Chapter 22

Chapter 22
Max

Holy fucking breasts, was the first thought that went through Max’s head when he picked up Angie that evening.
She’d opened the door to her apartment, and his eyes had drifted from her gorgeous face straight down to her gorgeous—
Yes, he was a pig.
But fuck her breasts were amazing.
“I like your dress,” he said, forcing the pig-like tendencies aside and returning his gaze back to Angie’s. “You look beautiful.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s not too much for the movies?”
“Fuck, no,” he told her. “Especially because it means I get to try and sneak a look down your dress all night.”
Her lips curved. “You already did that.”
“And, believe me, I’m definitely not tired of that view.” He bent slowly, giving her time to tell him to back off. That him moving close was too much too soon. Or maybe too presumptuous, despite what had happened in his car last night. But Angie didn’t move. Instead, she rose on tiptoe, drifting toward him. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said, mouth brushing his again as she spoke.
“Hi.” Nonsensical, but Max found that he didn’t have the strength to step back. Not when she tasted so sweet, and he could smell the soft floral scent of her. Not when her skin felt like silk beneath his fingertips.
“Hi,” she said, eyes sliding closed when their mouths brushed one more time. He cupped her cheek. “We’re idiots.”
“I don’t think I care.”
He kissed her again.
And not a soft, teasing brush of mouths. Instead, this time, Max made the contact count. He slipped both hands into Angie’s hair and tugged her close, slanting his lips across hers and kissing her deeply.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth, making him groan with pleasure, and those glorious breasts pressed against his chest.
Fuck the movie.
He needed Angie naked and under him.
Alarm bells blared to life in his mind, and he started to pull away, to wrestle himself back under control. But when he slipped his hands from her hair, Angie grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked his mouth back down to hers.
Heat slid down his spine, tightening every muscle in his body, along with his cock.
Max let his tongue tangle with hers, allowed himself a few more moments of pleasure before he tugged Angie’s hands free of his shirt and stepped back.
His chest heaved like he’d gotten stuck on the ice, desperate for a change.
But this wasn’t anything like the torture of having to push through exhaustion, trying to suck in oxygen while his legs and lungs were burning, frantically trying to make a play so he could streak to the bench and get a break.
Instead, this was the best sort of exertion.
Of course, his was cock was hard enough to hammer nails, but he’d never felt more alive or exhilarated. Every nerve ending pulsed with need and awareness and fuck, he wanted her.
But he also knew he didn’t want to fuck this up.
Which was all well and good until she released one hand from his shirt then reached down and grabbed his cock.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned.
“Max?” she asked, stroking him through the cotton of his slacks.
He would be lying if he’d said his response was intelligible. The best he could say is that some sort of strangled sound emerged from between his lips.
“I have an idea,” she said, releasing him to stroke her fingers up his chest.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah?”
She rose on tiptoe, stretching to whisper in his ear. “Yes.”
“What’s that?”
Her tongue flicked out. “Come inside, and maybe I’ll show you.” She turned and walked back into her apartment, hips swaying.
Max followed because while he might be a lot of things, an idiot wasn’t one of them. Angie stopped a few feet inside the door, turning to face him, and fuck but he’d missed the fact that her dress was short and her legs were on full display.
And on her feet were fuck-me pumps with . . . droids on them.
His lips curved. “R2 is where I want to be.”
“Uh”—her eyes flashed down to her shoes then back up—“what?”
He closed the door, striding over to her. Angie held her ground, chin rising, but the nearer he got, the more quickly her breaths came, and the pinker her cheeks got. “I don’t have a foot fetish,” he murmured. “I want to be here.” He brushed a finger over the dip in her dress, the lightest touch just between her breasts where the little blue and white droid sat.
“The . . . uh—” She sucked in a breath when he stroked the back of his knuckles there. “The whole dress is R2.”
“I know.” He nuzzled her neck. “I’m jealous of all of them.”
Her hands came up and held him close when he kissed his way up and behind her left ear. “You like my”—a moan when he nipped the sensitive spot there—“my shoes too?”
Those heels.
Four-inch blue stilettos.
Hot as hell.
Her whole outfit was pure Angie—sweet and sexy with a little nerd thrown in and . . . it turned Max on like nothing else ever could. He loved that she was intrinsically herself. That she loved what she loved and didn’t apologize for it.
He laced her fingers with his, allowed himself one more nuzzle of her neck before straightening. “I love them,” he said. “But we should go if we’re going to make our dinner reservations.”
“About that,” she began.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hand. “What did you want to show me?”
White teeth nibbled on pale pink lips.
Max’s cock went even harder.
“Nothing. Well, that’s not—it’s something.” She sighed, pushed back her hair with her free hand. “I’m so freaking awk—”
“Why did you ask me to come inside your apartment?”
Her cheeks flared red-hot. “Well, I mean, even though this is technically date one, I do feel like we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few weeks, what with us talking every night and the emails, then that day at the vet with Sparky.” She shrugged. “That’s not even including everything that happened last night . . .”
“Yeah?” he prompted when she trailed off.
“Ugh, I’m so bad at this.”
Max had been following the conversation with anticipation, though that was quickly transmuting into fear. Had he pushed too much? Fuck, he knew Angie’s backstory, he should have been more respectful, slowed everything way down.
“You’re not,” he told her. “You get to set the pace. You’re in charge.”
The blush dimmed. “Yeah?”
He nodded. “Yes. I mean it, too. I’m sorry if I moved too fast. This is all about you—”
Mischief crept into those pretty brown eyes. “Max?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to know what I was really thinking when I invited you inside?”
“Of course, I do.”
“I was thinking about how much I wanted you to come”—he frowned, wondering if nerves were making her repeat herself. Then he heard the rest of her words and they froze him in place, rocking him to the core—“inside of me.”
Max blinked, stunned stupid.
Her blush picked up again. “I—uh—never mind. It’s—”
What was that about not being an idiot before? Well, stupid was apparently a different story because it took him precious seconds to gather his wits and react.
He snagged Angie’s wrist when she turned away and he stepped close, her back to his front. His cock ached, every cell in his body screamed at him to lift up her dress, drop to his knees, and make her scream out his name.
Instead, he traced gentle fingers down the bare skin of her arms, loving the way she shivered, how goose bumps prickled to life there. “Are you sure?” he asked softly.
She inhaled shakily, ass shifting and brushing his dick, making stars shoot behind his lids.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.”
And so, Max did what he’d been dreaming about since the previous summer, the fantasy that had been swimming in his mind from the moment he’d seen Angie in her dress.
He spun her around and kissed her with every ounce of his desire.