5.

The words that she had spoken earlier echoed in his ears a million times over and over again like a broken record. The biggest problem was that the blasted turntable was in his mind and he had no way of turning it off.

"And be a happy, sexually-content woman."

He could hear her voice so crystal clear that it was almost if she had just said it and was right next to him.

Maxwell lay on the couch, a reckless mess in his emerald silk pajamas with the shirt half unbuttoned, weakly clutching an empty liquor glass. Max had no idea that he had downed most of that bottle of scotch so quickly. Every time he poured more into his glass with ice, it seemed like he was having his first taste. The alcohol was not affecting anything very much except his vision, which had become drastically blurred. His sight wasn't too important right now anyways considering he was in the pitch darkness of the living room. It was nighttime at the Sheffield residence and everyone home (or everyone besides him) was asleep, so Maxwell decided it was best if he just kept the lights off. Therefore, the only light that shined into the room came from the small amount of moonlight flooding through the front door and the windows. Not to mention, a tiny stream of brightness glowed in his area, which was brought on from the small nightlight plugged into the corner outlet near him. Even with all that, it was still very dim.

The polished mahogany grandfather clock he had recently purchased chimed three times loudly in the quietness of the room. At least now, Max knew what time it was. It was 3 o'clock in the morning. He had stayed up for a good long while now. Earlier when everyone else went to bed, he had attempted sleeping, but thoughts kept intruding into his mind about Miss Fine and what she was doing. Worrying about her being with another man kept him awake and forced him to pace frantically about in his bedroom, which was beginning to wear tracks into the carpet. He had been in a great state of panic then. So logically, he decided on the best bet, which was that he might as well just wait up downstairs until she came home—that is if she came home. After all, he had insulted her and made her cry.

He always seemed to be the cause of her tears lately.

Would she really go and sleep with another man so easy? He wondered, as his head rested against a pillow on the sofa. No, no she would never do that to me. But then, why would she have said that and still be out at this ungodly hour?

He groggily lifted his hand with his glass and reached it out towards the direction of where the coffee table was. He had swished his hand around for some time in the blank air until he located it finally. The slight sound of the glass clanking with the smooth wood was earsplitting considering his half hung-over, half drunk-still state ( Maxwell had been drinking since earlier and then decided to drink again as he got more depressed and the hours grew on.) Knowing that he had found the table, he let go of the glass and then returned his hand to his head where a throbbing headache was once again forming.

How could she do this to me? How could she betray me like this?

Maxwell could barely think, but one thing consumed his mind and that was Miss Fine. That's all he could see… all he could picture… It was the only meaningful thing or rather person in the world that he needed at that exact moment. He wanted her so badly and the fact that she was probably rolling around with Julian in his designer sheets completely infuriated him. It was evident that he was full of money since he was able to treat her to such a fancy restaurant as "Angelo's," and therefore could probably afford nice sheets as well. But still, he couldn't believe she would even do this to him and that had to be the reason why she was still out.

My bed linens are definitely a much higher thread count and if she wanted a cheap thrill she could have at least went for the better quality. She probably thinks I would have denied her, but she's wrong. I would give anything to have her right now, with me and in my bed.

Just thinking of her entangled within his own blankets and around his body was having a drastic effect on him. Almost as if the heavens had heard his wish, his prayer was answered by the opening of the front door. She was hesitant of coming inside from what he could see from peering over the couch. Fran never even noticed him looking, so she turned to gently close the door and then put away her jacket in the closet. Even if she had looked over towards the couch, she wouldn't have seen him, for the room was still very much cloaked in darkness.

Fran decided that after everything that had went on, she needed something to calm her nerves and figured that warm milk would do the trick. So she made her way to the kitchen.

Max slowly got up from the couch and followed her, making sure he was quiet and she wouldn't detect him. When he got near the kitchen, he peeked through the door to watch her. By then he figured she was either in there to get a little nosh or some warm milk. She was sitting at a kitchen chair pulling off her high heels. Fran looked so innocent doing this and Maxwell couldn't help but stare at the back of her. Her curls flowed off her shoulders and she appeared so beautiful just sitting there. When she had walked over to the refrigerator barefoot, Fran lifted up her feet a bit for the floor tiles were cold. She gently pulled open the right fridge door and held it open with her hand as she scanned the food items for exactly what she was looking for. Just as she was about to reach for the one-gallon, 2 milk jug, he snuck up on her.

