Christina (Daughters #1) (13 page)

“You can’t touch me out of affection. You can only touch…” I lose my nerve and drop my face to stare at my feet as I mumble, “You only touch to have sex.”

“So…?” he asks, his tone softer. I can hear his hesitation and confusion.

“So…?” I mimic.

I can see him shuffle his bare feet. I do mine. The tension between us grows thicker. Everything we are and now, are going to be, seems to have shifted in about thirty seconds of conversation. A strange clarity dawns on me that I think I’d been working my way up to admitting all summer: I want Max. As in: I want to have sex with him. I feel huge things. Big huge, gigantic things inside my chest. They kind of all bloom up, lodging in my throat; and something warm and joyful is traveling through my body. It’s a kind of peace combined with unbridled excitement. My entire body quivers in anticipation. It is Max I want in my life!

I want to dance. I want to sing. I want to just say it out loud.

But then again… it’s Max. Our family. Our friendship. Our future… It is all too overwhelming to contemplate changing.

The knowledge makes my head spin and my heart starts to hammer fast. I was confused and searching because of my attraction for the one person I’m afraid to feel it with. But I can’t keep ignoring it. All that’s done to date is make us act weird with each other.

When the thought finally emerges, totally surfacing through all the clutter and random crap in my brain, I jerk my head up and stare at him. Yes, crap. That’s what this weirdness has been all summer. Somehow, things with us shifted. Whether it was sudden or gradual, somehow we got there.

“What are you saying?”

I lick my lips. “I think I’m saying I’d like to figure out how to touch you.”

“Understanding how and when I touch. You want…”

“You. I want you, Max,” I finally confess softly.

He stares at me. His forehead is wrinkled in concentration as if I’ve spoken in an ancient code he’s trying to decipher. I can almost see his brain repeating what I just said. A small smile starts to form, and I press my lips together to keep it from blossoming.

“It won’t be how it could be. With someone else. Someone not so fucked-up.”

I shake my head. I shrug. I don’t know how else to convey how badly I want him. “I don’t want anyone else.” Ever. But I don’t yet add that.

Then he asks simply, “You trust me?”

“Always,” I say with complete ease. I effortlessly invest my complete and utter confidence in him.

He shakes his head. “Lie down.”

“Lie down?” I repeat, surprised. I don’t see that as his comment.

I glance back and there’s his towel, shirt, keys and wallet, all tossed in the sand. He stares me down and nods again. “Lie down.”

I have no idea who this strange Max is tonight. I can’t figure him out. He’s deep and dark and kind of mean, and then… not. He’s needy, and craves something from me. That is what it feels like. I sit on his towel and lie back so I’m looking up at the darkening sky. The air is still warm on my skin. He sits next to me, but closer than usual. I can feel his body heat. He turns just enough to see me as he stretches his legs out near mine and places his torso next to me. He catches himself with his elbow and stares at me. My breath hitches and I cannot look away from him. My breathing rate starts to increase and something warm shoots through my blood as my entire body reacts to his unfamiliar expression.
What is this?
This is what was lacking that night with Brad. A feeling of totally being open, and surrendering my entire body overcomes me.

He is leaning towards me. Rarely has he willingly come so close to me. I stare up into his eyes, and am held prisoner by his gaze, which is suddenly hot and lusting after me. Me! I never saw anything like that in Max’s eyes before.

His lips touch mine. Shutting my eyes, I shift towards him out of instinct… seeking… longing… wanting. His heat. His body. His touch. His ceaseless denial of it makes me want it more than my next breath. It is shocking and weird and crazy… and breathtaking. His lips touch mine and his tongue laps at my lips before entering my mouth. It isn’t the hesitant, unsure kiss I guess I first expected. It’s the kiss of a man, not a boy. I still sometimes have to convince myself he is not a boy any longer.

Oh. My. God. Max is touching me. My paralyzed brain can barely process it. His lips are wet and warm on mine while my entire body is melting. His tongue is inside my mouth, caressing, probing until mine goes after his. I moan into his mouth and instinctively reach my hands towards his hair. His neck. His chest. Something. I need to have more of him. Having this much only awakens a gnawing hunger for him I don’t realize I have. But after a bite, it’s turned into a raging, ravenous beast. Oh, dear God, all this time, it’s been lust! The source of all my confusion. All my wondering. All my passion has suddenly been transposed into one thing: lust. I never realized that is what I sought from Max Salazar.

A hand grabs both of my wrists and he somehow manages to pin both my arms over our heads, sticking them in the sand. I struggle against his one-armed restraint. He’s gotten much more powerful and I can’t shake him. I finally acquiesce and let my arms go limp under his intense grip, as my brain just catches on that his hand is touching my wrists. It’s
touch.
It’s Max
touching
me. And nothing like I pictured. I thought we’d be holding hands, or hugging, or I’d be leaning into his chest… not being almost pinned down on a beach as his hot mouth, and I mean blistering
hot,
covers my own. This is what kissing is supposed to be. This is what Brad couldn't manage to mimic even slightly. 

I can feel him straining above me. His arm muscles surround my head. I know he’s struggling to touch me. I want to care, but I don’t. I just want him. For once, I have a small sliver of him and I don’t want to lose it. I lift my head up inches off the ground to press my own mouth onto his. Our teeth scrape, and our tongues fill each other’s mouths. It’s not a nice kiss. Or a pleasant one. It’s a desperate, hungry, all-consuming kiss. And like no other kiss I’ve ever shared with anyone. We are practically devouring each other. My neck fatigues and still, I want him, and for him to cease struggling against me. I need him. I need to hold him. Pull him tighter to me. I need all of him.

He rips his mouth off mine and my head falls back. “Jesus, Christina. I didn’t expect…” He says in a whisper, almost angrily.

