Vengeance to the Max (8 page)

“That’s a female line.” She masked the pain with a snide tone.

“Do you want him to know?” Cameron whispered.

“Know what?” Again, she knew what, had asked the question to stall for time, time to think of a good cutting comeback.

“Being on top isn’t merely a state of mind for you, it’s a way of life you’re not willing to change. Not for me. Not for him.”

She pursed her lips militantly, especially because he’d used Witt’s words. “I have changed. I apologized to him. I told him I was wrong. I made love with him.”

Cameron’s bark of laughter hurt. Not
everything
with Witt had been a disaster. But then why did he refuse to share her room? Because once again she fell short of the mark.

She sagged against the wall. “I don’t want to argue.”

“Because you know you can’t win?”

“Because I know you’re right.”

That shocked him into silence.

She crossed her legs and let her head fall back. “I like to be on top because I feel safe. I don’t know how to make love because I always have to make sure I’m the one who maintains control, and you can’t make love if you’re not willing to give up anything. And for all my blustering about how much I like sex and how I love orgasms, secretly, there’s a part of me that’s ashamed.” She gulped air and blinked back the sudden burn in her eyes. “I think that’s why I’ve done all the things I’ve done, so I won’t have to face, really
face
that I feel bad inside.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m afraid of relationships. I’m afraid of commitment. I was afraid before I met you and watching you die sure didn’t help. And I’m afraid Witt will dump me when he figures all this out.” She wanted, and she was terrified of wanting. She let out a long sigh. “There, is that what you wanted to hear me say?”

“I love you, Max.” He was all around her. With her eyes closed, she imagined the warmth of his arms. “And I’m wrong. You have changed. Two years ago, even two months ago, you’d never have told me that.”

“So what if I said it, it’s still the way I am. Witt’s right. I don’t have the capacity to trust.”

“That’s not what he said. And it’s not the way you want to be.”

No, no, it wasn’t. She wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“You’ll figure it out. The first step is admitting it.”

Her butt had started to ache on the carpet. She rolled to her knees and stood. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop being afraid.”

“That means you have all the more courage when you do step out on a limb. Open the door.”

She closed her eyes, but she could still see the gleaming knob behind her lids.

“Open it for him.”

With trembling fingers, she turned the handle, a soft snick as it unlatched. She stopped. If Witt wanted in, he could get in.

His TV droned through the connecting door. Max rolled her suitcase to the dresser. She unpacked, stowing the minimal amounts of underwear, socks, jeans, sweaters and turtlenecks into the drawers of the bureau. Much of the stuff was new, bought for this trip using Cameron’s blood money fund. Cold-weather clothes that didn’t look like she’d gotten them at the Goodwill.

The sight of all that neatly folded clothing reminded her of the contents of Cameron’s box beneath her bed. His shirts still held the scent of his cologne, something time and dust couldn’t erase.

“What’s my plan for finding your sister?” she asked, needing to steer away from maudlin, emotional thoughts and the pressure of the unlocked connecting door.

“You already know, the library.”

“I only
said
that to Witt. I didn’t mean it.”

“Witt can search the Net for the names in the yearbook.”

She stopped her unpacking. “
All
the names?”

“The ones that signed the book for me.”

She’d never even thought of that.

“I was the DA, sweetheart, you were merely an accountant.”

He’d worked at the Hall of Justice in San Francisco, and he hadn’t been
the
DA, but an assistant DA, still an important job. He had a nose for details that Max often overlooked.

Something else occurred to her. “It’s a small town. What if the library doesn’t have Internet access?”

“It’s not
that
small.”

All right, fine, they’d try. “And what’s your plan for me?”

“You’re going through the obituaries.”

“Does that mean you know your sister is dead?” Max held her breath waiting for his answer.

None came.

She finally exhaled when she started feeling lightheaded, worried her skin might be turning blue. Cameron wasn’t going to satisfy her curiosity or appease her fear that he once again knew more than he should, more than he was telling her.

After five minutes, she realized he’d disappeared. For now.

Witt had told her to take a nap, but Max couldn’t sleep. She’d been up for over twenty-four hours, the only shut-eye she’d gotten having been interrupted by that bizarre dream or vision or whatever it was. She should have been analyzing. Instead, maybe because she could hear him muffling around in his room, her mind wandered to that moment on the plane. The
Witt
moment.

He’d given her a very credible release. More than credible; starburst quality. In spite of her little diatribe to Cameron—perhaps due to it—she mused that sex with Witt shouldn’t carry the taint of shame. She cared about him in her own fashion. He cared about her. He seemed to like making her feel good and relished shooting her to heaven. He wanted her hot, wet, and delirious.

She was certainly hot and wet right now. All it took was closing her eyes and recalling the rough pad of his finger on her clitoris. Max put her hand between her legs. Yep. Warm and slippery. She’d removed the tights and skirt to snuggle more comfortably beneath the covers. Her panties followed.

