Max lay on his side, watching the alarm clock as it ticked its way closer and closer to seven a.m. The sun was coming in strong and sharp through the crack between the curtains and he could hear birds chirping away in the hedge outside. It was funny, but every time he saw Eva, she reminded him of a bird. Maybe it was the way she walked, that edgy grace, the upbeat attentiveness.

He sighed loudly, and felt foolish because nobody was there to hear him. He was feeling foolish more and more these days. He shouldn’t have done it. That was the point. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant, so sure of himself. She wasn’t going to show up. Why would she? Eva wasn’t the kind of girl who took orders from anyone. Well, aside from her father, perhaps.

He could imagine her now, getting out of that single-bed and stepping onto the expensive Persian rug in her bedroom. He wasn’t meant to know what her bedroom looked like. But when her parents threw a party, it was quite easy to pretend you were looking for the bathroom, and then sneak a peek. He’d stuck his head around the door, seen what he’d expected; a plain, tidy room. No boy band posters on the wall (thank God!) but then again, she was past that age. Going on twenty-one now and so determined to be treated like an adult.

She dressed very nicely; some mix between the 1930’s and the 1960’s with her knee-length dresses and chignon hairstyles. He imagined her now, slipping on a thin summer dress over her underwear, and he assumed the material would feel light against her skin. She’d walk down the stairs and into the kitchen where her dad would be unfolding the Financial Times over wholemeal toast and black coffee. Mr George Shaw, always up early, always taking business calls, even on Sundays.

Max knew him well. He probably knew him better than George’s own wife did. They’d been friends since school, regrouping after university to launch their business together, a business which had grown fast after a shaky start and now turned a healthy profit. A very healthy profit. Everything worked like clockwork and on the odd occasion it didn’t, it got fixed, swiftly and efficiently, like changing a battery.

The only problem was Eva. Max knew he shouldn’t have gone there. He shouldn’t have gone anywhere near her. He’d seen her more in these past two months than he had in his entire life. Before now, it has just been annual Christmas parties, where he’d pretend he cared about her school and grades while Mrs Shaw proudly boasted about the little prodigy. But now, Eva was a woman.

She had a pretty little face, a soft, slender body, and a smile that made Max’s stomach tighten. And even though she’d been spoiled throughout her childhood like a regular millionaire’s daughter, she wasn’t pretentious in the slightest. You wouldn’t know she’d come from a rich background. She could go the local pub on a football afternoon and wouldn’t be out of place. She had this warmth that radiated from her, making her instantly likeable. Everybody loved her.

Her father loved her the most. He would talk about her like she was his prized possession. Eva did this, Eva did that; apparently Eva was the fucking bee’s knees. It was even more sickening because it was so true.

The point was that George adored his daughter. He and Max had a friendship that hadn’t tasted betrayal for the best part of thirty years. But that was all over now, at least in Max’s mind. George didn’t know what had happened. George didn’t have a fucking clue. And it was Max’s fault; he couldn’t blame anybody else. He was the one who’d gone to that godforsaken party at the Shaw’s, pretending like he was there to socialise, but really wanting to cop a glance at Eva. It was him who’d cornered her at the bottom of the garden, him who’d kissed her like she wasn’t his best friend’s daughter, it was him who’d shoved his tongue down her throat and his cock in her… Fuck!

Max screwed his eyes shut, wanting to feel bad, but unable to willingly forget the memory of her tight, wilful grip. The urgency. Her shallow breathing. And then, the awkward fumbling. ‘Don’t tell dad. He’d kill me. Please don’t tell him.’ Max had caught her hand. ‘Of course I won’t. He’d kill me too, right?’ An attempt at a joke. Guilty apologies, as if they both hadn’t enjoyed it, watching her rush away into the house.

He’d felt ashamed but not ashamed enough. Not ashamed enough to not want to go back there. One time wasn’t so bad. It could be written off as an accident, a poor judgement call, a drunken fucking mistake, but to do it again! To wait until George had gone off to bloody Hong Kong on a business trip, to swing by the coffee shop where he knew Eva met up with friends, to act like he was there to apologise before sneaking a quickie in the Men’s room was unforgiveable.

