Well, I'm back again folks! You know I couldn't stay away for too long. Welcome to my sequel fic. There's gonna be a lot of fluff, a lot of smut, a little angst, and a whole bunch of grunge music references!

As always, comments give me actual life, so please don't be shy :)

Chicago, Illinois

Mike tore his headphones off and tossed them onto the textbook in front of him before dropping his face into his hands and letting out a frustrated groan. This linear algebra final was going to be the actual death of him. He rubbed his palms over his eyes in an effort to wake himself up and looked around the quiet apartment.

He and Max had moved into the aging lowrise building in August, just before he'd started his studies in computer science at Northwestern and she'd started her job as an assistant to one of the A&R managers at Lake Michigan Records, a small, independent record company specializing in alternative and punk rock. He'd managed to get a scholarship that covered most of his tuition so they were able to afford their cheap rent thanks to his parents' college fund and Max's slightly above-minimum wage salary.

He sighed and pushed his hair back off his face. It was the longest it had ever been, grazing the tops of his shoulders now. If he were still living at home his mom would definitely be on his ass to cut it, but Max was constantly telling him how much she liked it and running her hands through it, so it was staying.

The sounds of Lincoln Park streamed in through the open living room window—a motorcycle revving somewhere down the block, Latin hip-hop music blaring from the playground across the street where the teenagers hung out after dark. Their landlord, Alejandro, told them it used to be a very Puerto Rican neighbourhood but was quickly becoming less so, which Mike thought was a shame. The closest thing they'd had to any sort of culture in Hawkins was the Ukranian church that sold perogies on the weekends.

He looked around the small one-bedroom apartment. It was hard to believe they'd already been there for the better part of a year. The plain beige walls were slowly becoming covered with band posters Max brought home (stole) from work. The faded maroon sofa Wayne had given them was strewn with mismatched throw pillows and blankets from home. Aside from the stacks of Rolling Stone and Spin magazines that littered the coffee and side tables, the place was very clean and organized since Max had turned out to be surprisingly domestic. Mike suspected this was due in part to how unstable her home life had always been; now that she had a space that was truly hers she wanted to take good care of it.

They worked well as roommates. He got up earlier to drive or take the train up north to campus for class and she got up later in the morning since her boss generally didn't show up until after noon. Then when Mike got home he'd have a few hours to study or work on his assignments before she got back. She'd come over and rub the tension out of his neck and shoulders if he was still hunched over his books at the table and they'd talk about their days. They tried to have dinner together most nights if work didn't keep her too late, another thing that she'd insisted upon because it had been a practically non-existent occurrence growing up. Then they'd lie on the couch and watch tv or go out if there was a band playing that they wanted to see or friends to meet up with. It was a nice little life they'd made for themselves.

Other than a few short-lived and silly arguments over things like how to correctly load the dishwasher and whether chili should be served over spaghetti (which Mike insisted it should, prompting Max to call him a "Midwestern freak"), it had been smooth sailing. He glanced at the microwave over the stove and noted the time—nearly ten pm. Max would usually be home by now, having taken the train up from the record label's downtown headquarters.

Then the door slammed open and he jumped as the subject of his thoughts came storming into the apartment, a beautiful whirlwind of red hair and leather fringe. She dropped her heavy messenger bag on the kitchen table carelessly. It was faded and fraying and covered in buttons for various rock bands and political movements.

"I'm quitting," she declared, shaking off her leather jacket and hanging it up by the door.

Mike raised an eyebrow and flipped his textbook closed. "Hello to you too."

Max rolled her eyes and strode over to him, leaning in and cupping his cheek. "Hi." She planted a quick kiss on his lips, tasting like the cigarettes she still smoked on occasion when she was particularly stressed. "I'm fucking quitting," she repeated when she pulled back, making her way to the living room and picking up the clear bong from the coffee table.

"You say that every week."

"I'm serious this time." The water in the bong bubbled as she took a hit and blew the smoke out in the direction of the window. "It's been nine months, I thought I'd be doing something music related by now, you know?" The bowl was still lit so she took another long pull. "Instead I'm answering phones and making lattes."

"C'mon, you do more than that," he said, trying to placate her.

"Oh yes, how could I forget the joys of being a part-time drug purveyor?"

Mike bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. He'd never forget when Max had recounted the first day her boss casually dropped five hundred dollars in her lap and told her to "pick up an eight-ball from Rocco."

"What did Rick the Dick do today?" he asked when she came back over and threw herself onto the other chair, borrowing her nickname for him.

