21

THEN

Isaac knew that he'd messed up. He'd wanted to prove a point, he'd wanted to hurt her. But once he'd succeeded, all he'd wanted to do was take it all back. Every second he'd spent angry with her, every moment he'd spent trying to punish her, could have been spent trying to convince her to be with him. And now she was further from his grasp than ever.

She wouldn't even look at him. Not a single gaze fell in his direction. Not across the dinner table when they ate, not across the living room when they all sat together and watched TV. If she were alone in a room when he walked in, she would just get up and walk out without a word. But of course, that was when she was actually home.

She spent more and more time away, disappearing for days at a time without a word. "Last time she stayed out so much was when she met Alex," Van said as they lay in bed one night. "She just wouldn't come home. And then, when she finally did, he was with her." She shrugged. "Maybe she met someone else."

Isaac said nothing. He couldn't. Not without giving himself away, not without Van knowing how much it ate him up inside even considering the possibility of Maxie meeting someone else. Someone else who kept her out so much, kept her away from him. And the worst part of it all was that it was his fault. He drove her away. If there was another man, Isaac had driven her right into his arms.

"Maybe she's with her new friend," Isaac suggested at last, more for his own benefit. "The tattooed girl. Bea."

"Maybe," Van said. "Or maybe our little Maxie is finally becoming a woman." Van laughed, and the sound of it haunted Isaac for days. He needed to speak to Maxie.

Days before her birthday, he caught her sneaking into the apartment just after midnight. He emerged from the kitchen as she made her way to her bedroom.

"Maxie," he called.

She kept moving as if she hadn't even heard him, shutting herself in her room.

But he wouldn't be ignored this time. Checking to make sure Van was still in the bathroom, he followed Maxie into her bedroom. She spun around as he entered, immediately disgruntled by the mere sight of him. He ached for her.

"Maximilienne."

"Get out," she spat.

He shook his head. "No."

"I don't want to speak to you."

"Well, I need to speak to you."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her glare not softening. He stepped toward her, but she only stepped back. He thought he would crumble.

"Maxie, please," he said. "Just let me touch you."

"I never want you to touch me again," she said.

"You don't mean that."

He could see her face grow crimson. Tears welled in her eyes. She, too, was crumbling. "Yes, I do," she choked out, her voice shaking despite her attempts to keep it strong.

"You can't mean that," he said, attempting another step toward her. "Please."

"Just leave," she said, her voice barely a squeak.

"I can't," he said. "For the hundredth time, I can't leave you."

"Me or her?"

He let out an exasperated breath. "What kind of question is that, Maxie? You, of course you."

She shrugged. "Well, I can't tell. You seem more than happy with Van now. You two can't keep your hands of each other. I get it."

"Max..." he groaned.

"You got what you wanted," she said.

He shook his head. "I never wanted this."

"No? You didn't want to torture me these last few weeks, you didn't want to break me? If not, what were your intentions?"

He said nothing. Those had been his exact intentions. He was angry with her for rejecting him. He was hurt, so he wanted her to hurt. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just don't know how to handle this. I don't know what to do with myself."

"Well, that makes two of us."

"Can't we at least be cordial? I miss you. I just want to talk to you sometimes, I just want to..." His voice trailed off. She wouldn't even let him touch her, she certainly wouldn't let him do all of the other things he wanted to. "Your birthday is on Friday. I have something for you."

"I don't want anything from you," she said.

"Well, I have something, anyway," he said. "Maybe we can have dinner on the roof like we used to?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I already have plans."

He remembered what Van had said. Maybe she met someone. But that couldn't be true. It just couldn't. "What plans?" he demanded.

"I have..." She lowered her eyes. "A date. With Alex."

Isaac sucked in a sharp breath. It was even worse than he imagined, much worse. "Alex?"

"Yes, Alex. The man I don't have to listen to fuck my best friend in the next room at night."

Isaac recoiled as if he'd been slapped. He wasn't sure whether he was more furious with her for being stupid enough to take Alex back or with himself for driving her to it. He wanted to speak, but he was afraid if he opened his mouth flames would leap out in place of his words. He stood and stared at her a moment longer before turning and leaving.