It was bad. It was really bad. It was like he was a teenager. He felt that way when he’d dropped by the Shaw’s a couple of days later, like the unsociable kid at school, asking the bashful, pretty girl to prom. He was meant to be past all that. He was getting on to forty years old. He’d been through it all.

Girlfriends, mistakes, he’d even been married, which was definitely the biggest mistake. He was at that age where he was meant to have kids, who he’d drive down to the beach and go camping with, who he’d teach to climb trees and play football in a big suburban garden. Max didn’t have any of that. All the guys he’d been to school with were at that stage, talking about how proud they were of their children, what was happening with the PTA and the school syllabus. He was the odd one out. He didn’t want to end up as one of those old, lonely guys with nothing to live for.

The alarm clock began to beep, loudly and insistently and he automatically reached over to switch it off. It was a Sunday. He wondered again if Eva would show up. She wouldn’t. He set himself up for a fall, like he did every time he checked how his shares had performed. Don’t get excited, don’t get excited. But being ready for disappointment only made victory even sweeter.

He let himself imagine that she really was going to do as he said. She’d be wearing the spotless white summer dress, the sleeveless one with lace around the shoulders. It was shorter than her regular dresses, falling to mid-thigh, the skirt thin and light. She’d walk out of the house in her heels. It was a hot morning. The start of summer, humid and hot; like a mild rainforest. She’d walk into the heat and smile, and head all the way over to his place and then? The day would be theirs.

Max scoffed, got out of bed and threw open the curtains, pushing out the window. He looked out at rows and rows of houses. The sky was blue. Maybe too blue. Maybe it was going to rain. He smiled a small, secretive smile to himself. He could see people out already, jogging along the streets, plugged into music players, focused resolutely on keeping fit. He never quite understood the idea of getting exercise along the polluted sidewalks. Surely, inhaling car fumes would be harmful. But then again, maybe not. Maybe people were immune to all the chemicals by now.

The air coming in through the window was warm and vaguely smoky. He thought of Eva again, wondered if she was coming. Maybe. Maybe she had his instructions in her hand and was following them to the letter. Or maybe she already knew them off by heart. He liked to flatter himself by believing the latter. He’d been mean. She didn’t know where he lived; after all Marie got the house. Max ended up on the fourth floor of a relatively modest apartment block. It wasn’t bad but it didn’t feel like home. It felt like a temporary station, like a stopover at a hotel room on the way to someplace much better.

If Eva were coming, maybe she’d have got a taxi. Trains didn’t run very often on Sundays and the buses were cramped and sporadic. Or she might have walked, like he told her to. The thought sent a tightening thrill through his stomach. It wasn’t a long distance. It’d actually make a nice walk for a Sunday morning. Perhaps she was enjoying it, sauntering along the paths in her little heels, looking radiant and beautiful under the sun.

Take the top path through the park , he’d written. It wasn’t the ideal route and maybe she’d realise that. Maybe she’d walk all the way around the park instead. She was a smart girl, she would have definitely realised there was an easier way than manoeuvring through the overgrown hedges and weeds. It all depended on whether she’d obey him. He’d said quite clearly, ‘Do what I’ve written down.’

He wouldn’t mind very much if she hadn’t but the thought of her doing something crazy only because he wanted her to, made his heart beat a little faster. She’s not going to come, he reminded himself. She won’t. Even if she wants to. On Sundays they play tennis. George will ask her why she’s not going with them and she can’t say, “I’m meeting Max,” because that’d be suicidal. It wouldn’t make sense for her to come. It simply wouldn’t. And yet, the sliver of hope still remained.

Max made his bed quickly and efficiently, then showered, threw on shorts and a t-shirt and headed for the kitchen. He splashed milk into a bowl and mechanically ate three portions of cornflakes. His day lay ahead of him, full of possibilities. He could join Alfie at the golf course. He could head to the gym. He could call up his sister and take her kids out for the day. He could call his lawyer, find out if Marie had finally signed the divorce papers. None of it really excited him.

He felt restless . She’s not coming. She’s not coming. She’s way too classy for this kind of thing. Coming here would mean commitment. It would mean we were accepting that something had happened between us. This wouldn’t just be a mistake. This would be premeditated fucking. Premeditated betrayal. Not a spur of the moment fuck, not something you make excuses about. She won’t come. She can’t come. I don’t blame her.