Fran wasn't even aware anyone was there, until she felt a hand cover her mouth and her own being lifted from the handle of the refrigerator door, which was then abruptly shut. She didn't dare turn around and she didn't need to. She couldn't see even if she was turned towards the shadowy figure, because it was totally dark in the kitchen without the light from the fridge or from the nightlight that Niles never replaced the light bulb in. For a slight second she had seen his hand, a mere silhouette, pull hers off of the door and she knew it was Mr. Sheffield. That had been her first guess before the typical psycho murderer presumption. He was still holding her hand at the moment, not having let it go yet—he had laced his fingers through hers and caressed their joined hands on his cheek. That wasn't the only reason she knew though.

She could feel him. Hear him. Smell him.

Fran could feel the weight of his body pressing against the back of her, she could hear his low, staggered breathing and she could smell the Aramis cologne mixed in with his own masculine scent. There was something different about him tonight though—he reeked of alcohol.

He had been drinking.

And it was because of her.

Fran was nervous, yet excited at the same time because of their close proximity. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she wouldn't doubt it, if in a matter of minutes, it just happened to come flying out of her throat. It wasn't fair for him to do this to her. After all, she was mad at him and he was mad at her.

Is he still angry at me? I'm not so much at him anymore. I wish he would stop torturing me like this, because now I really want to kiss him, she thought. Just align my lips so perfectly against his…

Fran had already practically forgiven the man already, because it was entirely impossible for her to hate him even with valid reasons. Basically, she was half afraid of what he might do if he was still pissed off, but she couldn't help finding herself delighted by the way he was acting.

Maxwell really had a heck of a time telling where she was in the black expanse of the room, but as he reached out he was able to feel and also "see" with his hands. His hand fell upon the base of her neck and he moved it over her shoulder and to her arm. Maxwell surprised her again by softly turning her a little and then hugging her to him with one hand. He also grabbed her hand that he was still holding and guided it to his mouth. She could feel his lips as he savagely nibbled on the soft skin of her palm.

"Ohhh…" she quietly whimpered out.

It was the first term spoken since they both had entered the kitchen.

The intense feeling stung a bit, but the overwhelming pleasure of him coming in contact with her hand this way blocked it out. He slowly ran his lips over her skin until he made it to her fingers. Maxwell then slowly scraped his teeth over each tip of every finger on her hand.

"Mmmm…"

This was just too much and it was only her fingers! Never in anyway had anyone ever done such things to her hands as this. He then topped it all off by applying numerous quick, light kisses across her digits. Fran took in a sharp breath.

Making sure he had covered her whole hand, he moved his tongue and lips in and among each curve and crevice between her fingers. The whole time she felt his rapid, sultry breath on her skin. A deep growl escaped her throat and came pouring out of her mouth, into his ears.

As if it couldn't get any better, he then continued the same assault on her other hand.

She gasped.

Fran, who was in total rapture, leaned her forehead against his chest which happened to be where his shirt was open. Her hot breath breathed onto his front and he felt himself shiver. Her slightly wet hair from the light rain outside touching his torso wasn't doing much better for him either.

Maxwell stopped suddenly and let go of her hand, having it fall limply at her side. He then embraced her readily and guided his hands down to her rear-end where he fondled her there for a quite a bit. When he was done, he loosed his tight grip that was holding her to him and he just kind of swayed close to her. Before she knew what hit her, Max swiftly turned her to face him more, and pushed her up against the fridge hard.

"Ugh… ow!" said Fran in reaction, even though she wasn't complaining—at all.

As she was crammed against Mr. Sheffield and the front of the refrigerator, she finally knew how the cream between two Oreo cookies felt. And boy, oh boy was it great!

It was a good thing Maxwell was fairly tolerant towards liquor, because even when he was drunk, you could just barely tell that he actually was. Unless of course, you knew him real personally like Fran did.

Everything seem to happen so fast, it was almost a blur to Fran. Deep down inside her, she knew this wasn't right. Mr. Sheffield didn't want her like this! But who was she to stop him when this was what she dreamed of? Anyways, he was the one with his hands on the steering wheel and his foot on the gas pedal of this action. It wasn't her! She wasn't the one begging or pleading for him to do this, so there was no way Fran could get blamed. Still, she desperately wanted to know why he was behaving like this all of a sudden, but she was also afraid that if she voiced something about what was happening, it would shatter this fantasy that seemed so very unreal as it was.

He haphazardly traced the contours of her face, ending on her lower jaw. Next, he decided to purposely breathe down the sweetheart neckline of her dress to let her feel what she had done to him earlier. Even though the air he possessed was warm and full of a scotch-smell that filled her nostrils, it sent a chill down her spine and popped out Goosebumps all over her skin. She grasped her hands tightly onto the lapels of his emerald silk pajamas. The likeness of the fabric of their clothes made holding onto each other very slippery—in particular, when they were directly touching.

