A/N I thought (quite) long and hard about upping the rating for this chapter. But, on balance, have decided against on the grounds that it is no racier than your average Jilly Cooper or Jackie Collins. Both of which were teenage reading for me! I also like to think that you lovely readers are neither prudish nor naive enough not to know what to expect in my stories ... so, read on if you dare, and take this as your only warning ...
-ooOoo-
The closed bedroom door threatened to stall Max's momentum. He understood that she was still shutting him out but if Millie thought a shut door was much of a deterrent, then she was woefully mistaken. She must have come home for a reason and that could only be because no matter how stormy their relationship had become over the last couple of days, they needed to be together. Grasping the handle he took a deep breath and surged forward into the room. His jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he watched her leaning over the chest of drawers in towards the mirror. From the floor, her bare legs rose in delicious curves, eventually reaching the hemline of something he'd never seen before and wasn't sure how to describe. He stood staring for a second or two before his wits returned with a vengeance as in the mirror her eyes met his.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. Millie spun round, leaning back into the furniture, her breasts thrust forward stretching the sheer fabric to its limit. She stared back at him with mutinous eyes, her dark glossy lips parted. It took every ounce of his self-control not to pounce on her and hating himself for wanting to. "Well?"
"What? You don't like?" Her tone mocked him. "I thought this was just your thing." She ran her fingers down one delicate shoulder strap, intentionally provocative.
He watched every movement her body made. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, causing her curves to flex and lengthen, her fingers caressing her own skin, her eyes taunting him. "What are you doing?" he repeated in a low slow voice. "Your mother-"
Suddenly the assured facade snapped and Millie's face contorted angrily. "I know!" she hissed. "I know Mum is missing. I know there is nothing I can do about it and I know that you," she stabbed a pointed finger at him, "are using it for the benefit of your own career!"
"Now that ... that is bollocks! Absolute crap!"
"And that's not to mention the cheap thrill you're getting from that woman."
"Oh not back to this again. When will you get it into your head that there is nothing going on between me and Jessa."
"Jessa? Very familiar, aren't we?"
"Oh forget it!"
"That's just the point! Make me, Max. Come on, make me forget it. I don't want to think about anything anymore," she wailed. "And isn't that what you are so good at? Using sex to avoid answering awkward questions? Come on, now's your chance. Look at me, I'm offering you-"
"That's enough!" he took two steps towards her but stopped short, not sure that he would be able to contain himself if she was within his reach.
"Look at me, I'm even playing the part, just for you. Just like them."
"Them? What the hell are you talking about now?"
"Katya," the name tasted as sour on her tongue but his dismissive reaction spurred her on. "And Irina." She was determined to push every button in her arsenal.
"Shut. Up."
"Make. Me. This is what you want, isn't it. A whore in the bedroom, well, here I am. Come on, do it! Fuck me like you fucked them. I don't mean any more to you than they did! Do it!" she finished on a scream.
Mentioning Katya was bad enough, but bringing back those hideous memories of his time with Irina was a low blow. It was enough to tip him over the edge and the last vestige of his fragile self-control vanished. With a growl he was on her in a moment, pulling her over to the wall and slamming his body into hers. She might just have well been naked for all the protection her dress provided and she felt every angle of his body and clothing press into her. His mouth hotly crushed hers, immediately silencing her vindictive taunting. "Want to play the whore do you? Is this really what you want?" he breathed into her neck, but before she could answer he conquered her mouth once again. Roughly he pulled down the shoulder straps, his mouth following in hard open mouthed kisses, his teeth scraping against her skin. Millie gasped and gulped as she felt the fabric rip from her body but the sensation jolted her back to the pursuit of her goal and with frantic hands she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, she managed two before he grabbed her wrists and manoeuvred her towards the bed, throwing her down and hastily tearing away his clothes. Millie looked up at him, her eyes still defiant, still provoking. The dress clung to her body but it hung raggedly, exposing even more of the valley between her breasts and ruched up high over her thighs. He couldn't bear to look into her accusing eyes any longer, instead ferociously focussing on the rest of her body. Except for her hair falling back onto the white sheets of the bed, she didn't look like his Millie anymore, if anything she had achieved her mission of some sort of hybrid of Katya and Irina. Between them, two women he had never made love to and one to whom he had only ever made love. And now she wanted to be fucked liked he had fucked them? He didn't understand it, didn't understand the urge he had to do it either. Propped up on her elbows she lay motionless, except for the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest matching his own laboured breathing. Suddenly, almost fearfully as if she had second thoughts about her plan, she made to scoot away but he was on her in a flash, pushing her down and pinning her with his body, she resisted for a second before launching her own assault in response to his hands, his mouth, pulling his head closer and scoring his back with her nails. He gasped into her mouth at the sharpness of the pain and slammed the offending hand back down above her head, clamping her wrist firmly into the bed and holding it there. A squeak of surprise stuck in her throat but swiftly became a low moan as his other hand slid down her body and thrust between her