Christina (Daughters #1) Read online

  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?”

  He’s close enough that I can sense the tremble that travels down his body. His lips touch mine again as he whispers, “I want you in every way. I always have.”

  I don’t know what to do with that. It’s like he’s rewriting everything I thought was true about us… hell, about me. He’s totally flipped all the rules around and I don’t recognize us anymore. I feel tingly, aware, and turned on. I am so turned on, it’s almost painful. I feel everything more fully. It’s like the nerve endings in my body have completely come alive and are misfiring. I feel the gritty fibers of the towel under my back and thighs, and my heels digging into the sand. Spots poke into my back and butt where the pebbles lie under the towel. I feel the heat of Max’s legs and torso near me. I swear to God, I can feel his gaze on me. I can hear the fading calls of the kids we came here with. I suppose there could be the random person coming down this way, or even looking for me. But I just don’t care. In that moment, I don’t care about anything except Max being as close to me as he’s ever been in our lives, for the longest amount of time, and I don’t want it to end; I simply want it to get better.

  “I never knew.”

  “I know. I didn’t want you to know. I still don’t.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Because I think I’m tired of not telling you. I’m tired of pretending. The truth? I know you’re leaving soon and it’s done nothing but make me think more about you. Obsessing about you, and now, I just can’t stop.”

  Those words should stop this cold. They should stop me cold. I am leaving Ellensburg in only a few weeks’ time. He is not. I can’t even imagine trying to explain to my parents and my aunt and uncle that we want to… what? Date? It makes my brain go haywire. Nope. Can’t picture it. There is just no way. But still, I am here. “Then don’t,” I finally say. Reaching up, without thinking, I run my hand just over his ear. Damn it. I don’t mean to keep pushing him. It’s just natural for me to touch. To care. Especially when he is right over me and talking of feelings that only occur rarely in your life.

  He tilts his head from my hand. I don’t think he even realizes he does it as his mouth swoops over mine again. “Don’t stop what? Kissing? Or…”

  “Anything. Don’t stop anything.”

  He obeys me and his mouth opens over mine again. I just can’t get enough. I can’t get close enough to him. Straining, I realize it again. I also realize how much it’s going to suck. I’m going to want so much more than he can give me. Yet, do I do the smart thing and stop? Nope. No. That would be too sane. That would be the right thing to do. Instead, I’m prepared to emotionally cripple myself, and all for a few crumbs of affection… no, let’s call this what it is, the crumbs of sex that Max can just barely force himself to give me. He is crippled in ways I can’t help him overcome so I’ll have to accept it.

  Yet, he is the one I want.

  He grabs my wrists and again puts them over my head. “Can’t you just… leave them there?”

  Such a weird freaking request. I mean people do that in bondage, but not usually for the same reason. Not because one partner worries about the other partner’s hands maybe, accidentally, brushing against him. I wiggle and try to push his grip off, when, to my shocked senses, he leans down and his mouth touches my neck.

  I swear to God, I almost come right then and there. I mean, his mouth is touching my skin! I instantly stop struggling against him and let my entire body relax. He seems to realize it and pushes once on my wrists as if to say stay. Then he leans over me again and holds his weight off me. His mouth sucks mine and his tongue licks at my neck and collarbone, venturing up into my ear. My entire body opens for him. It’s that easy. That hot. My thighs part and I lift my chest up towards his warm, and ever-so-wet mouth. I am so aroused and all he does is barely touch my skin.

  “Take your top off.”

  I’m startled by his voice. He’s watching me. He backs off far enough to let me move my arms between us. This is how we do it? I do it? Somehow, strangely, it sets my skin to tingling, and heat spirals from my core outward. There is something intense about his eyes following my hands as I slide them to the front of my cover-up. I hook my fingers into the elastic of my cover-up and bikini top and slide them down to
my waist as one. My breasts are small and firm, peaked like little volcanoes, rising up off my chest. I tremble as Max’s gaze goes nuclear when he stares at my naked tits. There is barely anymore light, just enough to see a few feet around us.

  Both his hands come out and palm my breasts, his thumbs hooking over my oh-so-hard and sensitive nipples. Feeling the pads of his thumbs over me, I groan and again lift myself towards his heat. Oh, my God, there is liquid goo inside of me now! Turns out, I don’t need a lot of touching or stimulation, just Max’s barest effort. His gaze is riveted on me, watching his fingers fondle and move the taut beads of my nipples around. I watch too and everything down south contracts with pleasure.