For a moment, a thread of moonlight filtered into the room and they were both illuminated. All they could see were each other's eyes and the desire was displayed so crystal clear in them. The eyes are windows to the soul after all…

Max felt her thick hair brush his hand as her touched her face, lightly stroking her cheek. Tempted, he buried his hands in her thick tresses. Her hair was damp from the light April spring rainfall outside and he used his lips to move over her mane of hair, reveling in the cool moisture. Fran's curls also had a faint scent from the fruity citrus shampoo she had washed her hair with earlier that smelled absolutely delicious.

"Oh… please touch my hair more!" pleaded Fran in a soft voice, tilting her head back even though it was hitting the refrigerator surface.

Maxwell twirled his fingers around her thick locks and realized that he wanted precisely the same thing she did.

"Touch-mine as well Miss Fine… you absolutely must!" ordered Max smearing his words together, for he was still pretty smashed. He then took her hands and moved them to his scalp.

He had finally spoken and this reassured Fran that she wasn't dreaming.

"Pa-leeeeeze… I know to want you."

He realized that didn't sound right, or anything quite like the words he had formed in his brain.

"—I know you want to! Well… actually both."

It was a simple request and Fran followed. They both ended up moaning audibly from the experience. Fran clasped her fingers tightly around his dark curls and lured his head down towards her neck so he could apply some kisses there. He placed a few at the base of her neck and then gradually attempted to reach to her mouth.

Guilt getting the better of her, Fran decided it was about time to halt his advances, "Mr. Sheffield, I really don't think this is such a good idea…"

"Nonsense," he whispered and then smirked, touching his pointer finger vertically over her lips to tell her to "hush."

The room was spinning to Max, but Fran seemed so clear and sharp to his vision. Maxwell was so intensely aroused at the moment too that all he wanted was to feel her closer to him. He wanted to smash her body into his. So he shakily guided his hand underneath her dress, lifted one of her legs up to his side and held it there, which then gained him the desired closeness. They were still very much pressed against the fridge.

Fran was glad that he was half-carrying her, for she felt as if her legs were going to go out any minute. Relaxed and delighted in this new position with him, she wrapped one arm around his neck, while the other was holding onto the front pocket of this shirt. She rested her head down on his shoulder and he loved the feel of her now-dry, soft curls on his neck. When Max suddenly glided his tongue on the bit of skin on her exposed shoulder, she pulled back in astonishment. This of course, was exactly what he wanted.

Now that she was facing him again with her face, he gave her a casual peck on the cheek before he retracted his lips and concentrated on her mouth. He began by hovering his soft lips excruciatingly close to hers without connecting them at all. He did this for a few minutes, but to Fran it seemed like an eternity. Eventually he did reach them though, and he enclosed his lips over hers and moistened them until they glistened radiantly. He continually pulled at her lower lip too, relishing in the splendor of the mere gesture, but at the same time, he grew greedy and desperately desired to obtain entrance to her soft, sweet mouth. So therefore, acting on urge, he pushed against her teeth forcefully with his tongue a few times, because her teeth were practically closed together mind you, refusing him to come inside. Finally, she just gave into him even though she knew it wasn't right to allow him to go on touching her like this when he wasn't in the right state of mind. She just couldn't help it though. There was pretty much nothing she could deny this man. Looking at her magnificently parted lips, he decided to follow through with his plan of unleashing his frustration. Max wasn't able to stand doing things slow, so he eagerly invited himself in and hastened the pace of their so-called unified contact.

He only paused momentarily to convey a current thought:

"You ruined a very crucial business deal of mine, but as you can see… I'm something else besides mad with you at the moment…"

Maxwell slithered his tongue all around her mouth hard and pulled at her lips, forgetting to be gentle in the least. For most of this time, Fran had just sat back with her eyes closed and her mouth feebly trying to keep up with his movements. Fran soon had to really join in though, because she couldn't help herself, and she got him back for earlier by nipping at his glorious, delicious British lips. Max was partly trying to destroy her mouth and at the same time partly trying to swallow her affection deeply in this one contact. Her lips were sore and glistening. Never before had Fran ever had such an adoringly violent kiss and to her surprise, it was actually very exhilarating. Something had to have triggered him to do this, but what? All of a sudden, he then rapidly stopped and put her fully down. As soon as he had removed his lips from hers to say something, Fran began to struggle for breath. She touched a few fingers to her swollen lips and they burned with warmth.

"You slept with him didn't you?" hissed Maxwell harshly, slurring his words and unexpectedly deciding to grind his very apparent arousal against her mid-section.