"Well, first of all, he didn't even roll up until one, sunglasses on, reeking of whiskey. And he was all like, 'Sorry sweetheart, ended up shitfaced with the Pumpkins after the show last night.'" she drawled in a terrible imitation of her boss's Chicago accent. "Then he had me remake his coffee three times because I didn't get the foam consistency right. Then he asked me to get him on the VIP list for Metro tonight, which is obviously impossible, so I had to take the L all the way up to Lakeview and wait for the manager to show up so I could beg and fucking bribe him." She dropped her face into her palms and dragged them down her face as if just recounting the tale was exhausting.

"So you did it?"

Max propped her chin in her hand and grinned at him. "You know how persistent I can be, Wheeler."

"Yeah, I do know how annoying you can be," Mike replied, smiling at the outraged look that crossed her face.

She gave him a halfhearted kick under the table. "Anyway, that's not even the worst part. Just now when we were finally leaving the office he turns to me and he says 'You'll get a lot further in this business if you smile and show a little leg once in a while.'"

Mike frowned, a hot stab of anger going through him on Max's behalf. It was far from the first time she'd been on the receiving end of casual sexism in the workplace, but she always brushed it off and said it was just part of the industry.

"I'm sorry, babe," he rested his hand on top of hers, "that bites." She narrowed her eyes and wrinkled her nose in faux irritation at the pet name. It had started out as a joke when they were making fun of his classmate and his girlfriend, but somewhere along the way it had become real and now Mike found he couldn't stop using it. He was pretty sure Max secretly liked it too. "Are you hungry? I left a plate in the microwave for you."

"Nah," she raked her hands through her hair. "I kind of just wanna go somewhere and forget this shitty day. Miller's?" she asked, referring to the neighbourhood dive bar they frequented that turned a blind eye to their fake IDs.

"The guys are having a party tonight if you don't mind making the trek up north," he suggested, remembering the impromptu gathering his friends had mentioned in class that morning. His program had a small class size and as a result, he knew a lot of the sophomores as well, who mostly lived in houses off-campus.

Max raised her eyebrows. "A rager on a Thursday? Right before finals?"

"'Thirsty Thursday,'" Mike shrugged.

"God bless college students," she laughed. "Let's do it."

Mike zipped up his windbreaker as the train screeched to a stop at Fullerton Station. It was a forty-five-minute ride to Evanston, where his friends, Ben and Trevor, lived just a few blocks from campus.

He and Max took a seat and he draped his arm around her shoulder automatically, pulling her in close and pressing his lips to her forehead, breathing in the comforting scent of her hair while they watched the city flash by in the window.

Max had taken very quickly to city living; she'd always been too big for Hawkins. Too caged. When they'd first moved here she hadn't batted an eye at the rush hour traffic jams or deciphering the lines of the L or navigating the crowds that sometimes still left Mike feeling claustrophobic. She'd seemed at home from day one, energized by the fast pace and crowded sidewalks rather than overwhelmed. Mike felt that way now as well, but it had taken him a month or two to get as comfortable as Max.

College had been a huge shock. He'd been expecting it to be like high school, hallways lined with bullies and cliques and judgemental stares. But that wasn't the case, at all—everyone kind of just did their own thing. Nobody was called a nerd or shoved against a locker for what their interests were. All his classmates were nice and they all cared about their grades and were genuinely passionate about what they were studying… but the real surprise had been the schoolwork itself.

Back home, he'd been used to being one of the best students in most of his classes without having to try too hard, but at Northwestern he'd quickly become overwhelmed when he realized half his classmates had gone to private schools and had already learned a lot of the material they seemed to be flying through in class.

It was a big adjustment to have to actually schedule time to study and get his assignments done for all his courses and still eat and sleep like a regular human. The first two months he'd felt like he was drowning—sleep-deprived and practically living in the campus library. Max tried to be supportive but she didn't really know how to help, and she'd just been thrown headfirst into her full-time job as well.

And then one day, a month into the first semester, Trevor had sat down next to Mike in the computer lab where he'd been shoving a handful of dried ramen into his mouth and trying to figure out for the millionth time why he kept getting an error message, and assured him that he'd been the exact same way his freshman year. He'd given Mike his notes from his classes the year before and introduced him to the rest of his sophomore friends and from that day on everything just felt a little more manageable.

