Maddening Max

Prologue

"Max, it's not that bad," I chuckled.

Max's chest rumbled as he grunted in disapproval. He was scowling at me.

"It's right on my forehead, Angel," Max pointed at the tiny zit just above the crease in between his knitted dark brows with his long index finger.

 I wouldn't even call it a pimple. It's too little, and Max was too overly dramatic over it.

"It's what people see first when they look at me," he scowled.

I sighed.

He touched it again and I smacked his hand.

I was smothering the laughter that was threatening to burst.

Max looked adorable when he was scowling, honestly.

He looked like the man I would want to spend my life with, except when he was fretting over a tiny zit.

"Trust me, Max. They wouldn't notice it. That zit is too tiny to be noticeable compared to your forehead," I rolled my eyes at him, and he grunted.

A sound that says he's not agreeing.

I shifted, lower.

I was lying on his expansive, muscled chest. I can't remember how I ended atop him.

All I know is we are talking about things other than our job, then his hands ran across his face, and he must have felt the bump on his forehead.

The weird thing is, when you feel the zit with your own finger, it feels bigger than it is.

And he was insisting it's horrible because it's the first thing people will see if they talk to him.

I didn't even notice it until he asked me to check it out.

So I rolled on top of him, and just then, I saw the tiny dot.

"Did you really pop it?" he asked, yet again.

I scowled at him. My hands propped against his chest.

"Yes, I did! Even if I shouldn't. You know you shouldn't pop it. You're a Surgeon," I huffed, shaking my head, displeased.

Max's mood suddenly shifted 180 degrees.

He was scowling, and suddenly, he was laughing.

"It's just a tiny zit. It's not going to kill me," he muttered, thoroughly amused. 

It's interesting how a small smile could change the look of a person.

Just like right now, with Max laughing, his face lit up, and he looked even more sinful.

When he's serious, his face is as hard as granite, and with laughter, those hard lines are gone like it was never there.

He looked more approachable, friendlier, and likable.

He looks even more tempting when he's smiling or laughing. And right now, I want to ride him until I see his eyes rolling at the back of his head.

His thick curly dark hair, between ink and cinnamon, is tousled. When he's smiling, his eyes are the color of a cloudless sky, but when he's serious, especially when he's displeased, they look like the frost on a winter morning —a frosty grey-blue.

I felt Max's hands curled around my lower back. 

I stared at his eyes, which were suddenly awash with fire, I'm too familiar with—a heated, hungry stare.

I wriggled lower, feeling his arousal against my pelvis.

Max hands around my waist tightened. "Don't," he grunted in a pained voice.