thighs, pushing them apart. She arched beneath him involuntarily, anticipating what was to come. Her moan intensified as his hand stilled. She couldn't see his eyes, but his lips were curled cruelly. That expression she knew he used only in his most contemptuously arrogant frame of mind. This was no game to prolong the pleasure, it was about denying her pleasure, pronouncing his power, his control. Her hips bucked and she threw a leg over his thigh to force him down closer. The strength of his erection pressed into her and this time he was the one to groan while she ground upwards against him. If he wouldn't give, then she would take. The punishing dance continued until her dress was little more than a cobweb of threads. Max tore its remains away leaving her as naked as he. "Still want this?" he muttered, but she said nothing comprehensible, the writhing response of her body enough to answer his question. Millie nearly cried out as she felt a finger trace lightly between her legs, and then hover above the most sensitive nub. She bucked again, making delicious contact but he didn't react. Again she lifted her hips to him and almost instantly a rhythm developed. Spellbound, he watched on as she drove the pace against his still hand, her eyes closed, utterly absorbed in the sensation she was generating. Yet somewhere in the back of her mind she knew there was something wrong in this. He was making her work for it, her body at his mercy, he could pull away at any moment and leave her an unsated mess. A sob escaped from her throat at her self-imposed predicament but her hips increased the momentum regardless. She fisted her free hand into the pillow beneath her head and turned her face into it, silencing any further sound and avoiding the sight of him above her. Onwards she raced, towards the meltdown that she had so craved from him, the only thing he could do for her. And then it came, breathing rendered irrelevant as her body went rigid except for the very hottest part of her which convulsed chaotically and then with a strangely insufficient fulfilment as she felt his fingers enter and claim his place within her.
Max squeezed his eyes shut as her body greedily gripped and grasped at his fingers, hot, wet and soft, so soft. It might have all been beautiful if only she had looked up at him with eyes that told how she loved him. Instead she hid herself away, buried into the pillow for protection. As her contractions subsided he wrenched his hand away to hook one leg over his arm, stretching her open to drive hard into her, relishing the lingering ripples massaging his cock. He no longer held her arm above her head but still she didn't move, didn't look up, didn't make a sound. It was as if he wasn't there at all but by now he didn't care, she had what she wanted and now it was his turn. Without her caresses and emotional encouragement there was no point in prolonging his journey and within a few seconds he thrust deeply for the final time before collapsing on top of her, his head buried into the side of her exposed neck. Breathing deeply as his own orgasm faded away, the scent of her skin filled him but only accentuated the emptiness of what had just taken place.
Millie lay beneath him, two bodies breathing deeply, sticky, exhausted and more like strangers than they had ever been. At this point there should have been affectionate giggles or perhaps an unwillingness to let go, small kisses, stroking soft sensitive skin, whispered words of love. But now there was only stillness and silence between them. Gradually Max realised that he was probably crushing her and rolled away to lie on his back at her side, one arm flung over his eyes to hide from the building shame at having capitulated so readily, returning to what he used to be so easily. Under his blindfold he prayed that she would turn to him, touch him or just say something that would take them back to who they were. He waited, his sweat drying on his skin, disappointment filling him as she moved to lie on her side, away from him, turning her back in rejection.
She stared with unseeing eyes at the lowered window blind, determined not to fall into darkness. That would only bring forth thoughts of despair. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't blame Max for this. He'd only done as she had demanded but while for a few minutes she had forgotten everything except for the wild sensations shaking her body and dislodging trauma from her mind, it was now horribly clear that it had only been a temporary reprieve, leaving her even more desolate. Interrupting her thoughts however, a cold familiar trickle ran down the back of her lower thigh and onto the sheet beneath her. She clamped her legs together tightly to stem the viscous rivulet but that too could only be temporary respite from the inevitable trip to the loo. Silently, and as gracefully as she could manage, she rose from the bed and hobbled into the bathroom. Using tissues, she cleaned herself up as best she could, concentrating completely on her task, grateful for the albeit unpleasant distraction. With the sticky dampness taken care of, it occurred to Millie that she probably looked a complete sight. Not that it really mattered, but it gave her something to do, she grabbed a handful of cleansing wipes and rubbed at the make-up smeared across her face, looking up into the mirror to begin work. She watched as her eyes widened at the horror looking back at her. The dark lipstick was smudged around her lips, down to her chin, the black eyeliner and smoky powder smeared around her eyes. A strange sound escaped from her mouth and she raised both hands to immediately force it back down into her throat, holding them tightly against the cry that so desperately wanted to escape. Guilt, shame, inadequacy all poured into her soul with a gush she had no hope of defending against. Her mother was gone, taken by some Russian madman who it seemed thought nothing of mutilation as a form of communication and she sought to forget all that by having soulless sex. No matter how she tried to force back the sobs, her hands were simply not strong enough to hold bag the grief and she staggered back against the tiled wall, sliding down to the floor.
