#max borman

You didn’t really anticipate ever seeing the laughing vampire killer again, but the universe seems to work in a funny way. Months after your encounter with him, just as he was fading from your memory, you were caught stealing. It wasn’t a lot, only food and some survival supplies, and you probably would have been able to sweet-talk your way out of it, but among the things you were thieving happened to be a pistol, the ID number sawed off the barrel. You were locked up for that, and sent to Loveland to work out your crime and debt. 

You were only truly at Loveland (or Love Less, as some people, including you, took to calling it) for a few weeks. It was a brutal few weeks, harsh; they knew you weren’t suited for mining, instead giving you the tedious job of sorting the solicite out by grade and size. Your hands ached, the jagged edges of the mineral sliced up your fingertips, your back hurt from standing all day. Your only respite was during the night, where you laid on a thin mattress and counted to sixty, over and over and over, trying to find sleep but never having it achieved. At least you weren’t standing, though. 

After countless days of this, just about the time when you were starting to come to terms that this was the rest of your life, lights flashed on during the night. You heard groans up and down the halls from all the other cells, the sudden light waking up everyone who wasn’t still awake, and a guard’s gruff voice rattled through the loudspeakers: “Inspection from the Warden. Everyone up, against the back wall.” 

You had never met the warden of Loveless, but you heard stories about him. Max Borman, young for his position, but psychotic, doling out punishments and verbal abuse as quickly as he could think it up. You knew that he skimmed off the top at Love Less, everyone knew it, using the solicite that was mined as a drug, using the money brought in for booze and other bullshit. Corrupt and abusive; how else should the warden be? You leaned against the back wall of your cell, yawning and letting your head hang with exhaustion, and you jumped in fright as someone rattled the bars of your cell. Your eyes shot up and locked on big blue ones, the same ones that had saved you from the vampire months ago. “Rise and shine, cher,” he chuckled, withdrawing his gun from the bars of your cell and re-holstering it at his shoulder. He almost had an accent, if you pricked your ears closely, but not enough of one to definitively stake his hometown claim. “Gettin’ enough sleep?” 

Then, he tilted his head, studying your face. You had recognized him in an instant, the laughing vampire killer, and your heart jammed in your throat at the idea that he might have recognized you. And surely your anxiety was founded, because he said, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” 

You nodded carefully, jumping again when the guard behind the vampire killer slammed his baton against the bars. “Answer the warden when he speaks to you,” the guard told you gruffly. You felt like you wanted to vomit. 

“Yes sir,” you said softly. 

The warden, Max Borman (you finally had a proper name for your savior) narrowed his eyes as he smiled. “Don’t tell me,” he grinned, leaning forward. He slung his arms through the bars of your cell, settling his forearms on the small platform that was used to shove you your meals at night— he wore bracelets around his wrists, big rings on his fingers and thumbs, and he wagged his pointer at you as he tried to jog his memory. “Were you that girl from that little whorehouse out near Houston? Turn around, lemme see the back of your head, maybe that’ll help me.” 

“No,” you spat at him, and Max’s eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“‘No’,” he mocked in your short cadence. “Little rude there, cher, tighten up.” He considered it for a moment more, sucking at the back of his teeth, and he finally said, “Alright, gimme a hint: have I ever fucked you?” 

“No,” you told him, trying to control the crawling of your skin. “Six months ago, driving outside of Denver, you saw a girl on the side of the road, being attacked by a vampire.”

Max’s face lit up. “Aw, shit,” he laughed. “I remember now. Yeah… Yeah, you cleaned up my arm after that sum’bitch swiped me. Well, you’ll be happy to know it ain’t nothing but a scar now.” To prove it to you, Max pulled up the sleeve of his buttoned shirt, showing you his freckled forearm. Even from your distance, you could see the scar, a shade lighter than the rest of his skin, sideways from his elbow and winding to his wrist. “What did you do to get put here?” 

“Stole,” you said simply. 

Max sighed, rotating his wrist and beckoning the rest of the story. “Just stealing doesn’t get you here, cher,” he told you. “Whatcha steal?” 

“A gun,” you said. “Apparently, it was sawed-off. I had no idea.” 

Max nodded. “Sure you did,” he agreed with a charming smile. He obviously thought you were using a cover story, the one you probably peddled to the cops that caught you. You weren’t, though; you didn’t even know what a sawed-off gun was until they were telling you that you stole one of them. 