He remembered the stunned shock on her face when he’d gone by her house earlier that week. It was as if seeing him reminded her of the wrongness of what they’d done. Her mother had been out, and Eva had stood there, twisting her hands behind her back whilst watching him guardedly. He’d made up some bullshit excuse about forgetting that George was away and then the silence had stretched between them, neither of them able to use the harsh medium of words to acknowledge what had happened between them.

She’d offered him a drink, which he had politely declined but she’d disappeared anyway, probably desperate to escape the uncomfortable non-communication. Max had stood in the hall, leaning against the ornate balustrade and wondering what he could say to get rid of the awkwardness. It was stifling, being there with her in that house, George’s house; with pieces of George’s art collection on the walls and George’s classic book collection in the bookcase. The whole place was so entirely George; it felt like the man himself was there, watching them.

Inspiration had struck and Max had scrawled a message onto a scrap of paper. The place, the date, what to wear, and of course the directions. He’d gulped down the iced-tea she brought him and pressed the note into her palm before heading back outside. He didn’t know what she’d done with it. He might never find out. All he knew was that the feeling inside him wasn’t going anywhere; even thinking of her made his mouth dry.

He’d never really expected her to come. He’d wanted her to, of course, but deep down, he knew he was asking too much. Even if she liked him, even if she wanted the same things that he wanted, it wasn’t a little thing. It was a huge thing. She wouldn’t come, she would be the good, perfect girl and work on her backhand at the lawn tennis club. She had a mean backhand. Max knew this from their occasional games, back before any of the… occurrences had occurred. Back then they’d been friendly and almost fraternal with one another, Max doing well to hide his furtive glances at her lean, tanned legs.

All that was over now. Things had changed. All he could think about now was fucking her. He sighed and stretched, easing out the tension in his neck. He flicked on the TV, catching highlights of a UFC fight from Vegas the night before. It was half past seven now. Still time. If she had adhered to exactly what he’d written down, she should be in the park by now.

The leaves and twigs would be snagging on her dress as she made her way through the dense undergrowth and he could imagine the annoyance on her face. Maybe she was cursing him under her breath. A girl like Eva would never swear out loud. There’d be other people in the park, but they’d stick to the wide, tidy paths and she’d probably be drawing numerous confused glances. Why would such a pretty girl be out so early, getting such a lovely white dress all messed-up?

Max smiled. It was a big park. A long path. Brambles, and holly bushes, he imagined the flashes of light every time the overhead trees parted. Dappled shade, like brandy snaps, the smell of cut grass and flowers, squirrels and birds darting about, and the hazy filter of pollen in the air. There’d be dog walkers, joggers, couples out for a stroll, maybe even some kids playing football or cricket. And Eva. A lone, beautiful figure.

Max turned the television off and walked over to the window. The sky had become splotched with grey clouds and it began raining, though the sun didn’t wane. There’d be a rainbow. He opened the living room window, and let the fresh, clean air in, breathing deeply. He’d always loved the smell of rain. Eva would be close now, out of the park, surely. Heading through the dirty, city streets, maybe running a little to get out of the rain. Tired, breathing hard, her hair damp and the perfection of the dress surely tainted. A minute away perhaps, or even just thirty seconds.

The sun was strong, steaming away the rain and Max sat down on the coffee table, flicking through an old magazine. Wishful thinking had never got him anywhere. His marriage to Marie had occurred only because he thought they’d have a fantasy, suburban life but reality had turned out unbearable – possibly the worst three years of his life. Marie was gone. And Eva wasn’t coming. She was probably in the clubhouse at the tennis courts, drinking a cup of PG Tips and waiting for the rain to subside.

He threw the magazine down in disgust and ran his hands through his hair. He should go to the gym. Work out all this mindless frustration, get a grip on reality and stop fooling around with dreams and bloody desires. God! He stood up, decision made, but at that very moment the buzzer sounded, loud and unmistakeable as it echoed through the flat. Max’s heart literally skipped a beat. Something between fear and excitement thrilled through him. He swallowed hard, his heart thumping.

