Page 72 of Maxim
“I should probably get a shower… or something.” Like right now. Ugh. If I’d known Max was coming over, I might have worn something sexy, applied some makeup, and definitely not pulled on my old gray cotton panties this morning—the ones with the Minnie Mouse cartoon on the butt that make me look about 12.
“No, Natalya. You’re not running away. You look perfect as you are.” He grabs my hand and places it firmly on the massive erection threatening to break free from his pants. “Does this feel like I don’t want you?”
Well, fuck. I guess not. Maybe the grungecore look is a turn-on for him?
He must read some lingering doubt in my expression because he picks me up and carries me into the bedroom. Thankfully, I made the bed this morning and the sheets are clean. I’m tossed down unceremoniously on the cover and my sweatpants yanked off.
“Nice panties,” he smirks.
My cheeks flush bright red and I rue the day I didn’t throw out all my old underwear. Don’t throw until they have holes in them has always been my motto. Well, not anymore. Tomorrow, I will go online shopping for new underwear and fill my virtual basket with dozens of pairs of pretty lace and silk panties. Never again will I be caught out by an unexpected booty call.
“Is this a booty call?” I blurt out, my brain failing to keep up with my chaotic emotions.
Max freezes, both hands resting on my thighs, perilously close to my pussy.
“Is that what you think, malyshka?” The heat in his eyes has faded a little and I get the impression I’ve hurt his feelings.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m not used to guys wanting more than sex.”
Chapter fifty-one
Max
I’m stunned. Speechless. She thinks I’m only here for sex? Have I not made it abundantly clear I want more than sex? A whole lot more. Like the whole shebang. I’ve never, ever wanted more before, but this woman is it for me.
Only… she thinks I’m a fuckboy. Fuckman? Is that even a thing?
Fuck me. I wish Sasha was here. Not here in person, obviously, because I’d have to kill him. Nobody sees my malyshka in her cute little cotton panties. If he was talking to me, I could ask his advice. He’s so much better with women than I am.
I can fuck them, make them scream, but when it comes to the emotional shit? Nope. That stuff scares me.
“Natalya,” I purr, needing her to understand how much she means to me. “This isn’t just sex for me. I care about you…” More than care, if I’m being honest, but she’s not ready for that. “Since you assume I’m only here for sex, then we won’t have sex.” I step back and leave the bedroom.
A good few minutes pass before she follows me with a bemused expression on her face.
“What are you doing?” I’m sitting on the sofa, my feet on the coffee table, flicking through the curated suggestions on her Netflix account. It seems my malyshka likes romantic comedies. Not exactly my preferred choice of entertainment, but if she wants to watch something cutesy, then I’m game.
“Picking a movie for us to watch.” She frowns when I pat the sofa cushion next to me.
“A movie?”
“Yeah. Any preferences?”
I note she hasn’t covered up her cute panties and my lips curve up in a smirk. Her eyes narrow with irritation.
“So we’re not having sex now?”
The smirk turns into a full-on grin. My dick is having a hard time getting with no sex program - literally - but it can wait. My malyshka needs to understand she’s more than a fuck to me. So much more.
“Nope. No sex. We’re having a Netflix evening.”
This provokes a huff of laughter. “You don’t strike me as a Netflix kind of guy.”
“Rude.” She’s right. I can’t recall the last time I logged into my Netflix account.
“OK, well I’m going to take a quick shower while you pick something to watch. Be right back.”
***