The longer you looked at Max, the more you had to admit that he was handsome. Bright blue eyes, pink lips, freckles dusting his nose and forehead, dark and messy locks, scruffy hair on his cheeks, lip, and chin— this was the face of a sadist? He could have been a movie star with a smile like that, all leading-man crooked, perfectly devilish. “How long have we got you here for?” He asked, and, before you could start to answer, he began to laugh. “Nah, just kidding, you’re here for life, that’s how Loveland works. Unless we transfer you somewhere, which… Not impossible.” 

“Sure would like to test that,” you told him, and his smile grew. 

“Quick with it,” Max said, drumming his hands on the platform of your cell door. “I like that in my women. Jer-Bear, show her to my office, please, I’d like to have another little chat with her alone.” 

The guard, a big muscled man that you learned was named Jeremy, did as the warden told him, cuffing your wrists a little too tightly and leading you through the facility as Max finished his inspections (you noticed that he never actually inspected your cell). The office he led you to was less of a proper office and more of a cave fashioned into an office with amenities, a hulking glass desk and plush leather couch and various tables of bullshit scattered around. Jeremy undid your cuffs and sat you in an uncomfortable rolling chair, then captured your wrists back against the arms of the chair. You hissed at your bruised flesh being manhandled, and you felt anxiety bubble in your stomach. “What does he want with me?” you asked quickly, and Jeremy shook his head. 

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” Jeremy replied. “But… You never know with the warden. He’s unpredictable.”

“Fuck!” you whimpered, your breath coming shakily. “I-I haven’t done anything wrong, he can’t kill me—”

“He can, and he will,” Jeremy said. “If that’s why he called you here, that is.” 

“Oh my God,” you whispered, your hands starting to shake. Is this how you died? Terrified, shaking, restrained, at the mercy of a sadistic prison warden? “I’m scared.” 

Jeremy’s gaze softened at you. “Don’t be,” he sighed. “You don’t know for certain if that’s what the warden wants with you.” 

“What else could he want?” you asked, your eyes brimming with tears, and the sound of a heavy door squeaking open behind you made you squeeze your eyes shut and try to get rid of your tears. If Max intended to kill you, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of your terror. 

“Honey, I’m home!” a familiar voice called, and the click of wooden-soled boots sounded as Max entered the room. The shoesteps came closer to you, and you steeled yourself for whatever came next, just in time for Max to slap his hands down onto your shoulders. “Whatcha drinking, cher?” He asked, and you kept your gaze steady, straight ahead. 

“I don’t drink,” you told him and, out of your peripheral vision, you watched Max turn his head in confusion. 

“Don’t drink?” he repeated. “What, d’ya just… Don’t drink ever, or don’t wanna drink right now?” 

Your silence was answer enough for Max, because he patted your shoulders and stood up to his full height. “That’s probably good,” he said. With that, he mosied over to his desk, a tray with rocks glasses and a decanter of amber bourbon, and he poured himself a glass as he muttered, hardly loud enough for you to hear. “Don’t need your head getting all clouded n’shit. Leave that to me.” 

“Leave what?” you asked. You wanted to act strong for your potential murderer. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that you were scared of him. “Getting clouded, or being the one to cloud me?” 

“My God, you’re quick!” Max exclaimed. He slammed down the glass he was holding, rattling the entire tray, and he whipped around to look at you, a coy smile on his lips. “You might be able to keep up with me. That’ll be good.” 

“Good for what?” you asked. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and you dug your nails into the upholstered chair arms to try to control your shaking. 

“Jesus, you ask a lot of questions,” Max mumbled. He finished pouring his drink, and he fell down onto the couch, leaned up against the arm and slinging his legs over the other side. His finger tapped against the rim of his glass as he studied you, his eyes raking over your form, handcuffed to that chair. You didn’t know how to respond, whether you should be offended at what was obviously a salacious gaze, or not. Technically, he wasn’t doing anything, just looking, but you hated it. “Alright, cher, look here. I’m not gonna lie to you— you’re a goddamn beaut. And you’ve got a good, quick wit, I like that. Turns me on, y’know?” He took a sip of his drink and swished it in his mouth for a moment, then swallowed it down thickly. “And I’m gettin’ tired of the whole ‘dating’ thing, it’s just dehumanizing to try to sell the idea of you to others in hope they want you and love you or whatever the fuck. Pathetic. I’m about ready to settle down. I mean, I’ve got it all, right? Good job, nice house. Now I just need someone to share it with. I tried to shut all that shit out, but you can only be cold and lonely at night for so long, right?” 

