Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last (23 page)

His hands slid up around my waist. My
breath quickened as I felt him pulse inside me. Sweeping his hands
up further, he anchored them around my shoulders. With every thrust
I watched the muscles across his body flex and could feel his
heartbeat more deeply. I lowered my legs so my toes touched the
floor of the shower, he bent his knees and I felt his size
disappear from inside me. He turned me around to face the granite.
From behind me his mouth traced across my ear. His breathing
changed to instinctual growls as his lips pressed hot against my
back, dragging across to my shoulder blade. Meanwhile, his hands
mapped down across my stomach to the inside of my thighs before his
fingers began to stroke me. I swayed my hips with every thunderous
strike of his fingers. I felt his hand leave the inside of my thigh
and drag across my back, pressing between my shoulders. I dropped
my forehead against the granite wall, my forearms keeping me
strong, as he slowly but finally pushed deep within me again. The
warm stream from the shower flooded across my lower back and down
to the point where our bodies met. It was beyond anything I could
explain; like he’d found the hidden chalice within my soul, busting
apart its belief in butterflies or magical moments. Every muscle in
my body was becoming rigid and I had to push back against him. The
deeper he went, the faster I needed our bodies to move. His
friction pulled and stretched parts of me I never knew existed. It
was becoming primal, and he knew it.

With his fingers still vigorously
undulating between my legs, I exploded and shuddered. He thrust a
couple more times into my convulsing body before he was replaced by
the shower that lapped across my vacancy. My legs went weak, my
knees buckled as I heard him huff cavernous, guttural moans. He
leaned against my body and I felt his body go concave to mine. His
heart beat rapidly against my back, his breath still trying to
catch up; he hummed his satisfaction, and we were both
fulfilled.

You would think we’d have run out of
hot water by the time we got to showering like we were supposed to.
I stood in the still-warm stream as he caressed my skin with soap,
suds tickling across my breasts and shimmering across my stomach
before the bar glided up between my thighs. Our hands navigated
each other. Every bend, crevice, and angle of our bodies was fair
game. The water poured and splashed over our curves like a
waterfall unwilling to dry up. Max leaned across, pressing his
chest against mine as he snatched the Crew shampoo from the small
shelf behind me. Delicately he massaged my head and lathered my
hair. The sultry aroma of lavender and a masculine swirl of pine
caught low in my body. It was his smell, his aroma that sent me
spiraling off the edge of holding it together.

“
I hope you don’t mind
that you have to use my shampoo,” he said with a smile, knowing the
scent of Crew for Men turned me on.

“
Mind? You wash my hair
and I get to smell like you the whole day. What’s there to mind?” I
mumbled as I dragged my fingers across my head and lathered his
chest with the foam I collected.

“
Well the bonus is, you’ll
be thinking about
me
all day long.”

I snatched the bottle of Crew and
squeezed a dollop into the palm of my hand before tangling my
fingers in his hair. The white, foamy shampoo, thick with his
scent, mixed with his pitch-black hair. I formed it into devil
horns, laughing as I watched him smirk and grab at my
waist.

At least in the shower we were
cocooned in our own world. Nothing existed outside of the water
lapping across our skins and our bodies tangling into the
experiences we’d shared.

He leaned down and kissed me. His lips
tasted somewhere between scrumptious and bittersweet, causing me to
hover between wanting to stay forever and needing to face
reality.

“
You know, as much as I
want to, we can’t spend all day in the shower. At some point the
hot water runs out,” I said as he peeled his body slowly away from
mine. His eyes glistened as they foraged for any excuse to stay
right where we were.

“
Good thing we have an
instant hot water heater. We can spend forever in here,” he said as
he closed his eyes and kissed me softly.

“
Max,” I breathed against
his lips.

“
I know…I just want to own
this moment a little longer,” he said across my mouth before
inhaling deeply. “I just want to replay making love to you one more
time before I have to face what’s outside these glass doors.” His
eyes lingered and danced with mine before he closed
them.

I slid my hands up, cradling his
cheeks before I pushed him back into the stream of warm water. What
remained of the horns I’d formed on the top of his head dissolved
and the suds, robust with his scent, mingled and disappeared as the
water spilled over my hands. His electric-green eyes opened as he
stroked his fingertips across my cheeks, like he was memorizing the
contours of my face and the delicate texture of my skin.

“
Thank you for being here
with me,” Max whispered. His eyes grew misty.

“
Where else would I be?” I
mumbled.

“
Mmmm,” he growled as he
pulled me close. “I don’t ever want to find out.”

I leaned over and validated him with a
kiss before we shut off the water.

Max shook his head. I loved it when he
did that because his hair always fell in chunky pieces that reached
for his eyes and curved around the back of his ears. It never
seemed to fail—I’d catch my breath on the sharp edge of wanting him
to consume me. He pushed the glass shower door open and reached
over, grabbing the burgundy towels from the rack. His entire body
flexed and glistened in the mixture of sunlight and halogen. Goose
bumps found their way to my skin, and every sensual part of my body
showed him how I felt.

“
You cold?” he asked as he
held a towel open so he could wrap me up.

“
No,” I teased as I
stepped out of the shower stall.

“
So that’s for me?” he
asked. His eyes matched his boyish smile as he looked at my naked,
excited body. He dropped the towel and pressed his lips to the
curve of my chin before he trailed his tongue down to the swell of
my breast and across my nipples. His hands dragged up my sides,
cradling my breasts as he pushed his open mouth to them and tasted
each one. My hands tangled in his damp black hair as butterflies
swarmed low in my groin with each pulse of his tongue and
lips.

