The Wallflower
Page 14
Emma opened her mouth to reply, but he was already getting out of the SUV. She hopped out on her own, ignoring the amused shake of his head. He waited for her to round the hood of the car before opening the door into the utility room.
She started to step through the door but he startled her. With a swift move he picked her up, ignoring her gasp of surprise. He carried her into the utility room. “Get the door, will you?”
She reached out with a foot and kicked the door shut.
He laughed. “The other one.”
She leaned down and opened the door into the rest of the house.
He carried her into a kitchen straight out of her fantasies. It was laid out in a u-shape with simple arts and crafts style cherry cabinets with silver handles. Stainless steel appliances gleamed in the gentle light Max had left on, their lines set off by the beautiful black granite countertops. Cherry hardwood covered the floors from the kitchen into the breakfast area off on the right where a round table and four Shaker style chairs sat. The windows in the breakfast nook ran nearly floor to ceiling, with a simple geometric design set into the top panel. He’d painted the walls a rich sage green and the traditional trim around the windows a bright white.
Without pausing, Max carried her through the kitchen, past the breakfast nook and into the great room.
The sage green walls, cherry floors and white trim carried through into this room. A vaulted ceiling with skylights gave the room the feeling of being huge. A large reddish brown leather sofa dominated the great room. It rested on a bold area rug done in a geometric pattern of reds, blacks and greens. It faced a set of built-in cherry cabinets along one wall that doubled as the entertainment center with bookshelves on either side. The fireplace, on the opposite wall, was decorated with the same fieldstone that was outside the house. She caught a glimpse of the huge double doors at the front of the house before Max carried her past the fireplace down a short corridor and through another door.
A king size cherry wood sleigh bed dominated the room. It was covered in a crazy quilt of geometric designs in bold blues, reds and blacks. He’d painted the walls a warm terra cotta, with framed black and white prints by Escher, whimsical brain twisters that would normally capture her attention but, now, barely registered.
She could make out the master bathroom through the open doorway, barely. The cabinets in there appeared to match the ones in the kitchen, but the room was dominated by the massive oval tub, surrounded by rich, highly polished tumbled stones inset with black ceramic diamonds. The same tumbled stone was on the floor. The room had been painted a dark red wine color.
Emma realized Max had stopped moving. Looking up at him, she found him staring down at her with a quizzical look. “Well?”
Emma blushed. She’d been rubbernecking in Max’s house, trying to take in everything at once. “It’s incredible.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “If there’s anything you want to change, you’ll have to let me know.” Gently he placed her on the quilt. “This is now as much your house as mine.”
Emma’s mouth fell open as he toed off his shoes and socks. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Max began unbuttoning his shirt, diverting her attention from his whole “ Mi casa es su casa ” attitude. “I was in Simon’s shop when you called about the Madonna, you know.”
“Oh. Really?” she replied absently. She could barely speak as Max unveiled the finest chest it had ever been her privilege to see. It was lightly sprinkled with light brown hairs, trailing down his stomach to point directly into his pants. Dark brown nipples peeped out from the hair, tempting her into some very sinful thoughts.
“Yes, I was. And you know what?”
Emma didn’t know her own name; Max was unbuttoning his jeans. “Um, nope.”
“You live up to your voice,” Max purred as he slipped his jeans down his legs.
“Urgh,” Emma choked, “naked.” She could feel her eyes bugging out of her head. Max went commando. A sinful buffet of man-flesh was laid out before her in one single sweep of his hands. She didn’t know whether to sigh or to sob.
“Yes, I am.” Max laughed huskily. “Now it’s your turn.”
Emma bit her lip, a sudden attack of shyness nearly paralyzing her. Max didn’t know it yet, but he’d be
her first, and from the look on his face she’d better tell him soon.
“Max?” Emma sat there, her hands clenched in her lap, her gaze riveted to his cock. The thing looked huge, all veined and red, and pointed straight at her. A small drop of liquid seeped from the slit. It twitched a salute to her rapt attention.
“Yes, Emma?”
Her gaze lifted to his; unknown to her, they’d turned pure, molten gold. “You remember the talk of other men?”
He growled low in his throat and crawled onto the bed.
“Eep,” she whispered, lying down as he prowled up her body.
“You were saying?” he whispered huskily as he settled his naked body between her thighs. He brushed against her cheek with his lips, a caress so soft she barely felt it. It sent a shiver down her spine. Those same lips continued their incredible journey, trailing down the side of her neck to settle on the bite he’d given her outside the restaurant. Goose bumps raced up and down her arms as he moved his hips in a sinuous motion, brushing his naked cock against her mound.
“Um, there weren’t,” she squeaked, unconsciously arching up into his body as he scrapped his teeth along his mark.
“Weren’t what?” he muttered, one hand moving up to start sliding her camisole up her stomach. He paused long enough to caress her there, trailing fire in his wake.
“Any other men.”
His hand stopped.
His mouth stopped.
His hips stopped. She was really sad when his hips stopped.
“You’re a virgin?” His voice sounded oddly strangled.
“It’s not a crime to be one, you know. I’m not the Oldest Living Virgin, or anything. It’s not like I’m in the Guinness Book of World Records,” she babbled. “Besides, I’ve done other things…oh!” His hands had started moving again, with a swiftness that startled her. Her camisole was toast as he ripped it literally from her body, his claws barely scrapping her skin, sending shivers of need once again down her spine.
Claws?
Emma had barely registered the fact that Max had used his claws to ruin her favorite shirt when he started working on her jeans. “No! Bad kitty!” She slapped him on the top of his head, determined to save at least some of her wardrobe.