Your mouth dried up. Oh God. That’s what you were there for. Max had picked you out of a lineup to be his wife. Were the inspections even that, or just him getting his pick of the litter? You tried to control your uneven breathing, but Max clocked you in an instant, your chest heaving. “Are you…” he started, his eyes narrowing, sitting up. “Are you scared of me?” 

“When a man’s telling you he’s gonna kidnap you to be his wife, that tends to cause anxiety,” you told him, and he chuckled lowly, taking another sip of his drink.”What do I get out of this?” 

“Hmm,” Max started. “What do you get? Well, for one, you get to live like a real, actual human being. A big house, a soft bed, warm food— none of the shit the people here have to deal with. Only the best for Mrs. Borman.” He flashed you a smile, and he added, “Oh, and you’ll get your record expunged too. You’ll be a free woman. Well. Not free-free, but… You won’t be some dirty criminal anymore; not that I mind that too much. But you’re a good girl, I can tell that’s the sorta thing you care about.”

“And you…” you started. “Get to have a wife.” 

“Oh, good, you’re getting it,” Max grinned. “But there’s, ah, one stipulation to all this.” He finished off his glass of bourbon, and he set the glass back on his desk as he got up and came towards you. Instinctually, you pulled away from him, your toes pushing against the floor to roll the chair away, but he was quick and strong, grabbing the arm of the chair and dragging you back to him. “Ya know something, cher? You’ve been trying to act so calm this entire time. And I think you’d probably get away with that, if it weren’t for two things.” 

Max pressed his face close to yours, close enough to let you smell the alcohol on his breath, and his hand came up to your cheek, wiping something off of it. A tear. He had known you were bluffing the second he walked in the room. You could have cursed yourself. “Why were you crying, honey? Scared the Big Bad Wolf was gonna getcha?” 

“What’s the second thing?” you asked shakily. “A-And the stipulation?” 

“Ah,” Max whispered. “Those two things are actually related.” The hand that wiped up your tear floated ever so slightly downwards, to your neck, and your heart slammed against your ribs with every beat. You worried where his hand was headed to, and you couldn’t help the morbid relief that flooded you as he cupped the side of your neck. 

Max’s face twitched. “You thought I was gonna hurt ya?” he whispered. He almost seemed legitimately offended. “Honey. I won’t do anything to you unless you ask for it. I’m a mean son of a bitch, but I ain’t mean like that.” 

“H-How did you know…?”

“I could hear your pulse from across the fucking room,” Max told you. “I could almost feel it, like it was my own goddamn heartbeat. You’re the most shitscared person I’ve ever had in that chair, and I’ve killed motherfuckers in that chair.”

“How could you hear—” you started, and clammed up. Your mind was running a mile a minute, and Max gave you an amused smile as he watched you figure it out. There was only one reason he would be able to hear your blood pumping in your veins, but it was impossible. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t a vampire. He had life in his eyes, his hand was warm against your neck, his skin flushed. “How?”

Max knew what you were asking: how was he a vampire, and yet also not? “If you get bit by something called a daywalker,” he started. “Turns ya back. Not back properly; I don’t think I’ll ever die, and there’s some other lingering effects… You’ll learn ‘em soon enough… But if I can’t die, I’m not gonna risk losing the love of my life to old age.” 

“That’s your stipulation,” you breathed. “You’re gonna turn me into whatever you are. You’ll curse someone else with immortality, just to please yourself. I won’t do it.” 

“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it?” Max asked, wrinkling his nose. “You don’t get much of a choice. I was just bein’ nice when I made it sound like an offer. Nah…” He shook his head, and his eyes went down your form again, that same gaze from before. “Nah, you’re mine now, cher. For better or worse, sickness or health… ‘Til death— or something— do us part.” 

You sighed, letting your tears snake down your cheeks. You had no choice. You were the warden’s wife, and you might have been that ever since that day outside Denver when you first met him. Max watched you like the cat that ate the canary, giving you the fakest pitiful pout you had ever seen, and a smile grew across his face as you sniffled and nodded ever so slightly. “Good girl,” he chuckled. He clapped his palm against your cheek a few times, satisfied with your compliance. “Jer! Gimme those keys so I can unlock her; we got a wedding to celebrate!”

Max drove you out of Love Less in an old car, vintage, shiny black, plush leather seats— you felt completely out of place with your khaki prisoner’s garb, stained blue from the solicite, the same blue as Max’s eyes. He was incredibly cordial to you, opening your car door for you and shutting it, skipping gleefully as he wound around to the driver’s side. Your hands were still bound together, and you held them in your lap, picking at a loose thread on your clothes. 

