me down on his bed.
“You’re lucky it was laundry day,” he smirks, stroking the hair away from my eyes. “And that I could be bothered changing the sheets.”
I laugh, his joke calming my nerves as my fingers work their way under the confines of his T-shirt, my hands running over his warm, sculpted chest.
With one hand, he lifts it over his head and tosses it through the air. He positions himself between my legs and props himself up on his arm so he can shrug his way out of his sweatpants.
I whimper softy as his hardness presses against my thigh. My body aches for him, but my mind is a mess of conflicting thoughts that I’m struggling to turn off. His lips meet mine again, his smell intoxicating. My heart craves him but my head is screaming no. Pushing him away, I sit up, my body shaking.
I’m a mess. I’m a fucking mess.
“What is it? Are you okay?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me. I shrug him off, even his touch too much for me at the moment.
“I can’t do this,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t…”
“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers. I jump up and start searching for my clothes. All I know is I have to get out of here. Tears stream down my face as I search frantically for my shirt.
“Kiara, look at me.” He stands in front of me now, his hands around my arms, pulling me upright. My face rises and our eyes meet. The pain feels so raw, and the understanding in his eyes makes me feel worse. “Don’t go. We don’t have to do anything, but I don’t want you leaving like this.”
“How can I stay?” I whimper. I shiver, my knees buckling under me. He lifts me into his arms and carries me over to the bed, covering me with the sheets. I don’t fight it. I’m too tired to fight. Climbing in next to me, his body presses against mine, his arms wrapped protectively around my naked waist. Slowly, the panic begins to pass. The room is silent, apart from the sound of my heavy breathing. Max kisses the back of my neck, not saying a word.