Page 166 of Invisible String
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
RAINEY
Water beads on my skin like dew on a rose. Max’s shower is large enough to fuck me sideways. And still he won’t. Not now, at least. He says it’s not the time. Oh, but it is. I need anything to distract my mind from the shit my parents hid from me. How dare they take my decision from me? How dare they change my name, which my loving parents gave me?
I let out a soft moan as Max’s gentle, rhythmic hands work the warm body wash into my skin, creating a fragrant, soapy lather. His touch is firm yet tender, sending a shiver of bliss through me. His calloused fingertips glide over my arms and back, tracing patterns that leave trails of tingling goosebumps in their wake. My ass faces him, and I can feel how hard he is, and he still won’t.
My hand accidentally lands on his hard, thick length.
“Rainey,” Max warns.
I pay no attention and stroke it. The velvet skin, the pulse in my hand, is the drug I’m chasing. He moves my hand from him, and I turn angrily and kiss his chest. The skin stretches tightly over the muscle, emphasizing every contour, dip, and line. I love his tattoos. Deep striations are visible around his pecs, especiallyaround the center and upper body. The man is a work of art. My tongue twirls around his nipples.
“Rainey,” he warns again. “Not now.”
“You wanna do me?” I lick the other nipple. “I know you want to.” Then I suck. “I want you to.”
Max lifts my chin, then squishes my cheeks. “Sunshine, I always want you, but now is not the time after everything I revealed to you.” He cocks his head like he’s disciplining a toddler.
“It is. I need your touch. I just need a minute to forget. After dinner, we can talk more. God knows I have so many questions.” I lick my lips. “Do you need me to beg?”
His eyes soften. God, I love this man. I hate that I don’t remember our very first time together in a heartbreaking situation where all we had was each other.
“Tesoro mío, no, I never want you to beg in situations like this. You want me to make you feel good, I will, but we are not having sex. I have other ways.”
Always a but.
He lifts me like I’m a feather. “Wrap those legs around my head.” He backs us up against the wall, and steam fogs the window.
His tongue circles, and he sucks and bites like he can’t get enough. Every part of me buzzes high on dopamine. I grind my hips with every friction of his tongue. “Mmm, faster.”
“I’m not a damn lizard.” His voice is muffled.
I’m about to laugh when he bites, then flicks like I know he can. Skilled is what he is.
Within minutes, I collapse against the wall, my hand leaving a print on the shower door. Carefully, he balances me and steadies me. I swear his shoulders could probably stack a bunch of bricks.
Max grips my neck gently and kisses me until I’m floating on a cloud of ecstasy. I taste myself on him, reminding me where he was mere seconds ago. I want more of him.
To my disappointment, he retreats.
“Take out should be here shortly, or it might be cold on the porch,” he announces in his husky voice, shutting the water off.
I scrutinize his body like it’s the first time I’ve seen him naked. He turns to hand me a towel. I don’t hide the “fuck me” eyes. I know I can’t hide from my problems, my pain, but the distractions would be great.
“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping the towel around his waist.
Tacos, including different meats, rice, and beans, along with flautas, arrive shortly after coming downstairs. As always, Max’s hand is always on me. I appreciate it more than anything; I need it now.
My thoughts go back to my childhood. Do I remember waking up in a hospital room? No, not at all, and that’s the frustrating part. I have photo albums at home of me from birth. My mom holding me in the hospital. It obviously wasn’t me. It’s a hell of a good Photoshop. Among many others, under eleven years old. Where I was supposedly at school functions, a lot of just me, a few as a family, come to think of it. I remember telling my mom once, boy, I’ve changed since I was young. She just smiled. Who would think your parents would change your whole identity to the point of fake photos?
I understand that when kids get adopted, they change their names at birth, and that is because they are babies. Although I didn’t remember my name or anything about myself, they shouldn’t have changed my name. I understand why they did it. So it wouldn’t trigger my memory. Damnit, I want to remember it all. I want to understand their reasons, but they took it too far.
Why couldn’t they have spoken to me about the parents I lost, or the boy who saved my heart, and the teen boy, Drake,who saved me in the pool? Although it ended in tragedy, the need to remember pains me.
I lean to kiss Max’s cheek. He just glances up at me from his plate. “Are you okay? Where did you go? I was talking to you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My head’s a mess.” I muster a smile under the mask. “What were you saying?”