You couldn’t help but admit that there was something nice about being on the open road again, even if you were being driven to your death and resurrection. The night air was warm as he drove, whipping your hair around your face, and you kept your gaze lowered to your hands. You felt sick to your stomach at the notion of what came next, but the fresh air soothed you, at least a little. For a moment, it fooled you into thinking you were free. Free from Love Less, anyhow; you were just trading one prison for another. 

Max tossed something your way as he drove, and it landed dully in your lap, almost in your hands. A lighter, gleaming silver, initials etched into the bottom— not M.B., but something else. This wasn’t his. You weren’t surprised. He probably stole it off of whatever poor bastard he killed most recently. “Do me a kindness,” Max told you over the roar of the engine. “Hold onta’ this for me.” 

“What is it?” you asked, taking it into your palm. 

“Part of your responsibilities,” Max started. “You gotta be ready to light my cigar whenever I ask you to.”

You scoffed out a laugh. Responsibilities. Bold of you to assume that the man who mistook you for a prostitute and kidnapped you to marry you would treat you like a decent human. You wouldn’t be surprised if he walked back every promise he made you, revealing they were just lies to get you to agree to him. Although, it was like he said— you never had a choice. What use was lying about the benefits if they weren’t deciding factors anyway?

Max noticed your incredulity. “What’s so funny?” he asked. “What, you think I’m joking?” 

“Next, you’ll be telling me I have to have dinner ready when you get home from work,” you said. “Greet you with a kiss and your bourbon, have my makeup done, pretty little ribbon in my hair, all that shit. Is that what you want?” 

“I certainly wouldn’t say no to all that,” Max said, rubbing his jaw as he thought. “But we can take baby steps to get there… Baby… By the way, no kids— I’m not into that shit.” 

“Oh, goody,” you mumbled, turning the lighter over in your palm. “At least that’s off my plate.” 

“Gonna need you to fix that attitude, cher,” Max said. “I already warned you once tonight.” 

“And what’re you gonna do if I don’t?” you asked daringly. “Gonna fix it for me?” 

“If I need to,” Max warned you with narrow eyes, casting a glance at you for just a moment. 

“And how will you do that?” you asked, turning your body to face him. It was dark, the only brightness coming from the yellow-y headlights from the car in front of you and the moon above, and Max’s features twinkled in the moonlight. It caught his eyelashes and the hairs of his mustache, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his mouth quirked up in frustration. Something about getting on his nerves made your whole body go warm, and you shocked yourself at the realization. You were turned on by this, verbally sparring with your ‘husband’. If he could hear your pulse back in his office, you bet he probably could hear it now too, and you hoped that that didn’t give away your position. “Gonna put me over your knee, spank me like a child? Will that make you feel like a real man?” 

“Getting awful bold there,” Max said with an irritated laugh. “I think you’re forgetting, honey: I haven’t turned you yet. You could still die, just like any normal person. And if you get too mouthy with me in a way I don’t like… Well, my gun hasn’t seen some action in a while. She’s practically begging for me to take her out dancing.” 

“You wouldn’t kill me,” you told him, shaking your head with a laugh. 

“Oh, you sure?” 

“Certain of it,” you replied, your eyes skating down his frame. The moonlight hit just right in his lap, exactly where you hoped it would, and you exhaled heavy through your nose as you saw it: a bulge in his pants, heavy and thick. He was hard, arguing with you— he had told you that a quick wit turned him on, and that seemed to hold true. You both getting aroused at the same thing; maybe there was hope for you yet. “You’re enjoying this too much, you wouldn’t get rid of me.” 

“I can fuck my fist just as easy as I could fuck your pussy,” Max spat. He was getting angry, and your chest warmed with glee. 

“Yeah, but it’s not the fucking you like, is it?” you told him. “It’s the arguing. And, I hate to tell you this, Mister Borman, but I think you’d be hard-pressed to find another girl who argues like me. If you kill me, you lose all this, and you wouldn’t wanna do that.” 

Max slammed on the brake, and the car squealed to a stop along the empty stretch of road. You could see, just off in the distance, over the hills, a warm golden glow, and you figured that was likely your destination, maybe half an hour more of driving, but your heart fell into your stomach as he wrenched the car into park. “Get up,” he growled at you, throwing open his car door. “Up!” 