Mike also forced himself to get over his social anxiety and ask some of the guys in his class if they wanted to study together, which was how he ended up with the group of friends he currently had. They reminded him of Dustin and Lucas and even Will in a lot of ways. They weren't into D&D but they were always down to play video games or spend a day watching every single Star Trek movie.

They were also big believers in the importance of blowing off steam. Work hard, play hard, was the motto Theo always repeated when they found themselves banging their heads against their keyboards in frustration.

Contrary to what Max had said, it wasn't actually going to be a rager—those were reserved for the start of the semester and after midterms or finals. The gathering they walked into was definitely more low-key, and Mike was secretly glad he wouldn't have to put his atrocious beer-pong skills on display. Max had dragged them to victory countless times but it was still embarrassing that his hand-eye coordination hadn't improved a bit since he was a kid.

As they descended further into the basement the air became thick and hazy with weed smoke and The Cure played softly in the background. The walls were covered in taped-up Bob Marley posters and tie-dyed tapestries, a stolen yield sign lay over a crate and served as a makeshift side table which held an old television that was playing some sort of grotesque Japanese cartoon on mute. The three mismatched, lumpy sofas and the carpeted floor were strewn with people Mike recognized from around the computer science building.

"Oh sick, you guys made it," Trevor said as he came up behind them, clapping Mike on the shoulder. "No keg tonight but there's some jungle juice over there," he nodded towards the table in the corner of the room.

"Max!" a voice called out from the other side of the room where a group was kneeling around a coffee table, intensely scrutinizing a Jenga tower. The voice belonged to Theo, one of Mike's freshman classmates. The blonde boy was looking over at them, smiling widely as Max gave Mike's hand a squeeze before letting it go and making her way over to the group. His friends all loved Max. A little too much, he thought sometimes, his eye twitching at the way their faces lit up when she walked into the room. Then again, there were only two girls in their class and Max was incredible, so he supposed he could cut them a little slack.

He looked over at where some of his other friends were lounging on the sofa and passing around a joint and made his way over to them, quickly becoming pulled into a discussion about their final projects for their programming languages class.

After a while, Max popped up next to him holding two red cups filled with bright blue liquid. Mike shot her a grateful smile and took a big sip. The drink was sweet and barely even tasted like alcohol which, he'd learned the hard way at the post-midterm kegger, meant it was even more dangerous.

They spent most of the party apart, talking to different groups of people or playing games, but their eyes were constantly finding each other throughout the night. The wide, genuine smile on Max's face every time he glanced over at her made a warmth spread through him and assured him her shitty day had been firmly relegated to the back of her mind.

Then, before they knew it, it was past one in the morning and they were taking one last hit of the joint being passed around and waving goodbye to the few remaining people in the house before making their way to the street to wait for their ride.

They'd started getting handsy in the back of the taxi, his hand engulfing her denim-clad inner thigh while she dragged her lips over the side of his neck and he attempted to avoid the driver's knowing glances in the rearview mirror. Then, on the short walk from the corner to their apartment she'd caught him off guard and shoved him up against the side of the building, tripping over a crack in the sidewalk and stumbling forwards into his arms and then they were laughing and kissing and their teeth clacked together because they couldn't control their silly, inebriated grins.

Now they were crashing through the front door of their apartment, kissing wildly as they kicked off their shoes and their jackets fell to the floor. Max's keys clattered to the hardwood somewhere in the direction of the end table and Mike kicked the door shut behind him, their mouths still fused together.

He pushed her forward until her back hit the opposite wall of the entryway, grabbing behind her thighs and prompting her to jump up and wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. It was drunk and sloppy and they kept missing each other's lips, tongues licking around their mouths, strings of saliva stretching out when they pulled apart to breathe. She bit his lower lip and tugged on it, making him groan at the lightning bolt of arousal that went straight to his dick.

He ducked his head and ran his teeth over the soft skin of her neck, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and her flowery body wash. Her hands slid down and fumbled with his belt buckle, taking a few attempts until it clinked open and she ran her fingers teasingly over the waistband of his underwear.

He wanted to touch her too but his hands were occupied with holding her up, so he ground his hips forward, his rapidly hardening erection now free from the confines of his pants to rub against the seam of Max's jeans, earning a desperate whine from her mouth into his.

Mike was just about to turn around and carry her over to the couch when a shrill ring startled them out of their embrace.

She slid slowly down his body and to her feet as they looked over at where the ringing phone was sitting on a side table. Mike furrowed his brow in confusion. "What the fuck?"

"Who would be calling this late?" Max breathed, still short of breath from the intense makeout.