A little tiny self-induced orgasm would help her fall asleep. Going solo carried the same shameful taint, but at least only she knew about it. And Cameron. He remained blissfully silent as she opened her legs and delved deeper through the soft curls. Ooh, yes, that was nice. Slow. Easy. Dipping to coat her fingers, she slid back to circle, imagining Witt’s telling blue gaze on the plane, his pupils dilated, a hint of a smile because he knew how very good he was. Ah, yes. It was so hot, too many covers. Without missing a beat, she kicked the blankets aside, spread herself wide, and arched back into the pillow. She let her mind wander until she could
feel
Witt inside, stretching her, filling her up. Pressing harder, swirling faster, she pretended it was his rhythm she played to. She dug her heels into the mattress and rose of the bed to meet his frantic pump. There, almost there. Her skin tingled, her breath puffed, and colors collided behind her eyelids.

She was going to scream, about to lose it, completely, utterly. The coppery taste of blood burst on her tongue. She’d bitten too hard on the inside of her cheek. The tang drove her higher. The bed shook and dipped beneath her.

“Let it out, sweetheart.”

She imagined Witt’s voice inside her head the way she always heard Cameron’s.

“Scream. I wanna hear you come.” His touch feathered along her inner thighs, parting her legs to maximum.

She didn’t open her eyes. Couldn’t. All her body heat receded from her extremities and the heart of her sex to burn in her cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching.”

“This is a very private moment, you know.”

“Share,” Witt murmured like a sorcerer mesmerizing his victim.

She opened her eyes a slit, no more. Witt lay between her legs, his big hands exposing her to the greedy blue flame of his eyes.

“It’s not sharing if I’m doing it myself,” she finally managed.

“Wrong. Letting me watch is sharing.”

She swallowed, hurting her suddenly dry throat. “But—” It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done this for a man before. It had always been a power trip, though, a way to push them to their limit and gain complete control.

Witt moved his leg, the soft material of sweat pants brushing her calf. He’d changed, too. “Will it help if I do it with you?”

She raised her head from the pillow to find that he’d already sheathed himself with his fist. He couldn’t hold it all, his crown shiny with pre-cum, his cock rigid.

“This is too embarrassing,” she murmured. Mortifying. It was on par with sharing a bathroom. The worst kind of intimacy. Almost a commitment.

“Never embarrassing. It’s hot. Heard your little moans through the door and I almost came before I made it over here.”

Ah, yes, Cameron’d had her unlock the door for him.

Witt had heard her. She rolled her eyes back, then closed them.

He stroked her bare thigh with his penis, leaving a warm, wet trail. “I wanna come on you right when you orgasm.”

“That’s sick and kinky.”

“So freaking hot, it blows my mind.” His warm breath bathed her pubic hair, then he grazed her overheated flesh with his tongue. “Kinky and sick are the products of a warped mind. Couldn’t happen between you and me. You’re so wet. Let me watch.”

She scrubbed her eyes. He always asked for more than she was willing to give, things she desperately wanted to give.

With a finger, he penetrated her, then he was gone again, except for his weight between her legs. She heard the soft pop of his lips as he licked away her essence, and something inside her gave way. Moisture leaked from her, heat flushed her flesh.

“Look how wet that made you. You want me to watch.”

She shook her head against the pillow, then burrowed in with the side of her face. Her chest seemed filled to bursting, and her blood pulsed against her eardrums. “Go away.”

He grabbed her thigh in his beefy hand. “Open your eyes.”

“No.”

He blew warm breath on her. She spasmed, but didn’t come.

“Look at me.”

If she looked at him, there’d be no turning back. She’d do anything he wanted. If she looked at him, she’d give him another piece of her soul.

Max opened her eyes. Then she propped herself on her elbows. His lips were only inches from her core. His fist pumped lightly up and down his length. Droplets of cum seeped into the creases of his wrapped hand. She licked her lips, tasting him on her tongue as if she’d swallowed him only a short time ago.

“Trust me, Max.”

Trust him to what? To make it a good orgasm? To take away her shame? To never die?

He was beautiful. His thick cock. His chiseled body. His blue eyes and his short blond hair. That damn dimple in his chin. And most especially his eyes, bluer than her mother’s spring bluebells.

Everyone she’d trusted in the past had died on her.

Witt wouldn’t.

She slid had a hand between her legs and touched herself.

He didn’t smile. He watched. She wrapped her leg around his calf. He used the action as leverage to spread her, pushing with his knee. Under his rapt attention, another rush of moisture trickled from her. She swirled her fingers in it, gliding over her clitoris, her body involuntarily arching against an intense burst of heat.

Her body burned. Her muscles contracted. She moaned.

“You’re awe-inspiring down here.”

She laughed.

“I mean it. All plump and pretty.”

“Pretty and plump? That’s not a compliment.” But her body reacted as if he’d told her she was a goddess come down to earth.

He inserted two fingers, pumping lightly as she worked herself. “You grab me and hold me. Tight and hot. Believe me, it’s a compliment.” Then he backed off with his hand and thrust his tongue inside her. Her fingers bumped his nose.

It was surely the most erotic sensation she’d ever known, an odd intimacy as together they propelled her towards climax.

“You’re so close,” he murmured as if her taste on his tongue signified something. Then he blew on her again.