“Is this it?” you shouted into the desert night, watching as Max walked around the back of the car towards you. “You gonna kill me, Max? It sure would be a fuckin’ favor!”

You didn’t expect him to go under his long navy coat and draw his gun from the snakeskin holster around his shoulders. “Get the fuck up,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “Or do I need’ta make you do that?” 

You rolled your eyes. “And how would you make me—”

Before you could even finish your snarky retort, Max was grabbing a handful of your hair and wrenching you up and over the car door. You shouted in pain, rocketing white-head down your head, and you could barely land your feet on the road before Max was shoving you towards the back of the car. You stumbled with the force, your handcuffs rattling together, and you fell to your knees on the cracked asphalt, wincing at the rocks being embedded into your skin through your jumpsuit. You couldn’t even manage to sit up straight before you felt a firm, tight grip on the back of your neck, Max’s fingers digging into the hair on the nape of your neck to wrench your head backwards. 

“If you fuckin’ run, I’m shooting you,” Max told you, emphasizing his point by pressing the muzzle of his gun against your cheek. “You fuckin’ scream, I’m shooting you. You do anything to try to stop me, I’m shooting you. You do anything period, I’m shooting you. You hear me loud and clear?” You nodded quickly, sniffling your fear up, and you heard Max laugh from behind you. “Oh, you’re scared now? You weren’t scared 30 seconds ago when you were making my cock hard, were you? Only now that you think I’m gonna hurt you, those little bitch tears are falling, huh?” You tried to swallow your tears, but you whimpered as Max pressed the gun harder to your face. “Answer me when I fucking speak to you, woman!” 

“No!” you sputtered out pathetically, spraying spit over your chin and bottom lip. “P-Please, I-I promise I’ll be good, just don’t—”

“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!” Max raged, his grip in your hair so hard, you felt like he might scalp you. “You already told me exactly why the fuck I ain’t killing your ass right now, even though I really, really want to. I ain’t about to get rid of you, not right now. Nah, I’m doing the opposite, in fact. Keeping you.”

The hand in your hair wrenched your head to the side, exposing the smooth column of your neck, and you wised up immediately. He was turning you, right here and now. “Wait!” you cried, jerking your hands upward to grasp at his hand on your head, your fingernails scratching at his skin. “Wait-wait-wait, please, I—” 

“Wait for what?” Max asked. “Sooner we do this, the sooner it ends for you, and the sooner we can get the fuck home.” 

You sniffled, your breathing shuddering through your chest. “S’it gonna hurt?” you asked weakly. 

“Oh, now, cher,” Max purred at you. “You know it’s gonna hurt. What typa silly question is that?”

It all happened in an instant. He pulled your head further, so far that your muscles stung, and he sank his teeth into you. You could hardly choke out a cry, of shock and pain and anger and fear and resentment, before the sensation overtook you and blinded you with white-hot agony. Your body shook against your control as Max’s venom coursed through your veins, your muscles constricting. You were hardly conscious almost instantly, drifting in and out of a white void as you felt things no person should ever have to, a fluid blood gushing from your neck, your brain caving in on itself and reverting to your most base instincts— not that you could have acted on them. You were dying.

The next thing you were definitely and surely aware of was warmth. Your eyes fluttered open, your lids feeling like they were made of stone. It took all the effort in the world to even focus your eyes in front of you, and even then, it took you longer to understand what you were seeing. You saw a large wall, industrial grey cement, with a heavy, hulking chest of drawers across from the bed you found yourself in, a large mirror situated on top of it. The top of the dresser was littered with knick-knacks, various bits of jewelry or contents evicted from coat pockets at the end of days, including that silver lighter— but that was the only proof that you weren’t waking up in the bed of some furniture store showroom. 

The bed. You reached your arms out to either side, expecting to find the edges of the mattress, but, as far as your weak and shaky arms could manage, you just felt plush mattress. Grey bedsheets, softer than anything you had ever felt, a smooth blanket spread over your naked body to keep you warm. You dug your fingers into the mattress, taking a long moment to appreciate the opulence you found yourself in, and it was only as you started to sit up that pain rocketed through every cell of your body. A moan of pain fell from your mouth against your will, and you collapsed back down, feeling the world swim around you and pop color at the edges of your vision. 