He strode over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Your sister's getting married!" his mother's voice shrieked into his ear.

"Mom?" His drunken mind was slow to process. "What– which sister?" he asked dumbly.

"Nancy obviously, Michael. She just called me, she's over the moon!"

"Whoa. Jonathan proposed?" Mike looked up as Max whipped around from where she'd been rummaging through the fridge, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Well he was going to wait until after she graduated this winter but you know your sister can't help snooping. She found the ring and got so excited she made him do it right there in his bedroom. And then she got so excited to tell us that she forgot about the time difference and called us right away."

Mike smiled. Nancy had found every single one of her Christmas and birthday presents from the day she could walk. "Wow."

"Apparently your father already knew because Jonathan asked his permission over Christmas but you know he doesn't tell me a damn thing."

"Mom, you would've blabbed within forty-eight hours."

"Oh please! I can keep a secret," she insisted. That was a lie, but Mike wasn't about to call her out and start a whole thing. "Well anyways, sorry if I woke you, honey, but I just had to share the good news! Talk soon, and say hello to Max!"

"Bye," he replied, a kissing sound and a click ending the call. He put the phone back on its base and flopped onto the couch, exhaling deeply.

"Jonathan and Nancy got engaged...?" Max asked, taking a long sip from the glass of water in her hand.

Mike threw his feet up on the coffee table and let his head fall back against the cushions. "I guess so."

She sat down next to him, drawing her knees up and nestling into his side. "That's crazy. Imagine getting engaged at twenty-one?"

"I know, right?" he nodded in agreement, looking down at his feet.

The truth was, Mike could imagine it. He imagined it a lot, actually. But he knew what Max's feelings about marriage were. She'd told him one night before they'd even gotten together, back when they were just emotional support for each other, chatting late into the night over walkie-talkies. She was of the mind that marriage was antiquated and patriarchal. Practically slavery had been her exact words. She was also certain it ruined relationships, even the ones that seemed happy on the outside, like Lucas's parents. Mike would take her any way he could have her, but deep down he was holding out hope she'd change her mind eventually.

He suddenly felt exhausted, a jaw-cracking yawn reminding him how late it was. "Ready for bed?" he asked Max, giving her a squeeze where his arm was wrapped around her shoulders.

When he received silence in reply he peered down at her, smiling when he saw she was already passed out. He adjusted his hold on her and stood, picking her up in a bridal carry.

She mumbled something unintelligible against his chest as he carried her to their room and lay her down gently on their bed before shedding his clothes onto the floor and crawling in next to her, the strong pull of sleep quickly taking him under as well.

Mike jolted awake, blinking at the bright lights in the kitchen and taking in the dark sky outside the window. It had definitely still been light out when he'd sat down on the couch to finish reading a textbook chapter on machine learning. He looked down, neck cracking as he lifted his head from the uncomfortable position he'd been sleeping in to see said textbook lying open, face down on his chest.

Then his gaze landed on the scene in the kitchen, and he was sure he must still be dreaming because Max was darting around in a black long-sleeved shirt, her combat boots, and the tiniest skirt he'd ever seen; some kind of pleated, tartan strip of fabric that looked like it was stolen from a sexy schoolgirl costume. Is it my birthday? he wondered as he rubbed at his eyes, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

The microwave clock told him was just after two in the morning. He remembered it was Friday, and he'd come home to a voicemail on the machine from Max excitedly telling him she'd be back late because Rick asked her to come with him to check out a new band.

"Max?" he asked eventually, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Oh hey you!" she exclaimed, glancing over and grinning at him. "I didn't mean to wake you, it's so late." She reached for a glass on the top shelf, causing the skirt to ride up higher on the backs of her pale thighs. Mike felt his mouth go dry. "Crackhead Pete was on the corner and he got a new dog, it's so cute. Maybe we should get a dog," Max babbled, seemingly not caring that her conversation was completely one-sided.

He frowned and took in the way she was drumming her fingers on the counter as she waited for the tap water to get cold, like she couldn't stand still. And her voice sounded weird—high-pitched and oddly fast.

Then she seemed to remember she still had her boots on because she suddenly stopped mid-sentence to unlace them and kick them off in the direction of the entryway where they came to rest with a thud in front of the door. It normally drove Mike nuts when she did that but he was too confused and distracted to care.

"What uh, what's going on right now?" he asked, cutting off her rambling and gesturing at her broadly.