Maxie stared at her reflection. She wore a dress Alex had given her for the occasion, short and tight with long sleeves and a back that dropped open, nearly to bottom of her spine. Her shoes were tall and sharp, elongating her legs, accentuating her figure. She had her hair styled the way Alex liked, pulled back in long waves. She even wore makeup. Twirling for herself, she thought she didn't look half bad.

She only wished it were Isaac on his way to pick her up instead of Alex. The whole time she'd dressed, she couldn't help but wonder what Isaac would think. Of her dress, of her shoes, of her hair. Of the shade of lipstick she'd chosen, or the way she shadowed her eyes.

It doesn't matter what he thinks, she scolded herself. And yet, she still wondered.

When the doorbell rang, she ran her hands over her dress one more time before hurrying to answer it. When she pulled the door open, she inhaled sharply. As if she'd thought him into existence, Isaac stood there.

He breathed out upon setting eyes on her. They moved down the length of her and up again. Biting down on his bottom lip, he slowly shook his head as if it pained him to see her standing there. She imagined it did. It certainly pained her to see him.

"You look..." His eyes danced over her body, her face, her hair, consuming her. "Breathtaking."

"Thank you," she replied.

"Can I come in?" She nodded and stepped aside so he could enter. "I guess you're leaving for your date soon," he said.

"Any minute now."

He nodded. "I won't keep you then. I just wanted to give you this." He pulled a small box from his pocket. It was wrapped in gold paper with a red bow. "Happy birthday, Maximilienne."

She took the box from him and looked at it. "What is it?" she asked, unable to keep her lips from turning up into a small smile. A smile he'd spent weeks yearning to see.

"Open it," he replied.

She sat down on the couch and carefully tore the wrapping off of the box. When she opened it, another box sat inside. Small and velvet. She paused and gazed up at him as he sat across from her. He nodded, motioning for her to continue.

She opened the velvet box next and gasped. Her hand went to her chest, her heart swelled beneath her palm. Sitting on the dainty pillow was a small, gold lock. Though she'd never set eyes on it before, she immediately recognized it. She looked up at Isaac again, who stared back down at her, bottom lip between his teeth.

"Your mother's lock," she choked out.

He nodded, pulling the key out from beneath shirt. The thin necklace with the tiny pendant was the only piece of jewelry he ever wore.

"Oh, Isaac—"

"Knock, knock," came a voice as the front door opened. Both Isaac and Maxie stood as Alex walked in. He paused when he saw Isaac standing there. "Oh. Am I early?"

"No," Maxie said coming forward. "You're right on time."

Draping his arm around her shoulder, Alex looked at Isaac and said, "How's it going, Isaac?"

"Very well, Alex. How about you? Nose feeling better?"

Still glaring, Alex smirked. "Yep. Good as new." He looked at Maxie. "Don't you think, babe?"

Nostrils flared, Isaac took a step forward, but Maxie moved in his path. "Alright, I guess we'll just be going now. Thank you, Isaac. For the gift."

He looked down at her and nodded. "It's no problem. Enjoy your date." Without further words, he left.

 

Isaac didn't go back to his apartment. He couldn't. Sitting still wasn't an option for him, not while Maxie was out being wined and dined by Alex. Not while Isaac was so furious. He was overflowing with pent up aggression that he needed to release. That he was aching to release on Alex. But that wasn't an option, so he made his way down to his gym instead.

He spent nearly two full hours at the punching bag, delivering solid blow after solid blow, kick after kick, imagining it was Alex, his father, his aunt's prick of a boyfriend. It wasn't until he could hardly lift his arms that he collapsed onto the floor, breathing hard, staring up at the ceiling.

When had his life spiraled so completely out of control? Nothing had ever been perfect, but for a while it was at least in order. Easy. He came to work every day and went home every night. Once in a while he would go out for drinks with guys from the gym. Of course, there were woman, plenty of them, but none of them ever mattered. He never thought about them past the short time he spent with them.

And then Maxie had come along and turned it all upside down.

