Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max) (13 page)

M
ax
and I settle into an exhilarating routine of being the sole focus of each other’s attention. Here I thought that I had the unique ability to obsess over something, to put all my attention on one thing in a way that puts other people to shame. Turns out it’s unique to the both of us.

He writes me these beautiful emails, long and detailed, discussing the most intimate parts of who he is and where he comes from. I learn about the good foster families and the bad. I learn about the things that used to scare him and the stuff that still does. I learn about the nightmares that overtake him, the memories that cloud his days and send him into his house, shades drawn, a deep frown etched into that handsome face.

In return, I pour my heart out to him as well, both in person and through text. I tell him the things the demon-bitch in my head says. Tell him how I feel I will never be enough to satisfy anyone. I show him the deepest, darkest parts of myself, the parts where I am nothing more than a scared little girl inside, trying my best to get it all right and failing miserably all the while.

He texts me first thing in the morning.

Good morning, my beautiful.

And I respond, each and every time.

Good morning, my knight in shining armor.

My phone is always with me. In my hand as much as possible because we are constantly in contact, even while we’re at work. And as soon as we’re home? I’m at his house or he’s at mine and we’re talking, laughing, learning more about each other. And the sex…

Holy shit.

The sex is amazing. He guides me and controls me, maybe sensing the fact that I’ve never done much more than lie on my back in a bed while some man grunts over top of me. I never considered myself inexperienced before. I mean, I’ve had my fair share of partners. But I’m learning that there’s a whole new world of experiences that Max is going to open up for me. Experiences that both scare the hell out of me and excite me at the same time. I’m at once unnerved by the
bareness
of it all and turned on by the fact that I’m sharing this kind of secret double life with Max. That he knows things about me and I know things about him that no one else knows.

This is intimacy and it builds fast between us.

Tonight he’s coming over with toys. Like,
adult
toys. And yes, I know I’m an adult, but no, I’ve never used them. Like, never ever. The day I admitted that to him, he looked at me with some strange mixture of shock and pity and disbelief so strong I felt ashamed. Of course, he saw that shame and pulled me into his lap, pulled out his phone that very moment and started browsing a section on Amazon that I’ve never been to before. He asked me what intrigued me, letting me look and read and explore, being patient as I worked through the heavy weight of embarrassment pushing down on me and begging me to be silent.

In the end, I asked him to choose, because for the most part, I felt like I’d be willing to try just about anything I saw. He smiled and hid the phone from me, clicking on way more items than I thought appropriate and purchasing them on the spot. When I asked what he picked, he told me it was a surprise and that we’d get to play as soon as they arrived.

I got a text this morning saying that the packages had arrived and I am not at all ashamed to admit that I have thought about nothing else since then. The fear of the unknown mixing with the tantalizing secret, mixing with just the little taste of danger that some of the more illicit items aroused in me. I don’t know what we’re going to do tonight and the expectation is sublime.

After a very distracted day at work, I arrive home and shower before spending more time picking out my underwear than I do my actual outfit. Max is taking me to dinner, but I don’t know if I can eat. My belly is twisting in excitement. I’m perched on the couch when he knocks and practically sprint to the door, letting him in with a strong gust of mid-November air.

He’s got a bag with him. A big bag. And I can’t get my eyes off it.

“What did you bring?” I ask, reaching for it as he snatches away.

“Patience, sweet girl.”

“I used up all my patience today. I am officially out of patience.” I reach for the bag again. “What’s in there?”

Max moves the bag out of my grasp. “You are being very naughty, little girl.”

“Maybe I like being naughty.” I bite my lip, doing my best to look scrumptious and irresistible.

Max’s eyes go dark. “Naughty girls need punishments.”

Adrenaline mixes with lust and I am on fire. “Maybe I need you to punish me.”

Max advances on me. Wraps his fist in my hair and pulls back, exposing my neck, so I’m looking up at him as he peers down at me. “I am in charge of your needs. I will decide if, when, and how you need punished.” He presses a kiss to my lips and a surge of desire pools between my legs. “Do you understand?” he asks, his lips brushing mine.

I nod, blushing and smiling and so turned on I’m almost embarrassed. I love it when he takes control like this. Love it when he claims me.

