My breath lodges in my throat, but I manage to whisper, "Yes."
"I need to hear you say it." He stares down at me, locking his eyes on my mouth. "Say, Max, I want you to sleep next to me tonight."
"Max, I want you to sleep next to me tonight." The words are uttered softly, because I'm completely breathless. His eyes are still focused on my lips, making my pulse drum in my skull.
"Good." He nods towards the house. "Go upstairs. I'll meet you up there."
I climb out of the car and race towards the house. I can feel his eyes on me. Once I'm inside, I sneak up the stairs and into my room. Shutting my door softly behind me, I press my back to it and stand like a statue for a few moments, trying to catch my breath.
Max Butcher is going to sleep in my room tonight.
Oh my God!
Rushing into the ensuite, I quickly throw water on my face and brush my teeth like a machine. I run around my room, grabbing clothes, and then change into my pyjama shorts and tank top. My reflection catches my eye and I stare at myself. My cheeks are flushed and my hair is messy around my shoulders.
A sudden knock at my window draws my attention, and oh my God, Max is at the window. He must have climbed up the lattice.
I stare at him for a moment, the magnitude of this moment settling inside me. First, I kiss Luke. Max acts like a damn caveman, and now he's here. Should I be nervous? Not excited-nervous, but fearful nervous?
He frowns at me through the glass. "Open up."
Walking over to the window, I slide it open. As he pushes the screen in and climbs through with little exertion, I step back.
And now he's standing in front of me, in my room and intimidating as hell. I crane my neck to watch him take in my most personal space. He looks out of place amongst the white furniture and overly feminine décor. This feels strangely intimate. I think he almost grins.
He peers down at me and lifts a hand to my face, brushing one of my blonde waves over my shoulder. My eyelids grow heavy as his warm knuckles stroke my cheek.
"Go to sleep," he states, but it isn't a suggestion.
I crawl into bed as he kicks off his shoes. Under the false sense of safety the sheets give me, I watch him pull his shirt off and unbutton his jeans before sliding them down his legs. I gasp. He is so fricking beautiful.
He leaves his clothes sprawled out across the carpet, and they improve the space—a lot. I like them there.
He walks towards me in white boxer shorts that leave very little to the imagination; the form of his penis beneath them is a large bulge that moves under its own weight. Muscles cut up his physique, creating definition on every inch of skin. The sight of him is uncomfortable. It's hot tingles. An uneven heart rate. It's breathlessness. I scoot over and he slides in beside me. As he lies on his back, frowning at the ceiling, I stare at his profile.
"I thought you were going to take me to your house," I admit, resting my face on my hands and trying to pretend I'm unaffected by his presence.
You're failing, Cassidy.
"So did I." He pauses for a moment with his thoughts. "It's not a good idea."
"I seem to hear that a lot from you."
"That's because when it comes to you, it's true."
"I don't get it. You seem to like me." I search his face for emotion and feel a spike of panic when he doesn't respond. The silence between us is crushing me. "Well, at least I think you do." He clenches his jaw. "What are you thinking about, Max?" I press.
He exhales. "I'm thinking about that fucking sound." He looks at me and his eyes thin. "The one you made when he had his cock pressed between your thighs. And I'm thinking about how he's probably thinking about it too while he rubs one out."
I breathe out fast. "Max."
"Should've broken his hands."
Be mindful of the company you keep
I waketo the sound of Toni barging into my room. "Eeee, I need to check my panties!"
As he charges into the bathroom, I slowly sit up and rub my groggy eyes, my dry mouth, my tight forehead. I listen to the water running from the faucet and try to discern what he's doing, but it's way too early in the morning to think.
