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“No,” Max rasped. He pushed Sean away.
Sean stumbled slightly. Frowned. “But… Why?”
Max’s heart hammered wildly. His lungs refused to work. No, goddamn it. Not another attack. Anxious and angry, he pinned Sean with a glare. “You know why,” he growled. “And still you push.”
Sean stilled, lips parted, clearly thrown by Max’s one-eighty. “Max—I didn’t—That’s not what I—”
“Sean,” Max bit out, teeth clenched, jaw ticking. “The answer is no. Don’t ask again.”
Sean nodded, visibly wilting. “Fine… Okay.”
Max drew in a breath. Fought to calm himself down. He was being a righteous prick and he knew it. “Thank you,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Now, please… Just go dance with someone else.”
Not waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, but Sean quickly fell into step beside him.
“But… you said when we’re together I’m your sub, no matter what.”
“Fine,” Max grated, stalking pointedly toward the bar. “Then this is your Dom telling you to dance with someone else.”
God, he was an asshole. But fuck, he needed some serious space.
Sean’s pace faltered immediately, so Max left him in his wake. Didn’t have a choice, though. He was about to crash and burn. Which meant he had two choices: Re-numb his brain with more alcohol, or track Scott down and get the fuck out of there.
EIGHTEEN
What… the fuck.
Standing alone amidst a sea of people, Sean watched Max blaze a trail toward the bar. Just two seconds ago, things had been awesome. They’d been dancing, having fun. Hell, Max had been smiling again. Smiling.
Which was huge in its own right, considering the vibe of their last appointment. Max had clearly still been sore about his unannounced visit and had shut down virtually all communication. No discussion before their session. None during it, either. So, Sean had held out hope for aftercare…
No such luck.
He’d left that night feeling strangely bereaved, and admittedly, very confused. Because Max hadn’t seemed mad, per se, just quietly stressed out, with a subtle undertone of grim resolve. Which, logically, could’ve been for any number of reasons. Sean knew next to nothing about Max’s life. And yet, as Max slowly ran his fingers through Sean’s hair, he’d known without a doubt he was connected. That he’d played an integral part in Max’s newest brand of moody, and most likely it’d transpired the previous visit.
A visit that, regrettably, Sean had geared around relationships; dating, full-time subbing, impromptu fucking on Max’s desk. Precepts, to be fair, that Max had rejected countless times. Every time, in fact, that Sean had broached them. But Sean hadn’t believed him, that Max just wasn’t interested, because his actions told a completely different story. Max swore he valued distance, and yet he always held Sean close. Claimed that solitude satisfied him, yet never smiled. And then there was the way that he gazed into Sean’s eyes while vowing Sean was nothing but a client. Nothing but a client as Max kissed him breathless. Nothing but a client, and yet, Max’s “treasure.”
It was bullshit. Every word of it. Even now, Sean was convinced. But another truth, he realized, that was just as pertinent was that Max couldn’t be pursued like normal guys. Because the walls he’d erected were rigged with explosives. Explosives that detonated inwardly, not outwardly, as if specifically wired to self-inflict pain. Max’s freak-out the other night attested to that. Maybe the man was more of a masochist than Sean realized.
Either way, he’d taken this realization to heart when he’d spotted Max and decided to say hi. Avoid all triggers like he had last session. Keep shit light. Focus on just having fun. And, hey, if he made Max smile in the process, he’d consider it a nice little bonus. Because Sean wanted to make things right again. Get them back to good terms. He just needed to get Max to bite.
And, to Sean’s delight, he totally had. Starting with the way he’d hungrily tracked Sean’s approach, then reciprocated Sean’s spontaneous little hug. A hug, as it were, Sean hadn’t been able to help. Bold and then some, but he’d been so damn excited. Hadn’t expected to see Max again till Tuesday. Talk about a pleasant surprise. Pleasant with a capital Hell to the Yeah! And in Sean’s defense, Max looked glad to see him, too. Sure, he’d been tipsy, just like Sean, but he’d also seemed damn near happy. Hell, not long after, Max didn’t just buy Sean a shot, but yanked him close and physically “helped” him drink it. So fucking erotic, he’d had Sean rock-fucking-hard before that vodka ever touched Sean’s lips.
And then came the dancing. Aw, God. The dancing.
Sean tamped down a shudder and bit his lip, only to frown in remembrance of how it ended. In hindsight, he supposed his invitation had been dumb. But shit, in that moment, he’d just been so fucking stoked. The man he was crazy about was dancing with him, flirting with him. Max’s hands in constant contact with his body. Sean had been on cloud nine, with his head in the stars, and all he could think about was prolonging it. Prolonging their time together, prolonging the joy. Needing their connection to continue. Not just past tonight, though, but to supersede their sessions, too.