God, all I wanted to do
was
be
with him.
Forget any moment of regret or pain that lingered outside his
bedroom door. I wanted him to listen to my body as it spoke in
waves of crashing desires and ebbed with continuing ecstasy, until
he took the intense craving I had for him and tamed it into a
manageable hunger I could live with.

I heard a door slam downstairs and the
voices of his mother and sister as they walked around the house.
The muscles in my back ran stiff and Max’s mouth froze against my
chest. His arms shifted and dropped from around me, and as he
straightened, I saw his face drain pale. Any color that I’d
encouraged to hang out in his cheeks quickly
disappeared.

He stood for a moment, listening to
see if his mom was going to call out, but she never did. I watched
as he slowly slipped into the same broken spirit I recognized from
the hospital with his dad.

I ran my fingers down from his
shoulders and across his arms to his cold, empty hands as I spoke,
“Max, we’d better get dressed and head downstairs.”

He didn’t say anything. His eyes were
lost in the fact that we had to come back to reality. Shaking his
head, he meandered over toward his dresser. Scarce water beads
still clung to his shoulders and spine, hoping to avoid being
absorbed in the navy blue cotton t-shirt he stretched and pulled
over his head. I happily watched him twist and flex as he unrolled
and tugged at his t-shirt, pulling it down over his six-pack and
stretching the sleeves around his lovely biceps. He slid on his
Calvin Kleins before slipping each leg into his Levi’s. Another
ritual I enjoyed seeing—he buttoned and zipped his jeans before
adjusting himself. All I could think was that he was the most
gorgeous thing I’d ever seen, and he was mine. He looked up at me;
his eyes, aching to stay, caused me to swallow hard.

I dug in my suitcase trying to find
the right clothes to wear. Anything cotton sounded perfect—the best
fabric choice to absorb the feelings of having to leave the comfort
of his room and go down to the pain of his family. I retrieved my
pink bra and panties from the big pocket in my suitcase and tossed
them on his bed. Finding a dark gray, long sleeved, v-neck t-shirt
and a pair of comfy jeans, I tossed them next to my
underwear.

“
You getting
dressed?”

“
Yeah.”

He snatched my panties from the bed
and held them up. His expression lifted a bit giving him a moment
of reprieve. I took a step toward him and grabbed his upper arms.
Taking my cue, he bent low and held out my panties, waiting for me
to step into them. As I balanced on one foot and then the next, I
pushed my toes through each leg-hole.

His fingers slid up the sides of my
thighs and across my hips before he let go of the waistband and
continued his path up my sides, around my underarms, and across my
collarbones.

“
What would you like me to
do next?” he asked before his eyes dropped to my chest.

“
My bra,” I said lifting
his chin so our eyes would meet.

“
Okay,” he whispered. The
tip of his wet tongue rolled across his bottom lip before he bit
it.

Max held my bra up in front of me, but
his eyes glossed in confusion as he met my gaze.

“
It clips in the front,” I
laughed. “Here, let me.”

I took it and slipped it up and over
my shoulders. Max watched intently as I was about to snap the
clasp.

“
Wait, let me try,” he
offered as he slid his hands over mine, taking the clasp in his
fingers. He pushed a couple of times before he managed to snap the
sides together, then slid his hands down the front of my bra. I
grabbed the underwire, wanting to adjust my breasts to sit
comfortably in the cups, when he stopped me.

“
Can I do that?” he said
in a low tone.

“
I guess so. You need to
slide your hand between me and the bra. Make sure I look even.” I
showed him.

His expression was serious, his
eyebrows furrowed, as he focused on my chest. When he slipped his
hand between the bra and my breast I shivered. His fingers pressed
against my skin and the palm of his hand rubbed up and down across
my nipple as he took his time making sure the bumps in my bra were
even. His hands delicate and hot, I felt his touch all the way down
between my legs.

“
You like that?” he
growled.

“
Umm-hum,” I
moaned.

“
Me too,” he said as he
took my hand and pushed it against the front of his pants. He was
stiff and I could feel the heat radiating through his jeans against
my hand. Max’s fingers slipped under the straps of my bra. As much
as I wanted to make out with him, heal his pain, and make every sad
situation sail away, I couldn’t do it knowing his mom and sister
were downstairs drowning in the loss of Frank. I glanced over at
Max’s dresser and noticed his clock said 12:38. I pulled my hands
away and took a step back.

“
Max, we need to go
downstairs,” I huffed, clearing my mind.

“
You’re right,” he said in
an inaudible mumble.

I pulled on my jeans, slipped into my
t-shirt, and dug out some socks from my suitcase.

We looked at each other then, trying
to find the strength to keep from losing it. But there was nothing
else we could do to avoid the reality that existed downstairs. He
held out his hand and we left the comfort of his room—and our
special moments together—behind.

Nancy and Camille’s voices echoed up
the staircase, hollow hearts with heavy thoughts. Their voices
sounded tired and worn, like they’d talked all night and were still
at a loss with what to do.

Max and I found Nancy in the great
room—we saw her before she saw us. She looked battered and broken.
Her war had been lost and the casualties were piling up. Camille
was burdened with the inability to comfort anyone. Nobody seemed to
know what to do. And, with an uncomfortable pregnant pause, we
stood there awkwardly waiting to find what words we should say
until Nancy saw Max.

“
Oh, Maxi.” Nancy clung to
him and her body began to shake against his embrace. Max pushed his
face toward the ceiling, desperate to keep from losing it as he
held his crying mother.

“
Do you want me to call
Rabbi Shaw?” Max managed his words as they shattered and broke
against his tears. His eyes lowered to me and a deep ache stabbed
at my gut before he melted my heart.

Nancy nodded; words were too much work
for her. Camille swung her arms around the two of them, making
their moment that much more private.

Max took a few deep breaths and shook
his head back and forth before he pulled away from his mom and
sister.