“Neither did I,” I whisper back. Our faces are inches apart. Our breaths are hot and moist on each other’s skin. I can see the muscles in his throat as he swallows.

He shudders and kind of shivers. “Can I trust
you
? With your hands?”

It takes me a second to understand what he’s talking about.
Trust me?
How could he question whether I’m trustworthy? Then, it hits me, he’s asking if he can trust me
not
to touch him. My heart is screaming into my head,
no, no, no.
Do not agree to that! Don’t agree to try to do something like that, something we should not do, something that would ruin our friendship and destroy the connection we share. Something that isn’t planned or thought out. Something we have no real reason to indulge in. I stare up into his dark eyes. They are intense and not so friendly. They feel hot on my face. He is in lust with
me
at this moment. I can see it. For all my naïveté, I am not that inexperienced. I know when a guy likes me. Or at least, I do when it’s not Max. It is huge for me to contemplate this. Whatever
this
is. But how can I simply stop when my heart is beating so hard and nearly swelling in my chest? How can I stop this when I feel like grinding up against his body? And nothing else feels like it can relieve the pressure I am experiencing. Nothing but Max. And he’s asking me if he can relieve it, or at least, I think he’s offering that much, but without actually touching me.

Can I handle it? No. But I can’t
not
handle it. I finally nod my grudging agreement.

“Don’t move your arms,” he commands me. He lifts his weight off me a little and lets my arms go. I can see that is hard for him. Pinning me to keep me from touching him is hard enough.

“How can you—”
Touch me?
How can he let his lips and tongue touch mine, but not his hands in innocent affection? I just don’t understand. It is that weird and odd, and truly, I have never run across anything like it. I’ve looked it up on the internet and there are crazy stories like what Max describes. There’re a couple of official-sounding names for it I can never pronounce or remember. But I do remember the things others describe. That physical contact makes them want to rub their skin off. Or puke. Or run. They experience physical pain, not just a slight discomfort at someone crowding their personal space. It manifests itself with real, physical symptoms, not just fleeting thoughts about avoiding it.

It is incomprehensible to me that Max can like me so much. I know that for sure. There is no debate in my head that Max respects me, values me, and all around, likes me. I mean, we spend that much time together, so of course I know that! But in the mutual comfort we share, down to expressing our feelings by using only our eyes and facial expressions, it causes him physical pain when I merely touch him, or he touches me. It makes no sense to my heart. My heart refuses to believe it. Not totally. Yet my head knows it’s real. His affliction is as real as his hair color and his speech impediment used to be.

I don’t fully understand the extent of Max’s problems. I know the bare bones details of what happened to him in his childhood. What no one knows, since he never articulates it to anyone, even me, is how deep the scars run and what their lasting effects are. He came to us with this touching phobia, and never once wavered on it. Even now.

And it fucking tears my heart apart. Yet… here I am, offering myself. Because there is something more I want with him. It is shocking and confusing and unexpected… and yet,  something I’ve all along been waiting for.

“Are we…?” I’m so lame. Even now, I can’t articulate what I want.

His gaze travels down my face, and his eyes melt and soften. I can almost feel his need to run his hand along my face in a gentle caress. I close my eyes, pretending. I am pretending so hard, I can almost
feel
it. “It won’t be like you want.”

It?
Meaning, sex? Shit. Crap. Damn. Did he mean we were talking about having sex? My eyes open and widen. I have no idea what to think of that. I mean, one minute, we’re arguing about being friends, and the next… that?

“Do you want to?”

“Do I want to… what?” He looks perplexed.

“To hold me? Touch my face. Let me touch yours?”

A weird shudder travels down his body. “I want to because I know it will make you feel better. I know it will make you feel good. But, I—no. I don’t like to touch. It’s not something I can overcome. I think… I think I have a pretty bad case of it. I just can’t stand it.”

“How do you do this then?”

He shuts his eyes and takes in a sharp breath through his nose. My question even causes him pain. “Do this, as in kiss? Or this, as in having sex?”

“I don’t know,” I answer softly. I don’t know what I can do, or what I will do. I just don’t freaking know if I want that. But then again, physically, I know I do. And isn’t that what I originally wanted? Not to be a virgin. At least, this time, it is someone I care about. Deeply. This is someone I trust just as much. And yet, he’s someone who could truly destroy my life.

“I don’t either,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to mine. His lips just barely touch mine in a long, lingering kiss that has me sighing and leaning closer to the soft, wet heat of his mouth. It’s so perfect. Just that soft pressure. Like he’s almost holding me. That’s what the kiss feels like, and how he’d feel if he could wrap his arms around me and hold me next to him. I think I mean that much to him. He adores me. He always has. This, however? Wanting me? No. I didn’t know that. But then again, isn’t this where the last few months were leading? The last few months became so awkward and strained, so perhaps it really started when I first noticed that long, lingering hard-on he had when I was in his room
that
Sunday morning. Everything shifted and changed that day to lead us here. I’m just too surprised and clueless to realize that until this exact moment. But I suspect Max has felt it every second since then and that’s why he’s been acting so weird towards me.

He again lifts his face from mine and the sigh that escapes me clues me in to how much I want him near me, any part I can get is almost enough for me. At least, at this moment. There is something that feels right about Max kissing me. There is something that tells me I’ve finally found what I’ve been searching for in all the boyfriends I had on and off for several years.

And come on, we’re best friends who spent every spare moment together for years, and neither one of us is unattractive. What do I expect? To continue being buddies? Yet, even our families don’t get that we are not family.

No, he
is
my family. He’s my heart and soul. How can I make sense of that?

And then, to top it off, the man won’t even touch my shoulder.

“Do you want me… like this, Max?”