Max lay in the semi-lit bedroom with his arm still flung over his eyes, thinking hard about how to put this right. Unfortunately, he wasn't coming up with a plan which sounded convincing even to him. She held all the cards and didn't seem to have any intention of playing them. He sighed. Perhaps there was nothing he could do. Maybe he would have to ride this one out and hope for the best. As he came to this unsatisfactory conclusion he became aware of the noise reaching him from the bathroom. She'd been in there a long time, spending longer than usual on the post-coital clean up. Not the most romantic part of the sexual ritual, but a price to pay for having given up condoms in favour of the contraceptive methods of a more committed, stable relationship. At least, it had been stable, he wasn't so sure right now. On hearing the noise again, a strange sort of sob, more of a low moan really, he sat up as if that would improve his hearing and was rewarded by the sound of her crying, now in huge wracking sobs from behind the bathroom door. He leapt from the bed and raced to the door, flinging it open without warning to find her slumped in the corner by the bath, her legs bent awkwardly and her hair seeking to modestly cover her body.
After a moment where he stood in stunned silence, staring at the wretched form of his lover, her arms wrapped tightly round her waist, shaking with her cries, he covered the distance between them in an instant and dropped to his knees in front of her. He hesitated, unsure how to reach out and knowing only that he wanted to hold her, then tentatively held a hand to her head, threading his fingers into her hair and tucking a few strands behind her ear.
"Millie?" he whispered. "Oh God, Millie." He tried to lift her chin, to unfurl her hunched position but she resisted, tensing her limbs defensively, her body cold and stiff. She wouldn't accept his warmth from him and so he pulled down a fluffy towel from the rail above, wrapping it around her back and gently using it to draw her closer. His persistence paid off and gradually, with tiny uncertain jerky movements she relented and allowed him to take her into his arms. Her tears fell wetly against his skin, blotted by the dusting of hair on his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, Millie. I shouldn't ..." he trailed off. Where to start? He was sorry for everything that had started with an overheard private conversation four days ago and ended a just few minutes earlier in their bedroom. Instead of talking himself further into the mire, he dropped a kiss to her shoulder where the towel had slipped, taking heart that her sobs seemed to be easing, at the very least they weren't quite so wrenching. "I never wanted to hurt you. Got that wrong, didn't I?" he added bitterly. "There's nothing more important to me than you, nothing." Millie pulled away to look up at him, testing him with puffy, reddened eyes ringed with smudged black kohl. He waited anxiously for her verdict, holding his breath for her reproach, but she appeared to be satisfied with what she saw and returned silently to the haven of his chest and arms. "I'll transfer, or resign. We can get away from here, go somewhere quieter. If that's what you want. When we get your Mum home, we'll talk about it. Decide together." He felt her shrink at the mention of her mother.
"I just want her back," Millie moaned into his body.
"I know. So do I. So do I," he pressed his lips to her hair, rhythmically stroking and smoothing the long strands. "And we will. Get her back." He spoke so confidently that Millie found it easy to somehow believe him, despite knowing in her head that he had no right to give her such assurances. Neither wanted to move, having so unexpectedly found their truce, but they both knew that they couldn't stay on the bathroom floor all night. At the sound of Millie's watery sniffing, Max leant away, grabbing a tissue from a nearby box and handing to her. The cleansing wipes which had fallen from her hand to the floor lay just behind him. He picked them up and after a moment of wondering quite what do to with them pulled out a handful. "Here," he began, "let's get rid of this stuff." Gently, so exquisitely tenderly, he swiped the cloths over her skin. She submitted with quiet grace to his ministrations. With each pass revealing the Millie he knew beneath the mask-like make-up that had temporarily stained her. Gradually she became the natural, whole woman that he adored to within an inch of, and quite possibly beyond, his life. He had to admit that he didn't do a very good job with the eye make-up, unsure of how much pressure to apply, but eventually felt satisfied with his efforts and left the cloths in a small pile. Without words, he shifted round to her side, slid an arm under her knees and behind her back and with care to disguise the grimace that came from the creaking in his back, lifted her from the floor to carry her back to their bed.