He told himself it was a delivery. He imagined a young, floppy-haired FedEx guy standing there with a large brown box and one of those little devices you had to sign on. He even fancied that he’d seen the delivery van parked on the road outside. He walked over to the door and opened it. Disbelief, excitement and hunger seeped through his veins, each emotion fighting for dominance.

“You came,” he said, quite stupidly.

She didn’t say anything, just stood there in her rain-soaked dress, the little marks and stains telling him she’d followed his directions exactly.

He moved aside and she walked slowly into the flat, glancing around warily.

“I said that I had a shift at the library,” she said quietly. There was a long, thin scratch on her leg, the skin not quite broken but red nevertheless.

Max shut the door. “You work at the library?” he asked, in a feigned tone of light interest.

“Part time.” Eva said, and then, “It’s raining.”

“Yeah, I know. I can tell.” His eyes ran down the length of her body.

“Why the park specifically?” Eva asked bluntly. “And that path. Did you know it was so overgrown?”

Her directness made Max’s mouth dry. He decided honesty was probably his best play.

“Yes. I did. I wanted to see you all… unkempt. Different to what you’re usually like.”

Eva chewed nervously on her lower lip. “Why?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer. “Because the other day when I came by your house, all I could see and feel was your family. And this image of you as being so perfect and tidy is suffocating. I wanted to see you like this.”

She stared at him, almost as if she were trying to see through him.

“And do you like what you see?”

He breathed out slowly. “You know I do. I fucking love it.” His hand caught hers and he pulled her to him, feeling her tight, slim body through the damp, cotton dress.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he breathed as he explored her body with urgent hands. “You have no idea, Eva.”

She swallowed hard. “I wasn’t going to come.”

“I thought you wouldn’t.”

She frowned. “So why did you ask me to?”

“Some mad hope, I guess. I’m glad I did. I wanted to know how you felt, about this, about us. It’s hard to talk unless you make time.”

She reached up to untie her hair and it fell around her shoulders in damp, tousled waves. A small leaf fluttered to the ground. Max carefully removed a piece of twig.

“How do you feel?” she asked, and her voice was too loud, an attempt to hide her fear of his answer.

“We’re two adults,” Max said. “And we’re not hurting anybody.”

“He can’t know,” Eva said, an edge to her voice. “I don’t care if you start feeling bad or whatever. We can’t ever tell him.”

“Oh, I know,” Max said, not needing to ask who she was referring to. “Don’t worry about that. Besides, he’d blame me more than you. What are you so scared of?”

“He has this idea of me as being perfect. It’d break his heart if he found out I was anything else.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Max said, and he couldn’t help the smile that came.

“It’s not a joke.”

“I know. Coming here to get fucked is not a joke.” He pulled her into his body, and she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. “How many guys have you been with, Eva?”

Her eyes betrayed her surprise but she answered regardless. “One. Before you. He wasn’t… he was a boy. My age. He didn’t know what he was doing.” The words came out fast, falling over each other. “It’s different with you.”

He found her hands and held them behind her back, pushing her up against the door.

“You’re just saying that,” he breathed, and a wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Her brown eyes stared into his. “No. It’s the truth.”

“If you say it is, then I believe you.” he said simply.

“You make me feel like a woman,” she whispered and her eyes searched his, waiting for the laughter that she feared would appear. “Like someone hot and sexy.” She hesitated, her perfect lips slightly parted, the fear choking her.

“Go on,” Max encouraged, and he pressed his body hard into hers so she could feel the bulge of his erection against her stomach.

“Like a, like… a…”

“Like a what?” he murmured. “Go on, tell me, Eva. You won’t shock me. I’m past that.”

The tip of her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“When I’m with you, I feel like a slut,” she whispered. “But not cheap. Classy. A classy slut.”

He stared down at her, losing himself in her gaze. Nothing else mattered. All he could feel was the desire raging through him, the physical need to show her what she meant to him, to do all those filthy things he’d dreamed of.

“Do you know how fucking attractive you are?” he hissed, and his blunt fingernails dug into her wrists, making her squirm a little.

She shook her head instinctively, eyes wide, focused entirely on his.

“I think you do,” he said, and he groaned out a laugh. “I think you like knowing that every guy you walk past gets a hard on. They want to fuck you, you know. Every one of them. They want to do things to you that you can’t even imagine. I bet they go home and think of your tight little body and how it’d feel to fuck you. But they won’t find out, none of them will. Only?”