  If he hadn’t told me he had sex before, I’d surely know now. He’s way too skilled for this to be his first time. Especially with the odd circumstances that surround it. But I guess, as with everything else with Max, he’s like no one I have ever met. And our relationship is like no other in my life.

  He leans over my torso and replaces his mouth over my totally aroused and hard nipples. I completely lose it and run my hands into his hair, pushing his face against me, again, out of instinct. I’m not trying to. It’s just so natural to do in the moment. I’m feeling so much emotion. So good. And all my greedy body seems to tell me is more. I have always liked doing this, since the first time, when I was fourteen and my then boyfriend copped a feel after one of the high school dances.

  “Hands,” he lifts his mouth off me and almost growls. I’m desperate for him to keep sucking on me as I lift my hands up and throw them over my head. I feel like I’m surrendering to something. His mouth tilts up as he catches onto my dramatic response. His gaze holds mine for a second and I feel it then. That thing that has always so connected us. We get each other. The humor. The companionship. The love. No matter what, we have loved each other since we were thirteen. As friends. As first loves. As sex partners… I don’t really know exactly how that love should be defined. I just know how deeply it exists for both of us and between us.

  I forget to be shy and embarrassed. This is Max. I don’t have to be afraid or fear him, even if he can’t touch me. He touches me with his words, his smiles, his intelligence, his care, his concern, his humor, and most of all, his heart. His heart touches mine even if his hands never really can. And I guess in this moment, I decide I prefer to have our connection just as it is over any other more normal connection, or sex with someone else.

  “Trust me,” I say, holding his gaze as I move my arms again and he tenses. I quickly land my hands on the bunch of material at my waist. His gaze zeroes in and he realizes what I’m trying to do. I lift my hips and squirm all around until I can get the material past my hips and butt before sliding it all down my legs. I eventually have to lift my feet and bring them up to my chest to untangle the mess from beneath me. Finally, I manage to throw it to the side. He stares at me. I stare at him. I’m not ashamed. I’m not shy. I’m not even a little bit in doubt. It’s Max. I know how he feels about me. And if I didn’t before, I do now.

  His eyes travel from my waist to my legs, and I part them slightly, just enough to be almost flirting with him as his gaze remains pinned on it. I have dark, springy hair there. I see his nostrils flaring as his breathing increases. He is turned on. I see the hard protrusion in his swim shorts. His gaze slides back to meet my eyes and I hold his stare while slowly lifting my arms back over my head where he likes them. I dramatically let them land as I squirm around, lifting my torso towards him as if offering myself up as a meal.

  “Christina…,” he mumbles my name in a whisper, “you’re so perfect.” He leans down and puts his mouth on me, right between my legs, and I can feel the vibration of his lips and tongue as he talks. I should be shocked, but I don’t have time for that. His tongue licks me, all of me, and I am lost. I lift my hips towards the wet heat of his mouth and try to bring him even tighter against me. He teases me. Soft and light, he kisses and licks until I can’t take it. I am wet and aroused and glad to know everything is working down there.

  His hand slides up to palm my right breast and he flicks my nipple while sucking oh-so-gently on my clit. I don’t care that I can’t touch him. I don’t care about anything, but what he is doing to me. I greedily strain my body towards his mouth and into his hand. My knees fall open and I am completely exposed to him. There isn’t a ladylike position left in me. I don’t care either. I have never felt more alive. Or better. Or so sure of wanting someone else.

  My head thrashes from side-to-side as strange, little meows come out of my lips. I’m incoherent and don’t know what I’m saying. I just know what he is doing. I can feel him against my leg, almost poking me, he is so turned on. I don’t care. I only care that my entire body is rising up to his lips as his tongue enters me, kissing, licking, and oh-so-perfectly, sucking me. When he lifts his hand from my breast and puts it inside me, I’m done. That’s all it takes before my body is riding his mouth in an all-consuming, long orgasm.

  He lifts his mouth temporarily and watches me. I can feel his eyes on me as I finally calm down and let my body flop, as if I’ve just finished a marathon. I feel that spent. I don’t even care how I look. It was that good, and I am totally languid.

  He moves along me and kisses my breast again, taking soft, little nips that are sweet, tender and not designed to turn me on. That is his way of holding me, and caring for me. I think I know he’ll offer me only as much as he can possibly give, even if it really isn’t nearly enough. But the effort, and the fact that he wants to, and tries, make it more than enough for me.