She was pushed farther and harder against the fridge with a rough, rocking motion. Her eyes shut closed for an instant in painful pleasure and her mouth was thrown wide-open once again. Her reaction to their newfound closeness directly mirrored his own.

The question came out of nowhere and Fran was less than prepared. It wasn't that she didn't know how she should answer, it was that she was so wrapped up in what they were doing right now that she had barely paid attention to what he had said.

Her breathing became spurted and she cried out an answer. "What with who?"

"Slept with Julian," he spat out, as he once again pushed his sex closer to hers, even though they were still separated by clothing.

She shut her eyes in ecstasy once more and clenched her teeth together in reaction to feeling him and having him want her. If only he knew how much this was tormenting her, or maybe he did and that's exactly why he was doing it.

"No," she screeched out.

"I don't believe you," he choked out, followed by drunken laughing.

Max began to rapidly stroke her inner thigh beneath her short dress and then grabbed the side of her head. He pulled her towards his face so that it would be up against the side of his.

"Oh?"

Fran whimpered in his ear as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

"TELL ME I'M BETTER!" he demanded.

"Whaaat?"

"Tell me that I'm better than Julian—that this is better. Is it? IS IT?"

Despite his drunken stupor, he had not managed to hide the true hurt and fury within his voice.

"Yessss, yessss of—of course," she replied, reassuringly grasping and holding onto his warm, strong body tightly with her head resting on his chest.

He moved her back from him and leaned down to her neck, placing his lips on the side perfectly. Fran reached her arm over to the back of his head and pushed it closer, obviously loving the feeling by the sound of her sigh. He then proceeded to kiss her so amorously that he gave her a love bite and a reddish glow appeared where he had removed his mouth. Fran caressed her hand across the area.

Standing for so long and being so close with her so fast had begun to make him weak. Not to mention, all the booze had made his coordination and general balance all screwed up. His knees shortly gave out and he started slipping down the refrigerator. As he started to fall down, he dragged Fran with him to the ground. He had stumbled and staggered a bit, so he didn't hit the surface that harsh. His cheek slid down the cool, smooth tile as he landed against the kitchen floor. Maxwell winced in pain for his back and face had felt most of the blow. However, he wasn't injured too badly. Another feeling consumed him at the moment anyhow and it wasn't pain.

Fran let out a small, soft cry as she fell atop him, facing him with her arms bracketing him to the floor. She knew she had to have injured Maxwell a little bit from her weight falling on him. Fran stayed close, but moved off of him.

"Are you okay?" she asked in a soothing voice, concerned.

He failed to answer and his demeanor changed abruptly. Maxwell had this intense, possessed-like look on his face that freaked Fran out.

"Mr. Sheffield?" she whispered in fright, receding back.

He gave a devilish grin and started moving closer to her like a predator about to attach its prey. Fran didn't know why she was scared, but seeing Mr. Sheffield acting like this was just so very creepy and peculiar.

As she moved back away from him using her arms, he began to crawl towards her. Fran had made it all the way to the middle of the room, behind the kitchen island before he pounced on her. And by pounce, he did precisely that.

"I burn for you," he breathed out as his eyes melted into hers and he leaned over her.

Fran squealed out lightly, but was soon calmed down by his lips silencing her and tasting her yet again. She was so tired and out of it, that she didn't even try to fight it. Plus, the way he was smooching her was just too dreamlike and surreal. So heavenly amazing…

Maxwell was adoring the heavy making out and groping they were doing and knew that this had to be better than anything she experienced with Julian in the restaurant or at his house. Fully sitting up now, while Fran was leaning back, Maxwell tilted her towards him and aggressively stroked her back. Her soft skin and the thin fabric of her dress only made his temptation rise even higher. Wanting to feel more of her, he ran his hand over her back until he located her zipper. He smoothed his hand over the silk of her dress before pulling down the zipper slowly to her waist and carefully lifting her arms out of it. He then laid her fully against the tile and she trembled from the feeling of the cold floor against her bare back. He was truly amazed at what he saw. Even though the room was unlit and his vision was blurry, he just knew she was beautiful. All he could see and touch was her white soft skin. It was so creamy and goddess-like. Max placed feathery kisses from her neck down to her navel, as well as placing his lips upon her dark, shining hair.

He couldn't hold out any longer and he reached behind her again to unclasp her lacy lavender bra she had on. Especially, now that her fullness was exposed, he wasn't sure he could control himself even if he wasn't all that controlled to begin with. He ran his hands over her breasts, feeling her quiver and hearing her sigh. She was so velvety soft and he felt like a stoned, hippie teenager who was listening to psychedelic music while lying on a wavy waterbed. The overwhelming feel of her and him this close was most entirely intoxicating.