“Only you.” Eva said quickly.

Max smiled. He caught her lips with his and her mouth opened hungrily, their tongues meeting in a swirling, passionate dance. He stopped trying to control it then; let the hot throb surge freely to his cock, making it harder than he could ever remember. Eva smelt like rain, grass and soap. She wanted it, maybe as much as him. Her tongue was eager, thirsty, darting about his mouth, drawing everything she could from the kiss. He could feel the soft firmness of her breasts pressing against him and her slender frame pushed hard against his body with a wiry need.

He let go of her hands then, to push down the front of her dress and find one of her breasts. It was barely a handful, but such a firm, tight satisfying handful. He kneaded it urgently, his fingers digging in hard and making her cry out somewhere in the back of her throat. She felt so warm, so inviting. He grasped her other breast, groping it roughly, wanting everything all at once and unable to slow down.

Eva’s hands were on his chest and he pulled away, catching his breath. Bedroom. Kitchen. Bathroom. Lounge. His hand closed around her wrist and he pulled her after him into the lounge. Her eyes flicked around the room and rested on him as he dropped onto the sofa.

“Take it off,” he breathed.

Her hands went to the hem of her dress. She had beautiful hands. Small, with slim fingers, no jewellery, no nail polish, nothing at her wrists either. Her nails were cut short. She lifted the dress and whisked it off hurriedly; as if afraid she might have second thoughts. She stood in front of him in nothing but her heels and panties. Self-consciously, she shook her hair out and it draped over the soft swell of her breasts, veiling them from Max’s view.

He wanted to tell her to push it back over her shoulders but his mouth was dry. His hand found his cock through his shorts and he squeezed the aching hardness almost subconsciously. Eva’s eyes followed the movement of his hand and she swallowed, gazing at him shamelessly as he stroked his hot, rigid length.

“What are you looking at?” he whispered, and even a whisper was too loud in the tense stillness of his flat. “This is what I do every single day, Eva; it’s nothing new. Sometimes twice a day. I touch my cock and I think of you. Nobody else. Nobody else does it for me anymore. Not porn, not real women. The only person I want covered in my cum is you.”

She wasn’t shocked, at least not noticeably. He felt like the two of them were distant from the rest of the world. He’d craved this kind of closeness. It was like looking at the stars. So ethereal and decadent. He leaned forward, hooked his fingers into the waistband of her black panties and pulled her to him. She stumbled a little but came willingly, her hair falling forward and brushing his face. It taunted him with the smell of rain again. He pushed down her panties until they fell to her ankles and she stepped artlessly out of them.

He could feel her eyes on him, awaiting his next move, and he shoved his hand between her legs and felt her warm, wet snatch. She stifled a gasp, her feet inching apart and he pressed one finger inside her, feeling her push against his hand. She was smooth and silky wet, ready and willing.

“You want another?” he hissed, and he pushed the tip of his middle flinger to her invaded entrance, his hand already impossibly wet. “You fucking love it when I own your cunt, don’t you?”

Eva shuddered, her hand coming out to grasp his shoulder. “You’ve always owned it.” she breathed, “You just never knew it. Since I was a teenager, the only man I ever thought of was you.” The ghost of a smile decorated her delicately pretty face. “I hated your wife. I was extra sweet to her to make up for it. I wanted to be her.”

Max made to protest but she shook her head. “Not like that. I wanted to be in her position. I wanted to get fucked by you every single night, feel your body pushing down on mine. It was all I ever dreamed of.”

He was too far gone to even acknowledge hearing her use the f-word for the first time. Her confession spawned something deep inside him and his throbbing erection fought for release.

“It was all a fantasy though,” Eva continued, like the words had been repressed inside her for far too long. “You were too old, too good-looking, you had a whole different life.” Her voice was soft, with a dreamlike undertone. “It was all imaginary.”

“And this?” Max asked, and he barely recognised his own hoarse, lust-drenched voice. “Is this real enough for you?” His thumb found her clit and he rubbed it in rough circular motions, making her legs weaken a little. Her hand tightened its grip on his shoulder.