She put her glass down forcefully and leaned back against the counter, nervously twisting the rings on her hand. "So um, full disclosure… I did a little coke tonight," she confessed, looking at him warily as she tried to gauge his reaction. "Actually a lot. A lot of coke," she blurted, seemingly unable to stop the words from coming out.

Mike blinked in surprise. That certainly explained the weird energy she was practically vibrating with. "Seriously? With your boss?"

Max nodded rapidly, looking like a bobblehead figurine. "The band we were seeing, who was amazing by the way, offered some to him backstage after the show and then they offered me a line and we had this really good rapport going so I didn't want to like, kill the vibe you know?"

"What is it like?"

"Well it fucking burns going in," she said with a laugh, tapping her finger against the side of her nose. "And now I feel like I drank six espressos in a row and I never want to sleep again. And I'm fucking thirsty."

Mike nodded, his gaze once again drawn to the distractingly short skirt that had yet to be explained. He swallowed past the dryness in his throat and noted the tingling of blood travelling southward as he continued to stare. "And umm… what are you wearing?"

"Oh, the skirt?" she glanced down and tugged at the hem like she'd forgotten how short it was. "I thought I'd take Rick's advice literally so I stopped at the secondhand store on Lincoln on my way to the station this morning. I know it looks ridiculous and I was honestly just calling his bluff, but then he invited me out to actually meet a band, and he asked for my opinion after the show, so I guess it worked?"

"That's great, babe," Mike replied absently, unable to tear his eyes away from her legs. She started walking slowly towards him and he glanced up just as her face morphed into a look of understanding, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.

"Do you like it?" she asked as she came to stand in between his legs.

"Mhmm," he nodded again, eyes raking over her blatantly.

Max grinned and twirled slowly, bending over a little and ensuring he caught a glimpse of her black panties before she turned back to face him. "You don't… think it's too short?"

"Oh, it's definitely too short." He reached out and gently ran the backs of his fingers up her inner thigh, stopping just before reaching anything. Looking at her up close, he noticed her pupils were slightly more dilated than usual. "Did any guys try to hit on you in this little thing?" he asked, flicking the hem upwards as he retracted his hand.

"Mm… one or two," she said coyly as she slid onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Mike clenched his jaw and grabbed a handful of her ass under the skirt, squeezing possessively. If he didn't trust her so much he'd be way more jealous. "And what did you tell them?"

She leaned towards him until her lips were nearly ghosting over his. "That I have a very serious, very sexy boyfriend waiting for me at home," she murmured before closing the distance between them and kissing him.

Max's unusually warm hands came up to cradle the base of his head while their mouths moved in tandem, soft lips closing around his bottom lip before moving to the top one.

Mike pulled her closer, pressing their torsos together as his free hand crept up the back of her shirt, lightly drawing circles on the skin of her lower back. He caught her lip between his teeth, grunting at the feeling of her grinding down onto his quickly hardening dick.

Overcome with the need to feel her skin on his, he broke the kiss to tear her long-sleeved top off over her head, reaching back for the collar of his own t-shirt while she pulled her arms out of her sleeves and tossed the shirt behind her. They were back on each other with increased urgency, and she let her head fall back as he mouthed at her neck, teeth pulling at the stretchy plastic choker that drove him crazy whenever she wore it.

He ducked down lower and dragged his tongue over the top of her breasts before bringing his hands to the clasp of her bra and ridding her of the prohibitive undergarment. She let out a breathy gasp, grasping at his hair as he took her bare breasts into his hands and sucked softly on each hardened peak.

"Your turn," Max breathed after a minute of what Mike knew was torturously light stimulation. She gave his hair a quick tug and pulled him off of her, eyes flashing with mischief as she slid down to the floor, kneeling between his thighs.

Mike felt his already hard cock straining even more against his jeans as she reached up and undid the button, quickly followed by the zipper. He lifted his hips to help her pull them off along with his boxers and then he was naked in front of her. She paused and looked up at him for a moment, biting her lower lip softly as her gaze dropped lower.

Her warm hand wrapped around his aching length while she repositioned herself and lowered her mouth to him. Mike groaned with relief as her tongue dragged up the underside of his shaft, her hand closing tighter around the base before she slid the head into her warm, sweet mouth. She only gave him a few slow, firm pulls of her mouth before she backed off and returned to running her tongue over him teasingly, peering up at him with her sparkling blue eyes.

He was momentarily struck by an overwhelming wave of love and affection before his mind was wiped blank as Max sucked him back into her mouth more vigorously than before. Mike smiled down at her and lightly ran his nails over her scalp before gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail.

