“Come,” he cuts me off, pinching my clit and rolling it between his fingers.
I’m—
On—
Fire.
My convulsions are full-body. The orgasm that consumes me wracks me from head to toe, setting off a violent round of shaking, and my pussy convulses so hard itstings. Max groans deeply into myneck, bites into my collarbone, and stills. I feel him twitching inside of me, followed by a rush of warmth.
He pulls back, eyes half-lidded, a lazy expression of satisfaction settling over his features. He presses kisses to my nose, my lips, my chin and my cheeks. “Worth every fucking second of the wait, Ember.”
Max slips out of me, unties me, and takes me to the master bedroom. There, he sits me on the bathroom counter and cleans me up with a warm washcloth, carrying me back to bed.
“I’m gonna pass out,” he mumbles, sounding as exhausted as I feel. “In the morning, if you manage to keep my cum inside you, I’ll eat it out.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ember
Past
Ember: 17, Max: 21
After a single strawberry daiquiri, Max takes me home. It’s late, around midnight, but the lights in my house are still off, and it’s still deserted. Which means Dad’s still out doing god knows what.
There was a time when his absence scared me. After a few years, that turned into fury, but eventually, it trickled off into vague echoes of sadness. I feel bad for my father—for his mental state and his functional alcoholism. It depresses me when he’s here. The glassy-eyed look he always has after work, on the rare night when he stumbles home before I go to bed, always makes a deep, resounding pang of pain overtakemy chest.
These days, I prefer it when he’s gone. The pain is softer then, less poignant.
Max delivers me to my front porch. He only had a few sips of whiskey and seems completely sober, while I’m mildly tipsy from my drink.Justtipsy enough to be a little bit reckless.
Which is why, when he turns to leave, I catch his hand.
My crush on him hasn’t gone away over the years. It hasn’t lessened. I still await his presence in the summers like an eager puppy, desperate to spend time with its favorite human. And more, each time I see him, he grows a little more. His muscles get bigger, his jawline gets sharper, his hair gets mussier in the sexiest way.
My inhibitions aren’t so low that I can blame the alcohol. No, the blame for my following actions lies squarely on the shoulders of the crush I’ve been harboring in silence for years. I’ve loved Max since I was a child, but that love has changed now. I hate the thought of him with other girls. I hate the distance that separates us when he’s in college. I hate the idea that he might one day sever our friendship…
So I tell myself,screw it, and allow myself a single, reckless moment in the chilly evening air.
Max turns when I catch his hand, eyebrows raising. “What’s up—”
I don’t let him finish his sentence. I rise up on my tiptoes, wind my hands around the back of his neck, and press my lips to his.
He freezes. He goes utterly, completely still, as do I. The moment our lips touch, electricity courses through every inch, everymoleculeof who I am. Energy swirls between us,throughus, and I realize with stark clarity that even though he’s about to push me away, even though he hasn’t moved or reciprocated, this is going to be the single best kiss of my life.
And it’s probably going to destroy my friendship with Max, but in this moment, I don’t care. I just wantone kiss.
As expected, he pulls back, clasping my shoulders in his hands. He wears a frown that’s mixed with a hefty dose of confusion. His lips part to say something, then shut. He stumbles back a step, and the cold slams into me like a truck.
This is the part where he tells mewe’re just friends. After all, he’s four years older than me, and I’m not even eighteen yet. Everything about this moment dictates that heshouldwalk away from me, the chief reasons being our age difference, and the fact that he’s never shown the barest hint of attraction to me.
But hedoesn’twalk away. Instead, he gives his head a shake and mutters,“Fuck it.”
I don’t get a second to ask what he means before he wraps his arms around my waist, hauls me into his chest, and lowers his mouth to mine. This time, he moves; we both do.
His lips are so soft, they’re like twin clouds that lift me high into the heavens. Heat courses through my body as they move over my own, and it feels like I’m dancing with the constellations, a sense of weightlessness lifting me high.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I willingly open for him. He groans into my mouth, low and masculine, and walks me backwards until my back hits the outer wall of my home. The cold seeps through my clothes, but the heat from this kiss chases it away.
