She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, my friends and I don’t bother wearing underwear during our pillow fights.”
Max’s crotch tightened at the same time the breath left his lungs. Holy fuck. She blinked all innocent and shit, waiting for an answer. “Don’t tease,” he grumbled with a small smirk. “It’s not nice.”
She laughed and pulled a smaller bag from the depths of the larger. “Who’s teasing?” she asked as she walked into the bathroom.
Max rubbed his face. Fucking woman was gonna kill him. He followed her to the bathroom and leaned against the jamb. He watched her place all manner of lotions and potions onto the shelves and around the sink. It was no wonder her skin was as soft and unblemished as it was. Plus it always smelled incredible. His eyes lingered on the back of her thighs and over her ass. He really liked her ass. He wondered whether it was as soft as the rest of her.
“You okay?”
Max blinked, her voice coaxing him from his visual appraisal. She eyed him provocatively in the mirror.
“Yeah,” he answered, his voice rough.
“You know,” she said, turning slowly and leaning against the sink, “I like it when you look at me like that.”
Max swallowed. “Like what?”
“Like that.” She nodded toward him. “Like you want me.”
He took a step forward, propelled by her large eyes and the rise and fall of her chest. The bathroom filled quickly with heavy anticipation. “I do want you,” he answered because why the fuck lie about it? He was aching to touch her, to feel her nipples against his tongue again.
“Good,” she replied, lifting her chin to look at him better. “I want you, too.”
Max’s cock hardened further. He reached out a finger and let the back of it trace the apple of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed at the same time her tongue wet her lips. She had a great mouth. Max had imagined many times what it would look like around him, sucking and kissing where he wanted her most.
“This is all on your terms,” he whispered. “You’re in control. You just say the word and I’ll do whatever the fuck you want me to.” His finger moved to her jaw, down her neck, and between her tits. “I want to make you feel good.”
“You do,” she sighed, reaching for his belt loops and pulling him closer. She looked up. “I want to do the same.”
He took her wrist gently and pushed her hand against his cock, grunting softly at the pressure. “I’ve told you. It’s yours to do what you will.” His breath made the hair at her temple move.
For one astonishing moment, Max could have sworn her fingers twitched against him, a brief second where he truly thought she was going to take control and touch him properly, but the desire in her pupils steadily fizzled and died, leaving nothing but uncertainty. Trying hard not to take the rejection too personally, Max cleared his throat, released her hand, and stepped back, giving her space.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, staring at the tiled floor beneath their feet.
“Hey,” he said sharply. “No. Don’t do that. You have nothing to apologize for. Got it?”
She nibbled her bottom lip and sighed.
“Grace?” Max pressed. He didn’t like that she felt she had to please him. He wasn’t that guy. Sure, he’d felt a twinge of frustration when she’d pulled her hand away, but that was just his cock talking. “No pressure, okay? Seriously.” He lifted her chin with his index finger, smiling gently when she didn’t flinch. She never flinched around him anymore. “Look, forget about it. And try again when you feel ready.”
She nodded, her gaze watery. “Okay.”
Max rubbed the tops of her arms. “So how about we go for a swim with these nutjobs, huh?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Um, you go. I’ll just hang here for a while.”
Max bit the inside of his mouth, hating the despondency that cloaked her. He hadn’t seen it for weeks and its return was not welcome. “No way, lady; we’re here to have fun, not mope. So sort your shit out.” He grabbed her forearm and pulled her from the bathroom back into the bedroom. He turned back to her expectantly.
A smile teased at the edges of her lips. “Okay, fine, but I’m not in the mood for swimming. And my new swimsuit doesn’t quite cover . . .” She motioned to her side, where Max knew her skin was scarred. His chest squeezed.
“Grace, you know those assholes won’t give a shit about that, right?”
“I know,” she replied, quickly reaching to play with her hair.
“I don’t give a shit about it, either,” he added gently, because, if anything, the scars added “fortitude” to the ever-growing list of her endearing traits.
She smiled. “I know, I know. I just . . . Maybe tomorrow. What else can we do?”
Max thought for a moment before an idea pulled his mouth into a wide grin. “You brought your camera?”
“Of course.”