  “Take yours down now,” I say, finally using his words against him. I try to mimic the kind of domineering tone he uses. My body feels heavy, like I can’t possibly find the strength to move. I don’t even open my eyes.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, you’re not going to let me do it, now, are you?”

  “No. Still… are you… sure?” I hear the hesitation and traces of hope in his voice. I think I’ll crush him if I say no. The thought makes me smile. I’m so glad this is Max again. In this moment, there is no one else for me.

  “I’m sure,” I say quietly, but there is no edge of doubt in my voice. I want this. I want Max. Now. Here. I can’t imagine a more perfect first time. Even if it’s not what most people would picture.

  He shifts away from me and I bite my lip to hold in the small laugh. Oh yeah, he’s definitely sure if the speed of his movements is any indication. He’s twisting around on the sand next to me, with no towel under him, and his swim shorts are that quickly being tossed to the side. I lean up on my elbows so I can look at him. He is thick with desire… for me, and my entire body starts to hum again. The night air starts to cool and actually enhances the flaming fever that once again, pervades my skin.

  I lower one of my arms and reach towards him. He’s so close that my fingertips brush over the tip of him. His entire body reacts. He kind of bows into my touch and then pulls away. I hope he feels different about me touching him there than he does on his hands. I don’t give him a chance to tell me otherwise. I wrap my hand around him and he groans as I move it up and then down. His body sways with the movement and his eyes squeeze shut. Is it pleasure? Or pain? I honestly don’t know. I really wish I did. I wish I could kiss his body and touch the muscles of his chest and the slope of his shoulders down to his arms. I love the shape of his calf muscles, and how they hook into his slender, ropey thighs. But I don’t touch. I do, however, lean forward and wrap my lips around the end of him. I’m pretty sure I completely shock him if his sudden half-groan/half-gasp is any indication. He says one word, almost breathlessly, “Christina.”

  To my shock, his hands tangle in my hair and he lets me slide my tongue over him as my lips open wider to accommodate him. I swallow him deeper into my mouth and he pushes gently against my head. I almost lean back to frolic in the pressure of his hands on my head. I feel starved for his touch. I would gladly give him ten blowjobs if he’d just hold my hand. But I�
�ll settle for this. Goose bumps rise on my arms at the feel his fingers on my scalp, and I’m more interested in that than what I’m doing to him. But I don’t think he’d agree. I think the only reason he can make himself hold my head is because he really likes what my mouth is doing to him.

  He shifts his hips suddenly and pulls away from me with a small pop. “Lie back down,” he says and I can hear the almost frantic plea in his command.

  I quickly roll back over and lie flat. Back into my position. I raise my hands, this time clasping my own hands to keep them in place. His gaze follows my movement and he rewards my compliance with a hard kiss on my mouth. His hand touches my thigh, and I jump. I literally nearly leap up off the sand. That’s just how rare his touch is for me. I groan at how much I love having his fingers on me. They slide up my thigh and touch my center. He oh-so-gently pushes my legs apart and my knees up, so I’m totally supine on the beach and naked to his gaze. He settles between my thighs and yes, I see now how we will manage using as minimal contact as possible. It makes me press my lips together in a sigh. Yet, a weird flutter of excitement accompanies it. I mean, I really want this. I even kind of like all the strangeness in not touching as well as obeying his commands.

  Taking a condom from his wallet, he slides it on. He glances at me and his mouth is a tight line of concentration. Upon finding my eyes, he asks, “Ready?”

  I nod. He surprises me when he comes over my body, placing his chest on mine. He’s touching me from my stomach to my chest. I sigh at the weight of his body on mine. He is trying to give me as much of himself as he can. Knowing that melts my doubts. I lift my knees, pushing me against his tip. With a sigh, he takes my permission and slowly slides inside my wet, slick and welcoming core. He nearly undoes me when his mouth presses against my forehead as if he’s praying, or pleading with me. Then, he hugs me to him, as if asking for forgiveness. I forget it hurts, but only for a brief, flashing moment. It’s only for the first few strokes of him inside me. Then it all seems to soothe itself. I can lift up my hips and finally meet his thrusts. I demand it even harder, fuller, and more. I need more where he is touching me. It has to compensate for all the places and other ways he can’t touch me.