She started to step through the door but he startled her. With a swift move he picked her up, ignoring her gasp of surprise. He carried her into the utility room. “Get the door, will you?”
She reached out with a foot and kicked the door shut.
He laughed. “The other one.”
She leaned down and opened the door into the rest of the house.
He carried her into a kitchen straight out of her fantasies. It was laid out in a u-shape with simple arts and crafts style cherry cabinets with silver handles. Stainless steel appliances gleamed in the gentle light Max had left on, their lines set off by the beautiful black granite countertops. Cherry hardwood covered the floors from the kitchen into the breakfast area off on the right where a round table and four Shaker style chairs sat. The windows in the breakfast nook ran nearly floor to ceiling, with a simple geometric design set into the top panel. He’d painted the walls a rich sage green and the traditional trim around the windows a bright white.
Without pausing, Max carried her through the kitchen, past the breakfast nook and into the great room.
The sage green walls, cherry floors and white trim carried through into this room. A vaulted ceiling with skylights gave the room the feeling of being huge. A large reddish brown leather sofa dominated the great room. It rested on a bold area rug done in a geometric pattern of reds, blacks and greens. It faced a set of built-in cherry cabinets along one wall that doubled as the entertainment center with bookshelves on either side. The fireplace, on the opposite wall, was decorated with the same fieldstone that was outside the house. She caught a glimpse of the huge double doors at the front of the house before Max carried her past the fireplace down a short corridor and through another door.
A king size cherry wood sleigh bed dominated the room. It was covered in a crazy quilt of geometric designs in bold blues, reds and blacks. He’d painted the walls a warm terra cotta, with framed black and white prints by Escher, whimsical brain twisters that would normally capture her attention but, now, barely registered.
She could make out the master bathroom through the open doorway, barely. The cabinets in there appeared to match the ones in the kitchen, but the room was dominated by the massive oval tub, surrounded by rich, highly polished tumbled stones inset with black ceramic diamonds. The same tumbled stone was on the floor. The room had been painted a dark red wine color.
Emma realized Max had stopped moving. Looking up at him, she found him staring down at her with a quizzical look. “Well?”
Emma blushed. She’d been rubbernecking in Max’s house, trying to take in everything at once. “It’s incredible.”
He smiled with satisfaction. “If there’s anything you want to change, you’ll have to let me know.” Gently he placed her on the quilt. “This is now as much your house as mine.”
Emma’s mouth fell open as he toed off his shoes and socks. “You’re kidding me, right?”
Max began unbuttoning his shirt, diverting her attention from his whole “ Mi casa es su casa ” attitude. “I was in Simon’s shop when you called about the Madonna, you know.”
“Oh. Really?” she replied absently. She could barely speak as Max unveiled the finest chest it had ever been her privilege to see. It was lightly sprinkled with light brown hairs, trailing down his stomach to point directly into his pants. Dark brown nipples peeped out from the hair, tempting her into some very sinful thoughts.
“Yes, I was. And you know what?”
Emma didn’t know her own name; Max was unbuttoning his jeans. “Um, nope.”
“You live up to your voice,” Max purred as he slipped his jeans down his legs.
“Urgh,” Emma choked, “naked.” She could feel her eyes bugging out of her head. Max went commando. A sinful buffet of man-flesh was laid out before her in one single sweep of his hands. She didn’t know whether to sigh or to sob.
“Yes, I am.” Max laughed huskily. “Now it’s your turn.”
Emma bit her lip, a sudden attack of shyness nearly paralyzing her. Max didn’t know it yet, but he’d be
her first, and from the look on his face she’d better tell him soon.
“Max?” Emma sat there, her hands clenched in her lap, her gaze riveted to his cock. The thing looked huge, all veined and red, and pointed straight at her. A small drop of liquid seeped from the slit. It twitched a salute to her rapt attention.
“Yes, Emma?”
Her gaze lifted to his; unknown to her, they’d turned pure, molten gold. “You remember the talk of other men?”
He growled low in his throat and crawled onto the bed.
“Eep,” she whispered, lying down as he prowled up her body.
“You were saying?” he whispered huskily as he settled his naked body between her thighs. He brushed against her cheek with his lips, a caress so soft she barely felt it. It sent a shiver down her spine. Those same lips continued their incredible journey, trailing down the side of her neck to settle on the bite he’d given her outside the restaurant. Goose bumps raced up and down her arms as he moved his hips in a sinuous motion, brushing his naked cock against her mound.
“Um, there weren’t,” she squeaked, unconsciously arching up into his body as he scrapped his teeth along his mark.
“Weren’t what?” he muttered, one hand moving up to start sliding her camisole up her stomach. He paused long enough to caress her there, trailing fire in his wake.
“Any other men.”
His hand stopped.
His mouth stopped.
His hips stopped. She was really sad when his hips stopped.
“You’re a virgin?” His voice sounded oddly strangled.
“It’s not a crime to be one, you know. I’m not the Oldest Living Virgin, or anything. It’s not like I’m in the Guinness Book of World Records,” she babbled. “Besides, I’ve done other things…oh!” His hands had started moving again, with a swiftness that startled her. Her camisole was toast as he ripped it literally from her body, his claws barely scrapping her skin, sending shivers of need once again down her spine.
Claws?
Emma had barely registered the fact that Max had used his claws to ruin her favorite shirt when he started working on her jeans. “No! Bad kitty!” She slapped him on the top of his head, determined to save at least some of her wardrobe.
