Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(2)

“Jesus, f*ck. Just like that,” I said as I guided her back and forth. Watching those tight lips around my erection was enough to make me come. My head lolled back as I allowed myself to be overwhelmed by sensation.

Jenna’s hand worked the base of my shaft as her mouth took me as deeply as she could. I grunted in pleasure. This girl knew how to give one hell of a blow job.

She worked me over with her mouth for a bit longer before I reluctantly pulled her back and urged her to her feet. If I waited any longer, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from coming in her mouth. And I wanted to be buried deep inside of her when that happened. As she rose, she reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and let it drop to the floor.

I palmed her huge tits in my hands and teased her nipples. I knew they were fake, I thought glibly to myself. Then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and lowered them until they joined her bra on the floor. I guided her backward until her legs hit the mattress. She reclined on my bed and pushed herself toward the headboard, her eyes never leaving mine. Lying back, she spread her legs like an open invitation.

My eyes took her in, from her shapely legs to her long, soft neck. But I didn’t look at her face. Because as much as I told myself I wanted to forget, what I really wanted was to pretend. Pretend that Jenna wasn’t a stranger. Pretend that she was the one I wanted in my bed.

And as I rolled a condom onto my cock and covered Jenna’s body with mine, thrusting into her fully, it was all I could do to refrain from calling her Lily.

***

I was roused the next morning by a cacophony of doorbells, knocking, and my friggin' dogs barking at whoever waited at my front door. But worst of all was the rise and fall of breathing beside me. I turned my head to the left to take in my visitor. Shit. Burying my head in the pillow, I desperately tried to remember her name. Gina, Jamie, Jenna?

The banging downstairs was relentless, so I pushed myself up from the bed and reached down for the pair of jeans I had dropped to the floor the night before. The woman in my bed stirred at my movement and smiled as she opened her eyes to gaze at me.

She started to say something, but I spoke before she had a chance. “Stay here.” I turned to leave, but not before noticing how her smile faded at my gruff order. I stalked out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I yelled as I descended. Yanking the door open fiercely, I was ready to give the person on the other side a piece of my f*cking mind. But just as I was about to release an onslaught of obscenities, my eyes registered who was standing before me: my mom.

“Good morning, Max,” my mom said sternly as I stood there speechless.

Finally, my words came back to me. “Good morning. Uh, I’m sorry, did I know you were coming?” My question sounded more like an accusation than I’d meant for it to.

“Do I need an invitation to come see my son?”

Shit, she’s pissed. “No, of course not. I just . . . wasn’t expecting you. What time is it?” I asked as I stepped back from the door so my mom could enter.

“8:30.”

Okay, good. It’s still morning. At least I didn’t look like a total loser, sleeping through a Wednesday. “It’s good to see you, Mom.” Maybe the flattery approach would make her stop looking at me like she wanted to beat me with a wooden spoon.

“I bet,” she huffed, directing her eyes at the floor.

When I followed her glare, I inwardly cringed. Tossed haphazardly on my hardwood floor was a pair of stilettos. Fuck. There were only two options in a situation like this: either claim they were mine or ignore them completely. And as I stood there, actually considering which was the lesser of the two evils, my mom chose for me.

“Sorry to interrupt your . . . ,” her eyes lifted to meet mine so that I could witness the disapproval that came with her words, “slumber party, but Jack called me this morning. He’s incredibly concerned, to say the least, as are your father and I.”

Tightly closing my eyes, I envisioned all of the ways I could murder my agent. It would need to be slow and painful, much like this conversation. How dare that f*cking * call my mom. I wasn’t a goddamn child. “There’s no need to be concerned, Mom. I have it all under control.” As soon as the words slipped out, I knew things were about to get worse. My mom hated when I lied to her and I had just uttered as big of a lie as I had ever told her. I was far from having anything in my life under control.

“Oh, really,” she scoffed, “because it doesn’t seem like you have it all under control. Jack said he’s been trying to get in touch with you for weeks and you haven’t returned a single one of his calls. Supposedly a local sports network wants you to do some guest pregame coverage for the upcoming hockey season. He said it could turn permanent. Were you aware of this?” Her anger faded as she spoke, and sadness took its place. Tears wet her eyes.

It ripped me apart. I hated seeing my mom hurting, especially when I was the cause of it all. This woman was the only female on the planet who gave a f*ck about me, and all I did was hurt her. I wished I could be a better person for her. But I couldn’t. We all needed to face the facts: I was a grade A * who would be a constant source of disappointment to my family. I need a drink. “Mom, I’ll handle it. Please, don’t worry about this stuff. I mean, it’s not like I need to work. I’m just waiting for the right opportunity to present itself.”