With another moan he let his head fall back against the cushions and allowed his mind to go fuzzy at the edges, the matrices and lines of code that had taken to swimming behind his eyelids melting away under the miraculous ministrations of her mouth. The rest of the world ceased to exist, the sound of her mouth moving against him obscene, not to mention deafening in the quiet room.

She was so good at this. Too good, he realized, eyes opening when he felt a familiar tightening in his abdomen. He was nowhere near ready for this to be over.

"Get up here," he panted, tugging her up gently by her hair. Max released him with a quiet pop, wiping at her mouth as she scrambled to her feet. She gave him a once over, a smug grin spreading over her face at how undone he surely looked before reaching for the zipper on the side of her skirt. "Leave it on," Mike said quickly, his words coming out as more of a command than a request.

She froze, her eyebrows raised as her smile widened. Maintaining eye contact with him, she reached under the skirt and dragged her underwear off slowly. Mike glanced down, his cock giving a jump as the black fabric slid over her rug-burned red knees and fell to the floor before she stepped out of it completely.

"I bet this is what everyone who saw you in this was picturing," he murmured as he sat up and reached between her legs, revelling in the soft moan that caught in her throat when he trailed his fingertips over her swollen wet lips.

"Does that bother you," she asked breathily, her hips twitching forward in an attempt to earn a firmer touch.

"No," Mike answered at the same time that he slid two fingers inside her tight opening. Max cried out at the sudden intrusion, and he stilled himself to allow her a few seconds to adjust. "They can picture it all they want," he continued as he started to slowly drag his fingers in and out of her, "but I'm the only one who gets to actually see it."

"Fuck, Mike– please," she whined, her hands grasping at his shoulders to stop herself from falling forwards as he bit gently at her nipples. He removed his fingers from her slowly, dragging them up over her clit before bringing his hands to rest on her hips.

They were both panting as she braced her palms on his shoulders and lifted up, planting a sock-covered foot on either side of his thighs. Mike kept her steady with one hand splayed over her back as she lowered herself, his other hand holding his cock and guiding it to her entrance.

They let out simultaneous groans as she slid easily down his length. She paused when she got to the bottom, her tight walls squeezing around him as she leaned forward and captured his lips in a filthy, wet kiss. He moaned into her mouth and brought his other hand to her back as well, allowing her to lean her weight back as she broke the kiss and started to ride him, lifting up until just the tip was still inside her before quickly dropping all the way back down.

Mike pressed his fingertips into her skin as tendrils of pleasure unfurled over his body, licking like flames up his abdomen. His eyes roamed over Max—her half-lidded eyes, the long, pale line of her neck, her perfect tits bouncing with every roll of her hips, and then finally down to the tiny plaid skirt that just barely covered up where she was stretched around him, wet and tight and perfect.

Her head fell back, long hair tickling his knees as he leaned forward and licked a stripe between her breasts, tasting the salt of her glistening skin. He held her tighter, face pressed to her neck, chests rubbing as he started to thrust up to meet her, their skin slapping together as they sped up.

"Oh shit, just like that," Max moaned as he pounded into her from below, her nails digging hard into his shoulders. He felt her clench around his shaft and he knew she was close.

Another minute of steady thrusting and she was moaning his name as her muscles tensed and her walls spasmed around him. Mike grit his teeth as he fucked her through her climax, holding out for as long as could until the dam broke and a lightning bolt of pure ecstasy shot through him, grunting as he held her down and came inside her with shuddering jolts of pleasure.

"Fuck," he breathed as he collapsed back against the couch with his softening cock still buried inside her. She moaned quietly and breathed hard against his neck for a few moments before lifting up off of him and settling down on her knees, draping herself back over him. He could feel their fluids dripping down onto his lap but he was too relaxed to care, instead planting a kiss on her forehead and wrapping his arms around her, pressing their sweaty bodies closer together.

"So uh, are you gonna dress like this all the time now?" he asked once he'd regained more of his senses, smoothing the skirt down over her ass and giving a quick pinch to the back of her thigh.

Max chuckled weakly, sitting up and gently pushing Mike's sweaty hair back off his forehead. "No, this was just to get me in the room long enough to get Rick to take me seriously." Then she leaned in and dragged her lips over his jaw and up to his ear, the featherlight touch sending a shiver down his spine. "But um, maybe just around the house…" she whispered, biting softly at his earlobe, "if you're a good boy."