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The next exercise is trickier because I have to ensure that neither his shoulder nor his hip lift off the mattress while he lifts and bends both his legs. The easiest way to accomplish this is to hold one hand on his hip and one over his shoulder. Which means I’m leaning over him, practically putting my boobs on his chest, my mouth dangerously close to his. As Max bends his leg, his knee brushes lightly against the side of my ribs. Heat spears me anew, and I nearly bite my tongue. Damn it. How am I supposed to do my job if feeling his knee in my freaking ribs turns me on?
“You have beautiful lips, Jonesie,” he says.
“Stop calling me Jonesie.” Despite myself, I grin.
“But I can tell you that you have beautiful lips?”
“No, you can’t do that either. My gym, my rules, remember?”
“I have an excellent memory, but when I have a woman over me, I can’t help myself.”
This man is relentless. Can’t he see what he’s doing to me?
“I didn’t take you for the type who likes women on top,” I reply, feeling bolder than usual.
Max cocks an eyebrow, and then his lips curve into a smile. “I’d like you anywhere. On top of me, under me. To my side. I assure you I can perform in any position.”
Giving up on the pretense of helping him with the exercise, I sit back on my ass, sighing loudly. He bolts into a sitting position on the floor.
“What are we doing, Max?” I ask.
“Pushing each other, waiting to see who will be the first to fall over the edge. I have an inkling it’ll be me.”
My question was rhetorical, so I wasn’t exactly expecting an answer.
“I don’t think I can be just your friend,” Max continues, and I feel as if someone just doused me in cold water. “I thought I could, but evidently, it’s not working.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.
“It’s not just because I’m attracted to you, Emilia. I admit I am. Fuck, I am. I leave every session with blue balls, and I’ve jerked off so many times thinking about you lately that my right hand will fall off.”
My eyes widen as an arrow of desire shoots right through me. Max isn’t done though. He scoots closer to me on the floor, looking straight at me.
“When something good happens, the first person I want to share it with is you. When I know you’re worried about something, I want to take that worry away from you.”
“Max,” I whisper weakly. “Why do you say all the right things?”
“Give me one reason why we shouldn’t follow our instincts. Yeah, we’re risking our friendship, but clearly we’re not doing a great job keeping it platonic as it is anyway.”
He’s right. The past four weeks are proof of it, and damn it, I want to be with him, but I need to be honest with him first. This morning, I finally sold my wedding dress. Getting rid of it felt cathartic… and like a sign.
“I have so many issues, I could fill a mile-long list with them. On both sides,” I say.
“Start firing. I’m ready to take notes. I can type seventy words per minute.”
“Max—”
“Emilia.”
I snap my head up to him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I. Try me.”
“I have daddy issues and abandonment issues,” I say in a small voice. “Which are at the root of many other suboptimal traits and inadequate developments in attachment.”
“Suboptimal what and inadequate huh?” Max glares at me. “That sounded very… cold and odd. Like something a self-help bullshit test would word vomit.”
I blush violently. “I did first read that in a self-help test, and then I talked to the in-house therapist and my friend, Evelyn, who said about the same thing, albeit using friendlier terms.”