Now he was in a relationship with a woman he could just tolerate, falling deeply and endlessly in love with another woman who remained just out of his reach, no matter how close she was. He knew what he needed to do: Leave them both behind. Especially Van. Poor Van. He strung her farther and farther along every day, without any regard to how it would affect her in the end. If only he could let her go, release her. But he knew that losing her meant losing Maxie, and he couldn't lose Maxie. Despite her constant rejection, her impenetrable tenacity, her wavering yet unbreakable loyalty to her friend, Isaac couldn't help but believe that one day she would give into him. Give in to herself.

He took a long, hot shower before finally deciding to retire home. He was significantly calmer, though he imagined his body would feel the consequence of his emotional ease in the morning. When he reached his apartment, he stopped short at the end of his hallway. Sitting in front of his door, propped against the wall in her tiny dress and high heels, was Maxie.

Her back was to him and her head was bowed. Sleeping. How long had she been there? he wondered, going to her. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her head rested in her folded arms. Kneeling beside her, Isaac gently pushed her hair back. With a small groan, she stirred and looked up at him. "Hi," he said.

"You're home," she replied.

He nodded. "What are you doing here? How long have you been waiting?"

She shrugged. "An hour or two."

He breathed out heavily. She never failed to shock him. "What are you doing here?" he repeated. "What happened with your date?"

"I told him I was sick."

"Are you sick?" asked Isaac. Maxie shook her head. With a small smile, he leaned forward and kissed her. She let out a small moan against his lips, her arms fell around his neck. For a while they sat there, frozen in a kiss they'd both endlessly longed for. Finally, with one swift motion, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside, kicking the door shut behind them.

He went straight to his bedroom, where he carefully set her down on his mattress. He pulled back to behold her. God, she was beautiful. Young and soft and luscious and perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. From her lustful eyes to her moist, pouty lips, down to her heaving chest, full, perfect breasts, tiny waist, flat, smooth belly, down to... to...

His mouth watered. How was he ever going to stop? This was it. He was done for.

"Isaac," she breathed, her chest rising and falling with every inhale...exhale...inhale... exhale. She opened her arms to him, her legs to him, she opened everything to him. But he couldn't move from the spot he stood in, he couldn't stop looking at her. On his bed. Waiting for him to take her, like he'd been wanting to do for months. Months upon months. He almost couldn't believe it. If it weren't for her fleshy thighs at his fingertips, he wouldn't have believed it. He wanted to savor the moment. Every second of it.

Lowering himself on top of her, he kissed her, undressed her, struggling to keep his hands from trembling with anticipation. He could feel her warmth, her moisture, her excitement, her anticipation. And he was certain she could feel his, too, standing at full attention. Summoning her. He took his own clothes off next, often stopping to kiss her, lick her, stroke her. She wrapped her arms around him, her legs around him, pressed all of her small body against his massive one.

She moaned. Yes. Yes. Moan again. Just like he liked. Louder. Again. She did. Had he said it out loud? He didn't know. He couldn't decipher his thoughts from his words. What language was he speaking? Maybe all of them. He couldn't be sure. Not while she was under him, against him, tangled in his limbs. Not while her naked body was in the palm of his hands, not while the scent of her soap and kiwi shampoo and sweat and excitement were in his nostrils. He kissed her neck, kissed her shoulder, gently sucked it until the flesh turned purple, and then opened his mouth and bit her.

She gasped in pain, and he softly kissed the spot he'd just bitten. "Is this what you want, Maximilienne?" he asked, but it was too late. He wouldn't be able to stop, he wasn't sure if he would ever be able to stop.

She purred a reply, gently thrusting against his erection. He slid his fingers down to her moisture, then pulled back and watched her respond to his probing. She moaned and wiggled beneath him, squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry of pleasure. She shuddered, held him tighter, and his fingers grew wetter and hotter, and the sweet sounds of her moans filled the air again.

Her body relaxed a bit, her eyes fluttered shut, she moved with his hand. That was it. He couldn't wait any longer. Pushing her legs open wider, he readied himself. "I'll go slow," he promised. "I won't hurt you. Alright?"

"Do it," she said. "Just do it, Isaac."