He releases me and opens the bag, pulls out a box about the size of his hand. “I think—you naughty, needy girl—that you’re right. You need to be reminded who’s in control here.” He opens the box and pulls out a swatch of red lace, a small black oval, and what looks like a remote. “Put this on.”

The lace turns out to be underwear, the oval, a remote-controlled vibrator that fits into a slit in the panties. And the remote control? All his. I do as I’m told, a mess of nervous expectation, and he tests the remote, cycling through the different speeds from a low buzzing hum, teasing me awake, to a full on, orgasm-building vibration that has me panting and fighting for control.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” I say, breathing heavy. “It feels very good.”

“Good. Grab your purse.”

My eyes go wide. “My purse?” He can’t actually mean to take me out in public like this, all turned on and totally at his mercy.

“Yes, Chelsea. Your purse.,” he says dismissively, turning the vibrations off. “I’m hungry.”

I hesitate. The thought of playing with all our new toys in the safety of my home was such a turn on. The thought of being at his mercy out in public? Where I might lose control? Where I have to trust him to keep me from making a total fool of myself? That’s a little more daunting.

Max eyes me, all strong and dominant as I falter. “Trust me,” he says. “I will take care of you better than you understand yet.” He runs a thumb across my cheek, hands me my purse, and heads out the door, sending a wave of vibrations through my body with a flick of his finger on the remote. I grab my coat and follow him out in the night.

He plays with me in the car ride, bringing me to the point of coming time and again, only to turn everything off the moment before I fall over the edge. Meanwhile, he speaks about work. About Reagan. About Charlie. I can barely concentrate. All I know is that I am ready to burst. He takes me to a crowded bar and grill. Loud music. Louder conversation. All the better to cover up the hum of the vibrator in my pants, I guess.

I get a brief reprieve as we head to our table and the hostess hands us the menus. The moment I sit, he turns it on the lowest setting and leaves it there.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

I fight the urge to roll my hips, my body aching for more friction. “Yes,” I say, letting my eyes burn into his, hoping he sees how very exquisitely turned on I am.

“Me too.” He drops me a wink and sends a surge of vibration my way. I jump and squeak and blush furiously as he drops it back to the lowest setting. “I like seeing you lose control. I like it even better knowing that you’ve given it all to me.”

When the waitress arrives—a perky thing who gives my parted lips a strange look—I order a Long Island iced tea and Max orders a Guinness, both of us needing extra time to decide just what we want for dinner.

“Did you see the way she looked at you, naughty girl?” Max raises the speed of the vibrations. “She could see how turned on you are.” He leans forward. “
I
can see how turned on you are right now.”

I swallow hard, my eyes fluttering. “Is this how you like me? Totally at your mercy, ready and waiting for you?”

“This is exactly how I like you. Writhing in pleasure, knowing that ecstasy is around the corner.” He lowers the vibrations again. “When I decide it’s time, that is.”

I manage to choose a meal, though I don’t know how since concentration is pretty much a non-issue. When our waitress comes back with a drink, I blurt out the first item that catches my attention on the menu, a burger and fries that I’m sure I won’t even be able to eat.

“So, my naughty little girl,” Max says after ordering his own meal. “Have you even thought to wonder what your exact punishment is?”

I giggle. “You mean sitting in a public space, being teased to the brink of orgasm and back isn’t it?”

“And just what about that is bad enough to count as punishment?”

“The embarrassment.”

“You don’t look one bit embarrassed to me. You look really and truly alive. Excited even.”

I fidget, nervous again. He’s right. I have very much enjoyed this game. This secret between us, my pleasure at the tip of his finger. I’m not so sure that I’m ready for the rules to change.

“But what if I brought you all the way to the brink of orgasm…” He flips through the speeds and my muscles clench, my hips rocking forward against my will. God it feels good. Too good. So good that I might just fall over the edge right now. “What if I don’t pull you back?”

My eyes go wide and my breath quickens. I watch him watch me and can see the lust in his eyes. He is enjoying this almost as much as I am. My muscles begin to flutter, the orgasm so close and just as I begin to fall, the panic of public humiliation dancing deliciously with the danger of our secret, he turns the damn thing off.

