Quarter Mile Hearts(51)

Grabbing the back of my head, he brings my lips crashing down on his, our tongues fight with each other’s and the ache that has been building in my core is now throbbing. Vin Diesel and Fast and Furious are forgotten when Max maneuvers me down to lay on the sofa. Kicking my legs wider, his hips settle between my thighs as he supports his weight on his arms. My palms slide up the tense muscles of his chest and back down to his jeans before they make quick work of his belt buckle and buttons. Yanking them apart, my hand delves inside his boxers and closes around his hard dick.

Max groans loudly as my hand slides up the smooth skin and back down again, over and over. Deft fingers work the buttons of my plaid shirt until he loses patience with the last one and pulls either side apart, sending the button flying across the room. His hand skims over my stomach and up to cup my breast in his hand, hooking his fingers inside the lace to tease my pebbled nipple.

I pull his head down so he can kiss me; his tongue strokes mine as his kiss consumes me, his fingers teasing me relentlessly. He shifts to the side so I am balancing on the edge of the sofa and I let go of his erection. Trailing kisses down my neck to my breast his tongue replaces his fingers to continue with his teasing. His fingers work the button and zipper on my jeans and his hand slips inside.

I suck in a breath as his fingers connect with my sensitive flesh and my whole body relaxes under his touch. Releasing my breast, he starts to kiss down my stomach to the top of my panties before he starts to tug them down my hips, following with his lips. My breath falters in my chest as I wait for the moment when his tongue connects with my flesh. But it never does. The sound of the front door slamming interrupts his kissing and he raises his head to look at me.

Our eyes grow wide and our mouths drop open at the same time. Max scrambles onto his knees and I yank my panties and jeans back up and fasten them. Holding the sides of my shirt together I frantically start buttoning it up. Max arranges himself inside his jeans and buttons them before he searches for his t-shirt. I sit upright and smooth down my hair, but my cheeks feel flushed and my lips tender from Max’s kisses.

“Looking for this?” Causey laughs and leans over the back of the sofa, holding Max’s crumpled t-shirt in his outstretched hand. I fight the roar of embarrassment, and my cheeks grow even redder. Max rolls his eyes at him and pulls his t-shirt on as Sugar walks into the room.

“I hope my little brother hasn’t been making a nuisance of himself.” She laughs, her eyes jumping back and forth between the two of us, taking in our disheveled state and my pink cheeks. She saves me from answering. “How were the girls?”

“No trouble. Max helped put them to bed. Did you have a nice time?”

“Yeah, we saw Furious 7,” Causey answers, and I make a strangled sound in the back of my throat, Max laughs, entwining his fingers with mine.

“I’ll take you to see it, I promise.” He tugs me closer and a bemused smile tugs at the corners of Sugar’s lips as she watches us both.

“There’s a race on tonight.” Causey nods at Max, who looks down at me trying to gauge my reaction.

“You going?” Max asks him.

“Nah.” He looks adoringly at Sugar, and it tugs at something deep inside me. “My racing days are well and truly over.”

“Come on.” He leads me with him to the door.

“See you later, Leigh, and thanks again,” Sugar calls and closes the door behind us.

Max doesn’t let go of my hand until we reach his car, which is parked outside the triple garage over from the house.

“So you live there?” I nod toward the apartment above the garage, curious about what it looks like. Not that I would tell him that. And I try not to think about how many women have seen his bedroom ceiling.

“Yeah.” There is wariness in his voice.

“Can’t be easy for them doing the walk of shame down this dirt track.” I partly meant it as a joke, but his eyes narrow.

“You totally have the wrong idea,” he grinds out, the muscle in his jaw bunching.

“Do I?”

“You still think I’m a manwhore, don’t you? Even after everything I’ve said.”

I shrug because I always did. For years, I thought Max was nothing more than a player—no depth, no substance, and no feelings. But now I feel cruel calling him that. Beth was right; there is more to him than meets the eye.

“You’re telling me there’s not been anyone?” I meet his angry stare head-on and hold it with my own.

“No, but nowhere near as many as you think.” He scrubs a hand down his face, a days’ worth of stubble, scratching against his palm. “You weren’t just another notch on my bedpost. You were the notch. The girl who I measured everyone else against. You wondered why they’re all blondes?”