“Oh…”

His hand went around the back of her neck, and he pulled her down so he could press his lips to hers. His fingers worked inside her pussy, and she squirmed against him, her teeth dragging on his lip.

“Max…”

“What?” he whispered and his lips were still against hers. “What, Eva?”

Her hand moved to his shorts to feel the shape of his hard cock. Max’s breath caught in his throat. His fingers slipped from her pussy and closed around her thigh, gripping it tightly.

“Eva…” his voice was laced with warning. “It’ll be over too soon if you keep doing that.”

Her hands scrabbled to the top of his shorts and she tugged encouragingly. He lifted his ass up off the sofa and she slipped the shorts down his legs, tossing them aside. Her hands rested on his knees. He knew what she was thinking. The greedy half of him wanted it. He wanted to feel her soft mouth around his steel, watch her suck it down to the base until her eyes watered and saliva dripped down her chin. But not yet. Later. They had the entire day, and right now, he wanted her cunt.

He grasped her chin, tilting her head back. Her eyes dragged reluctantly away from his cock to meet his gaze.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. “Why didn’t you ever tell me how much you wanted this?”

She frowned, crouching there on the floor in her heels, her legs apart.

“How could I? Walk up to you and say, ‘Max, I dream about having sex with you.’ You wouldn’t have been interested. I didn’t know you.”

“So much wasted time,” he breathed. “We could have fucked a thousand times by now.”

Her smile was contagious. “We still have time.”

He dragged off his t-shirt and pulled her into his lap, his fingers sliding easily between her legs. He brushed steadily back and forth across her clit until he could feel it there, full and prominent.

“You are such a hot little bitch,” he hissed, and his hand kneaded her breast, twisting her nipple to the point of pain. “You’re fucking dripping.”

“Only for you.”

He laughed hoarsely, a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “Damn right, only for me.”

Her hand found his cock, wrapping around it and squeezing hard. He reciprocated by jamming two fingers deep inside her and holding them there.

A sob escaped the back of her throat.

“You fucking like that, don’t you?” Max hissed, and his teeth were clenched. “I’ve so much more to give you, Eva. I’m not gonna stop until you beg me to.”

He grasped his thick cock in his hand and sank deeply into her until he was fully buried. He started a slow pumping motion, meaning to make it last, wanting to feel every sensation. She felt tight around him, wet and grasping and she clenched like she wanted to hold him there.

He felt her mouth at his neck, her fingers digging into his shoulders and he increased the speed of his thrusts, knowing that any minute now, he’d lose himself, no matter how hard he tried to stop it happening. His hand groped her tit as she matched his rhythm thrust for thrust. His finger rotated wetly at her clit and he felt her body shudder unexpectedly as she gasped out an orgasm. She ground against him hard and he stilled for a moment, holding her close, his cock still rock hard as it hovered at her entrance.

Then he sank hard into her again, right down to his balls. She was unbelievably wet but he could still feel the friction against his cock.

“Oh, God.” Eva breathed. “Max, I just…”

He drew his throbbing cock back until only the head remained inside her and then pushed back in with deliberate slowness, torturing her with his patient fucking. He wanted to see her come again, to watch her lose herself in open vulnerability.

Her breath caught and her eyes shut each time his cock fit all the way inside her. It didn’t seem real, that they were there fucking in his flat. Half of him thought he hadn’t yet woken up and if he hadn’t, he didn’t want to because there was something serenely perfect about the moment.

His hands found her waist and he started moving faster, not content with the slow pace. He shifted suddenly, so she was lying beneath him on the sofa and then he began fucking her properly, ramming his length all the way inside her in a rapid, controlled frenzy. His hands dug into her hips, feeling the bone beneath her flesh and he pumped into her hard, her body rising up to meet his.

“You like that?” he snarled, and without warning, his palm slapped hard against her flank. “You like being fucked like this, Eva?”

Her moans were loud and shuddery, like she was fighting for breath. She fucked him back as hard as he was fucking her and he could see the fight in her eyes, the culmination of all the desperate, unfinished lust. In that moment, he could imagine being like this with her forever. Sweaty bodies, stolen moments, secrets and lies.

“This is just sex,” she gasped, more to herself than to him. “Just sex.”

