She held up a hand, palm in his face. “Don’t start in on me. We were in a well-lit, public place.” Max crossed the fingers of the other hand behind her back. “I told him I was a friend of Tiffany’s.” She wiggled her shoulders. “So I can’t very well take you with me and pass you off as another friend of hers, especially if Jake’s there.”
He considered that for a moment. “I’ll be right outside.”
“In the car.”
He threw his hands in the air. “I give up.”
Max smiled. So nice to be on top. “I get off at six.” No pun intended.
Witt nodded, then turned to go without touching her again, which was mildly disappointing—only because Tiffany’s emotions roiled inside her, of course.
“Oh, I forgot.” He gave a dramatic pause.
Max waited. Witt stayed silent. She ended up breaking the stalemate. “Forgot what?”
The corner of Witt’s mouth lifted. “Your wino. Name’s Snake. Sleeps at St. Vincent’s Mission on First Street.”
Bastard. He’d been saving that plum the whole time, and he was damn pleased about dropping it on her.
“You’re going to pay for making me wait to hear that, Detective.” Old diarrhea-mouth didn’t think before she spoke.
“I’m paying all right, Max. Just not sure how long I’m gonna have to wait.” Then he reached out, palmed her breast, and stroked her tight nipple with his thumb. “Doesn’t feel like it’s gonna be all that much longer.”
Then he walked away.
Bastard.
If he’d stuck around another half second, he wouldn’t have had to wait at all. Max would have dragged him up to her apartment.
Thank God he was arrogant enough to need the last word.
Chapter Fourteen
The salon was quiet except for the hum of the clothes dryer. Night had fallen outside long ago. She was the last one working, her final client scooting out the front door half an hour ago.
She waited for a soft knock at the back door. Jake was late. Her panties were already wadded up in her purse, and with her own thoughts and hands, she’d worked her need into a near-frenzy. Close, to within moments of coming, backing off, then starting all over to keep herself on edge for as long as possible. She loved touching herself, loved the feel of her own body and the way she could make herself come fast and hard if she wanted to. She especially loved touching herself while he watched. But tonight she’d wait for him to finish her off.
Then she heard the knock she’d been waiting for.
She jerked the back door open, grabbed his arm and yanked him inside. She’d intended to use the massage table, but they couldn’t make it past the laundry room. He pushed her up against the dryer, thrust his hand beneath her skirt. She curled a leg around his thigh to give him better access. His fingers dipped deep inside. She felt the beginnings of a spasm and fought off the orgasm.
“Jesus, you’re wet.” Still circling her clit with one finger, he pulled her hand to his mouth, sucked two of her fingers inside and mimicked her giving him head, then licked the center of her palm. “You started without me.”
“But I didn’t come yet. Fuck me,” she breathed against his ear, then bit his lobe.
“Not so fast, baby.” He withdrew his fingers from between her legs, put his hands to her waist, and lifted her onto the dryer. The machine vibrated under her butt. She leaned forward and pressed down, bringing her * into intimate contact with the thrumming metal. She closed her eyes, swayed. Then he pushed her back, drew her skirt to her belly, bent his head and covered her with his mouth.
She moaned, fisted a hand in his dark, silky hair, then bit down hard on her lip to keep from coming with the delicious stroke of his tongue.
God, he licked better than anyone she’d ever had. She wrapped her legs around his shoulders, spreading herself for him. Her breath coming faster, she rocked against his mouth. The orgasm built. But she wasn’t ready. Not yet. The longer she held off, the better. She looked down at him, his dark head bouncing between her thighs, listened to the sound of his tongue lapping at her. The sensation as he swooped inside, then out again, then straight up to her clitoris was overwhelming. Her head fell back, her eyes closed ...
She caught a momentary flash of something, then saw the eyeball peeking through the corner of the half-shut door. She licked her lips and watched through slitted eyes. She moaned and bucked with Jake’s hard tongue strokes. She ripped the buttons of her blouse open, exposing the tight points of her nipples. Plumping a breast in her hand, she pinched a hard bud.
She split her concentration between Jake’s tongue swirling over her clit and the eye watching her. She discerned a soft moan, the chink of metal as a belt flopped open, and the slight rasp of zipper. She knew her voyeur had been driven to the point of madness, driven to palm himself, driven to make himself come. Because of her.