The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [54]
Fallon felt a tightening in her core so alarming she grasped at him for solace. She clenched his free hand as deep, euphoric spasms rocked her body, so strong she could only gasp and hold on. Everything around her blurred, sounds and external sensations obliterated until she felt nothing aside from pure, blinding pleasure. Max slowed his fingers, tongue dialing down to the subtlest of pressures as she grew hypersensitive, each caress like a tiny shock now. He stilled as she did, and looked up at her.
Dear God.
Max extracted himself from her wobbly legs and drew up alongside her. He was smiling, looking very pleased indeed. He clamped an arm around her waist, burying his face in her neck and breathing deeply.
“Wow,” she said.
He laughed against her. “Oh, good.”
“No, I mean, wow.” She inhaled, taking in the smells of their two bodies. The rain drummed against the skylight. Reality.
Then all at once, Fallon began to sob.
Max straightened and held her close, smoothed her hair with his palms. He spoke in soft, patient tones. “What’s the matter?”
She laughed through the tears, feeling idiotic, feeling high. “I’m fine.”
“Why are you crying, mon ange?”
“It’s so stupid.”
“I doubt that. Tell me.”
She laughed, then cried harder. She choked through her tight throat, “That’s the first time I’ve ever…”
Max pulled back to stare at her streaming face for a long moment, his eyes round. “That was the first time you’ve come?”
She nodded, tears redoubling.
“Never? Not even by yourself?”
“Nope. Not ever.”
He pondered this for a minute. “And you’re upset about that? That’s wonderful…wonderful for me, I suppose. What a very good birthday present that is, don’t you think?” He was teasing her, wiping away her tears and trying to get her to smile. “You don’t like it? You can’t return it, you know.”
She broke into a sloppy grin, chest still hitching with the sobs. “That’s so embarrassing. You must think I’m a freak.”
“A freak? Why would I think that?”
“It must seem so silly to you.”
“It’s not silly. Just surprising,” he said. “And you’re not a freak. I have seen a lot of things in my life. Including many people who are professional freaks, who use that word as a job title. Nothing is strange to me. Certainly not that.”
“I was worried. You seem like someone who’s probably used to being with women who are a lot more…adventurous than me.”
He made a shushing noise. “What women? Do you see women in this bed with us now? I don’t.”
“I know, it’s stupid.”
“Would you like to hear something scandalous?” he asked, playful, tucking her hair behind her ears.
Fallon nodded, even though she didn’t really want to hear any such thing at this moment.
“I haven’t been to bed with anyone in eight years,” Max said.
Her mouth dropped open.
“Not since I left New York.” He shrugged. “So what? You’re not a freak.”
“Seriously? Why not?”
He shrugged again. “When I was still the darling, innocent pet of the art scene in London and New York, I saw too much, far too young. I saw people destroying themselves for the stupidest reasons. It had nothing to do with why I create, why I’m here. When I left I just wanted…less. Less of everything. Fewer vices. So I gave up sex and smoking and lots of things. Wine, and a very self-centered lifestyle, I kept. The rest—” He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Good riddance.”
“Oh.” Fallon’s mind swam from this announcement. “But you said you ‘waited so long’ for me. What, like a few weeks? I don’t understand. That’s nothing compared to all that time.”
“I have waited years for you. It took eight years for someone to come along and make me need to be this way again. It took thirty-three to find someone who made it mean something.”
“Oh, wow.” She pondered this statement, blown away. The sincerity was too much to dwell on, as was the possibility that these were mere lines, used on any number of women during Max’s…active period. She decided to focus on the baser aspects of his proclamation. “Was