“But you fucking love it, don’t you?” Max growled and as if to drive home his point he slammed into her and held it there, feeling her walls clench around him as she came again.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me how much you love it, Eva.”

Her eyes opened, connected with his and he started moving again.

“I think of you all the time,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Sometimes I pretend you’re there with me.”

He knew it was all just words. Maybe she felt it, in the same way he did, the tightening passion of lust but lust wasn’t love. In a couple of years, maybe even a couple of months all this would be over. Two people, moving on. He couldn’t keep her. She was barely twenty years old and all of a sudden he hated her for not being born fifteen years earlier. It didn’t matter if he loved her, or if she thought she loved him. She was young, still a dreamer. It wouldn’t last.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered, her hips smacking against his. “I know. And you’re wrong.”

“You don’t know,” Max breathed and his hand fell hard against her flank again making her squirm beneath him. “You think you know, Eva.”

“I’ll show you,” she insisted. “One day at a time. I’ll show you.”

He laughed and saw the hurt in her eyes. “There’s only one thing I want you to show me,” he breathed. “And that’s you coming again.”

He kissed her perfect little mouth, assaulting her tongue with his own and her hands came up and went around his neck, fingers pushing through his hair. He thrust into her over and over and she relished every movement, moaning into his mouth. His balls were wet with her juices and every time he slammed deep inside her, a little shock shuddered through her body.

“You’re so big,” she moaned. “I couldn’t think of the word. Big.”

Max tugged at her lip with his teeth. “I’m gonna fill you up so many times, you’ll forget every goddamn word you’ve ever known.”

Eva let out a strangled moan and she pushed against him hard, her body riding out another orgasm.

“I can’t,” she gasped. “It’s too much. Please.”

He stopped moving, his cock still hard and throbbing deep inside her liquid warmth. Her hands scrabbled down his back, feeling his sweat-dampened skin. Max pulled out of her in one swift movement, his cock glistening wet.

“I can’t believe you’re still hard,” Eva breathed and she eased out from beneath him, wrapping her hand around his pulsing cock in wonder.

Before he could stop her, her tongue was running along the underside, sending a shiver across his spine. Everything he’d been meaning to say disappeared from his mind. Her pointed pink tongue moved around the head of his cock and her hands gripped the base. She slipped the first half of him into her mouth and her lips stroked him wetly.

Max didn’t move. He didn’t dare to move because he felt that one tiny motion could ruin everything. He froze, watching her with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Eva’s hands went behind him, clutched at his ass as she took more of him into her mouth, not looking at him. He wanted to see her eyes, feel them connect wordlessly with his but she didn’t look up, her eyelashes fragilely beautiful as they fluttered against her skin.

Her mouth went up and down, taking in more every time and then she finally looked up, and fell deep into his gaze. There was no humour in her eyes. Just bare truth, honesty, defencelessness, the need to please. A groan emanated from the back of Max’s throat. He felt weak, powerless. Her eyelids dropped again and she drew off his cock for a moment.

“Did you ever think of me like this?” she breathed, and her voice was raw. “Sucking your cock like this?”

Max stared at her as she closed her mouth around his length again, her hair hanging in damp, messy tresses around her face. He reached out suddenly, and slid his fingers into her hair, holding her tight.

“Every single fucking night,” he growled, and he slid his cock hard past her lips until he could feel her throat. His breaths became shallow as he slid in and out of her mouth and he could feel his balls tightening in preparation of his imminent release.

He pulled out and stared down at her.

“Get on your knees.”

She obeyed instantly, turning away from him, looking inordinately at place on the hardwood floor. His hands moved rapidly over her curves and edges, squeezing and luxuriating in the feel of her ready nakedness. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and he moved behind her, dipping his fingers between her legs to confirm what he already knew. He pushed inside her with one forceful thrust and she pushed back in the way he’d only dreamt of.

She let out a content, lingering sigh and his hand gripped her shoulder as he started moving properly, his thrusts shuddering through her body. His free hand ran under her, alternating between kneading her breasts and working fast between her legs.

“Do you feel like a slut now?” he snarled, and he could feel the control slipping, the sweat raging freely across his body. “Is this why you fucking came here?”