"Miss Fine… oh, Miss Fine… you are the object of my desire…" growled out Maxwell, resting his head just above the cleavage of her breasts with his arms wrapped around her and his hair spilled across her neck.

His body breathing decreased immensely, and him taking in air was the only sound that filled her ears.

Fran unconsciously nodded her head in reply—her eyes had been shut for a while now. Max was lying almost completely on top of her and even though he still had his shirt on, he was undergoing some very powerful effects in his body.

She was so very exhausted, but everything he did just kept on waking her up more. Even when she was unbearably tired like now, Fran couldn't resist the unrestrained intimacy she craved and that he was so willing to give at the moment.

They lay there comfortably quite some time before Maxwell realized that he really wanted and needed to feel her chest up against his. He sat up, rapidly unfastening his buttons and was just about to pull Fran towards him when they were both startled by a padding sound. Someone was walking down the back stairs towards the kitchen!

This made Fran open her eyes and put her hand over Max's mouth, hoping he wasn't too intoxicated to know to keep quiet. He then took her hand and laid it delicately down, understanding. They both became silent and didn't make a sound, so that whoever it was wouldn't notice them. Fran awkwardly crossed her arms over her naked front. When that person finally made it towards the refrigerator, they both recognized who it was—it was Maggie!

This was terrible. This was no kind of situation a child should ever find their father in—or their nanny for that matter! Fran felt so sick and dirty. What would happen if Maggie happened to look over their way?

Maggie stood at the large fridge in her blue star and moon tank top with pajama bottoms, contemplating what she was gonna get. With the girl's growing hesitation, Fran was starting to freak out and was wishing she would just get out of the kitchen as soon as possible. It seemed to them as if time had stopped. Finally, the young teenage girl grabbed a jug of orange juice and plopped it down on the counter. After pulling open a cabinet and grabbing a tumbler glass, she poured some juice in the cup. Maggie didn't even look or walk over to them as she went and sat over on one of the chairs of the kitchen table. When she stretched her legs out, she accidentally kicked one of Fran's shoes. Looking down to see what the noise was, she realized she had kicked a high heel.

"Fran…" she said aloud yet quietly, recognizing who the shoes belonged to.

Fran stopped breathing at the sound of her name. Her eyes popped wide-open in alarm that the girl might somehow have noticed her and her father and Fran expected to have another set of eyes meet up with hers as she browsed the room. Her worries were soon forgotten though, for after taking a few more sips of orange juice, Maggie went back up the stairs with the juice to bed.

Fran breathed a deep sigh of relief and looked over at Mr. Sheffield. He had his eyes closed, his hair was tousled all around and his arms were wrapped around her arm. He appeared unbearably desirable. She let her arm loose from his grasp.

"Mr. Sheffield, coast is clear…" She shook him a little, but when he failed to respond, she addressed him again. "Mr. Sheffield?"

"Oh great, he's asleep!" grumbled out Fran to herself.

It figures that he decides to snooze after he has his way with me on the kitchen floor! Just my luck! Oh so typical…

She shivered, almost forgetting she was half-naked. After getting herself together and putting her bra and dress back on all the way, she got up. She was very wobbly and felt that she was like a teapot that would tip over any minute.

Fran walked till she got behind Maxwell and she bent down to lift his arms up. As she wrapped her arms around the back of his, she attempted to get him up. Her face strained together as she tried to pull him to his feet.

No good.

She let out a frustrated breath.

He was out cold and there was no way she was going be able to wake him. The only way to get him into bed was to carry/drag him up the stairs and all the way to his room. Talk about mission impossible. Miss Fine had a great figure, but she wasn't very capable on the physical-lifting side. He was just S.O.L. if he expected her to get him to his bedroom all by herself! What was she gonna do, call Niles to help?

Oh yeah, nice. That'll spark some odd questions. Like, 'Miss Fine, just exactly how did Mr. Sheffield end up down here?' And 'What were you and Mr. Sheffield doing?' Forget that!

Fran shook her head and walked over to the kitchen table to grab up her shoes. After taking one last loving look at Mr. Sheffield, she went up the stairs.

Just a touch, it was only but a touch they had shared. Something so little and rare as what had happened would never be enough to keep Fran content. Nevertheless, it would satisfy her for the time being, or at least it would have to. Loving a man like him was the worst kind of torture—it was uncertain and often disappointing.

She never did get her warm milk, but with what she experienced tonight, even a soothing dairy product couldn't lull her to sleep.