He moved slowly, as promised, and yet Maxie's thighs slammed shut against his hips and she grimaced in pain. "Do it," she repeated, eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard.

"Are you sure? Are you ready?" But she had to be ready, because he was past the point of no return.

Fortunately, she repeated, "Do it."

So he did. With one quick, slightly forceful motion, he entered her. She inhaled sharply, her eyes shot open again, and then rolled into the back of her head. Her arms fell limp at her sides, her entire body relaxed. She fainted.

"Maxie," Isaac whispered. How did she stand the four tattoos she had already? She was terrible with pain. "Max," he said, gently kissing her face. He stroked her hair, her cheeks, lightly shook her. "Maximilienne, open your eyes, sweetheart. You're alright. Wake up. The worst is over."

She stirred, her eyes fluttered open, and she winced. "What happened?" she asked.

Grinning, he replied, "You fainted." He chuckled, kissed her nose, her chin, her lips.

"I fainted?"

"It's okay."

She gasped and looked down. "Did you...?"

"Yeah. For about a second." He laughed as her face turned impossibly red. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like..." She paused, looked in his eyes. "Like I still want you."

He smiled and kissed her. "I don't want to hurt you," he whispered.

"You can't hurt me," she said, thrusting against him again. "You can never hurt me."

He held her tightly, pushed himself—slowly, slowly—deeper inside of her. Deeper, until she was completely full of him, until she was breathing in short, quick wisps, until he was entirely surrounded by her warmth, and then he pushed even deeper still. "Maxie," he said, holding her even tighter. She was already gasping for air, but he couldn't let her go. Not when he finally had her.

He kissed her again. Again and again, gently pulling himself out and then pushing back in. She groaned into his open mouth. He pulled out again, as slowly as he could, pushed back in. He tried to remember the last time he'd felt anything so good. If he'd ever felt anything so good. Out again, in again.

She was so warm, so moist.

Out, in.

And her lips felt so soft.

Out.

And her skin smelled so sweet.

In.

And the sound of her moaning. It was like music.

Before he knew it, he was moving faster, going deeper, pumping harder. She tried to pull back, but he held her firmly in place. "Isaac—" she choked out, pressing against his chest. Finally, he found himself and stopped. When he looked down, her face was crimson and she was damp with sweat.

"Shit," he groaned. "I'm so sorry. You're just..." Too much for me. He pulled out of her, all the way out, and collapsed on top of her. Take a breather. She already fainted once, he told himself. He'd never been with anyone so fragile, so new. So good.

"What's wrong? Are you finished?" He was far from finished. Far, far from it. But he was going to break her in half if he kept at it. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I can't take you, that's what's wrong," he said, kissing her neck, her collarbone, her chest, her breasts. "I don't want to hurt you."

"So it's me that can't take you."

"No," he said gently. "It's me that can't take you, Maximilienne." His lips were down past her breasts, at her belly button, still descending. And then he disappeared beneath the sheets.

Her heart pace quickened, her legs trembled. She gasped as she felt his lips against her—"Oh!" she groaned. "Isaac, I..." But her words melted into a chorus of moans until her whole body shook and her back arched and she was practically crying with pleasure.

When he emerged from under the sheets, she was flushed and sweaty and breathless. Her hands rested above her head, her eyes were closed, her limbs were limp.

"What about you?" she still managed to ask.

He pressed his chest against her back and nestled in her hair, taking her in his arms again. "I'm satisfied," he whispered.

 

Already, she was halfway sleeping. Would it always be like that? she wondered. Always so painful? Always so amazing? She would take the pain, every day, if every night could end like that. Isaac and his beautiful, blessed hands and beautiful, blessed mouth that she could barely keep herself conscious for. He was just perfect. Perfect.

She dozed off, curled up in his sheets and in his arms, the only place she ever wanted to be. And then she felt his lips against her ear, and he whispered her name. Did she reply? She didn't think so. She was just too tired.

"Maxie," he repeated. "I love you. Do you know that?"

He loved her? Did she hear correctly? Was she dreaming?

"I love you, Maximilienne," he said again. No, it wasn't a dream.

I love you, Isaac.

And then she was asleep.