His hands grabbed her waist and he fucked her with a reckless, crazy rhythm, his hand smacking against her waist every so often. He could hear her gasping and moaning, trying to absorb his thrusts but he kept having to pull her back to him, only so he could slam hard inside her cunt over and over.

“Max… Max…” her soft voice was cracking, her body trembling, sweat glistening from her skin. She squeezed around him with a tight, constant grip, lurching forward at every packing thrust.

“Touch yourself,” he grunted. “I want to see what you do when you think of me. Go on, Eva, I’ve got you.”

He held her waist tight as she leaned on one hand, the other moving between her legs as her fingers moved slickly back and forth. He heard her deep whimpers of pleasure and found himself craving release. There was nothing. Nothing. Just the sound of sex, the raucous breathing, the flesh smacking against flesh, the wet thrusts and hot, drowning emotions. Eva’s breaths became short and he knew she was close.

“Finish inside me,” she urged, and her silky wet fingers stroked his thrusting cock. “Please, Max.”

He couldn’t have refused if he’d tried. The fire inside him was out of control now and he slammed into her with a force that jarred them both. His body shook, his cock spurting uncontrollable blasts of spunk deep inside her. His fingers dragged along her sides, leaving a red trail and he felt her body rock with shudders. There was pleasure, mutual and satisfying, the drawn-out kind where feeling her body shaking against his only made the feeling last.

He dropped down next to her on the floor, the wood cold and hard against his flushed skin. He tried to control his breathing. Everything was peaceful and perfect. Eva smiled at him, the little knowing smile that set her apart from every other girl in the world.

He thought about how many hours were still left in the day and how it would be perfect to have her in his bed. Dark hair on the pillows. They could make love, feel each other entirely, none of the addictive dirt, just pure emotion. His fingers twined with hers as the world came back. The whine of sirens blaring past on the street. The rhythmic tick of the wall clock. And then, for the second time that day, the buzzer sounded.

Eva started.

“Leave it,” Max breathed. “Pretend there’s nobody here.”

Her eyes met his. “Who do you think it is?”

As if in answer, a voice came from the corridor outside. “Max? Are you home? I need to talk to you face to face. I’m not having all this legal bull, okay?”

Both of them recognised his ex-wife’s voice.

“Relax,” Max whispered. “She doesn’t have a key.”

“Max, I know you’re in there.”

“You locked the door, right?” Eva asked, her brows pulled together.

“I think so.” Max said but even as he said the words, the sick chill in his stomach told him he was wrong.

The door handle rattled and then there was the sound of footsteps.

“Max?”

He saw Marie’s shoes, heard her gasp.

He stared at the ceiling, too crushed to cover himself. “I’m busy.”

“Yes, well, I can see that,” her voice was laced with sarcasm. “Jesus Christ, the papers aren’t through and you’re already on the road again?”

She wasn’t hurt. Maybe she was even happy. She stood there contemptuously as they hurried to dress, scuttling around like guilty children.

“Eva Shaw, huh? What on earth will your father say?”

Eva didn’t speak. Max could sense the defeat radiating from her. She dressed calmly. Marie was still talking, stupid, meaningless words that were like white noise. He didn’t hate her. She would enjoy it of course, enjoy spreading the gossip and news about him, exaggerating it to make jaws drop and reputations disappear. And yet, it didn’t matter. The end had been imminent from the first spark of desire.

Maybe Eva would hang on, try to show him nothing had changed but whatever they’d had was over. The secret was out. He watched her leave and she threw an attempt at a smile over her shoulder before disappearing. Marie stood there, watching him triumphantly. He thought about trying to persuade her to keep her mouth shut but she wasn’t the kind of woman who could be reasoned with.

“What were you thinking, Max?” she asked, and her voice was deceptively soft. “George Shaw’s daughter?”

Max dragged his hands through his hair. It was raining again outside the window, and he could see a faint rainbow arcing across the sky. The smell of grass still lingered.

“I wonder what he’ll do,” Marie continued. “Maybe he’ll throw her out. He’s too soft for that though. Do you think he’ll ever talk to you again?”

Max stared at her. She was still beautiful but she looked uglier than Hell to him. Her perfume was filling the room, floral and cloying.

“Just get out,” he said and he went into the bathroom and locked the door.

pics…..http://goo.gl/Vkqwt0

---