I moan audibly, distraught at the fading of pleasure.

“Not yet, Chelsea. Not until I decide you’re ready.” He smiles at me, an adorable little quirk of his lips that makes me want to kiss him.

I don’t come in public that night, even though Max brings me so close I can taste it more than once. But when we get back to my house? I come not once, not twice, but three earth-shattering times until finally, when my body is spent and limp, Max comes too, thrusting himself inside me while I cry out his name.

“
Y
ou doing
anything for Thanksgiving next week?”

Charlie has been quiet today and that’s not at all like him. He’s just been sitting there, quietly picking at his pizza, barely making eye contact.

He shrugs in response to my question, looking out toward the arcade teeming with kids clamoring for coins and parents following behind, looking bedraggled and exhausted. “Mom will probably go out with Tucker which means that I’ll get pizza or something.” He pulls off a piece of pepperoni and studies it before popping it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

“I’m not doing anything either,” I say, painfully aware of how much this kid needs advice that I’m not qualified to give. “Just gonna sit with Reagan and listen to music, I guess.”

“You not gonna go see that doctor?” Charlie looks at me, really looks at me for the first time today, and the pain in his eyes takes me back.

“She’ll be with her family.”

Charlie nods. “You’re supposed to spend Thanksgiving with the people that matter to you. Give thanks and all that. At least that’s what they talk about in school.”

“I think that’s how a lot of people do it.”

“Doesn’t it make you mad that you don’t matter to her?” His eyes are hard and in his question I hear what’s really in his heart. He doesn’t think he matters to his mother. To his own goddamned mother. The one person who should make him feel like a spoiled little prince among princes.

“Nah,” I say, trying to give him strength through my own. “I know I’m important to her. Just like you know you’re important to your mom.”

Charlie grunts. “I don’t know that I’m all that important to her.” And the look in his eyes says that he believes that down to his core.

“You’re important to me,” I say. “Hanging out with you is one of the best parts of my week.”

“Yeah?” Hope in his eyes, hurting my soul.

“Of course. You’re pretty amazing.” I ball up the wrapper my straw came in and throw it his way. “But that’s probably because you hang out with me so much. My awesome is contagious.”

Charlie laughs. “Is that what that smell is?” He picks up his pizza and takes a bite, his eyes flitting back out towards the arcade.

“Charlie,” I say, and wait for him to give his full attention to me. “I’m sorry your mom makes you feel like you don’t matter. It’s not fair and I’m sure it hurts. But here’s the thing, life isn’t fair and people are flawed, but…” I’m making an utter mess of this. I want to tell him to be strong and confident in himself and that his mom is a piece of trash who doesn’t deserve a great kid like him, but I can’t really say that, now can I? “Her failings aren’t yours.”

I barely get the words out before something in my throat clamps down on the great dose of wisdom I wanted to give him. Some role model I am. Here he is, in need, and all I’ve got for him is a bunch of platitudes and a tight throat.

Imagine my surprise when Charlie smiles. “Sometimes,” he says, his voice quiet. “I look at her and know just how I don’t want to be when I grow up.”

I nod. “See? More proof that you’re a special kind of person.” I lift my plastic cup of soda in a toast. Charlie taps his against mine and we drink on it.

I sigh and stare at the kid, an idea forming in my mind, one that I’m not sure I’m totally comfortable with but one that I can’t ignore now that I’ve discovered it. “Hey,” I say. “Why don’t you come to my house on Thanksgiving? We can eat. Watch some football. Reagan will be thrilled to see you.”

Charlie’s eyes light up. “Really? Like a for real Thanksgiving with turkey and mashed potatoes and all that stuff I always see on TV?”

I don’t have a fucking clue how to make a turkey. When I offered dinner, I was thinking more about take out of some kind. But after that reaction, I will learn how to make a turkey that rivals anything this kid has been seeing on TV.

“We’ll talk to your mom when she gets here. Get things all set up.” I lift my chin in his direction. “I got you. There’s no way you’re spending Thanksgiving alone.”

Charlie beams, chatters away happily as he devours the rest of the pizza.