You sensed his presence before you reopened your eyes. You weren’t sure how you could feel him, but you did, his energy seeming to bend the air around you. “Max,” you mumbled out, and you felt the edge of the bed dip as he sat down. You could smell him from there, as intensely as if you were pressing your nose directly under his chin, and you whimpered as a warm hand gently cupped the back of your neck and lifted your head just enough to press a cool glass to your lips. Your body worked on instinct, taking a sip of the water he offered you, and you breathed heavily as you swallowed. You might as well have been swallowing jagged bits of solicite, for as much effort as it took. “Where’m I?” you slurred, and your eyes opened again to see him there next to you. 

He looked normal, as if nothing had happened to him or you. He was dressed more laid-back than when you first saw him, a silk robe with a well-worn, stretched-collar tank top and swishy pajama pants, his wrists and fingers still decked out with jewelry. How could he look so collected and you felt like this? You hated to think what you looked like, surely opposite from him. “You’re at home, cher,” Max told you. “Does it hurt very bad?”

You tried to nod, but your neck protested the movement, earning Max a grunt of sudden pain. “Feel like I got hit by that Pontiac you drive,” you mumbled, and Max huffed out a chuckle. “What happened to me?” 

“If it makes you feel any better, it was like this for me too,” Max told you, leaning forward and setting the glass of water on the bedside table. “Just, pain. Felt it all the way from my toenails to the ends of my hair. I was in a state for a little while. Think it fried my nerves, my back still gets fucked up from time to time.” 

He was talking too fast, saying too much. You were hardly absorbing any of it, and you winced. “Huh?” 

Max sighed. “Right, right,” he mumbled. “You’ve pretty much got goo for brains right now… You’re like me now. And it hurts, and it sucks, and I really am sorry for doing that to you. But you get why I had to.” 

Like me. Like Max. How were you like Max? What did he mean? You tried sight for a third time, and pitched to the side as your vision swam once more and nausea overtook your body. The sudden movement made your body scream with the hot pain that stabbed at you like daggers, and you gasped out a pathetic little sob. “Like you?” was all you could manage to spit out, and a warm pressure played at your hip. It felt like a drug, relief spreading through your skin, and you felt his fingers pressing into your hip bone. You knew he was only touching you to make sure you were okay, but the contact healed like nothing you could have imagined. 

“Like me,” Max repeated. “Enhanced. A daywalker.” 

Your breaths slowed down, settling into ease, and your hand drifted downwards to grasp at his wrist. You didn’t feel like you were piloting your own body as you pulled his hand upwards, and you flattened his palm against your neck, where the bulk of the pain seemed to radiate from, where he had bitten you to turn you into a feeder, then presumably bitten you again to turn you into one of them. You moaned at the warm succor that instantly permeated your body, and your eyes opened easier this time, the nausea at bay. “Fuck,” you whispered, and Max lightly rubbed his fingertips against the back of your neck. Your body knew what it needed to heal, and he either already knew that or figured it out quickly.

“That feel better?” he asked, and you were able to manage a slow nod. “Glad to hear that, cher. I got you your water right next’a ya, are you hungry?” 

“No,” you told him, which was true. The gnawing in your stomach that you had gotten used to during the apocalypse was nonexistent, as if you had always managed to be well-fed. It was an odd sensation, not being hungry, and it slightly unnerved you. Already, though, you were starting to feel better in your skin, more tolerant of movement than before, and you kept Max’s hand firmly on your neck as you rose up onto your elbows, making sure to keep the bedsheets over your chest. Max’s grip almost felt tender and caring, a man holding his sick wife, and you supposed that it was, but you certainly knew that caring was the last thing on Max’s mind. 

“That’s good,” Max said softly. His fingers continued their gentle passing, right where your skull met your spine, and he wet his bottom lip with his tongue before he pulled it between his teeth. “I gotta go into work today. You gonna be alright here by yourself?” 

You scoffed. “Your wife wakes up after dying and you instantly trot yourself back to work?” you chuckled weakly. “What kinda husband are you?” 

You were glad that Max picked up on your sarcasm, and he smiled at you. Not his Cat-Ate-The-Canary smile, not smarmy or sarcastic or fear-inducing. Just a real, regular, genuine smile, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle up. It looked good on him. “Well, a shit one, I guess,” Max told you. “But you’ve been out for a week, and I stayed here the entire time, just waiting on you to come back to the land of the living. I was thinking just a few minutes ago, if you weren’t up and about by tonight, I might have to bury you in the backyard and hope nobody ever asked after you. And, apparently, you miss a week at Loveland, and all hell breaks loose. I gotta go back, at least for today.” 

“You…” you began softly. Your heart warmed, and you reached up, carefully cupping his hand with yours. You almost couldn’t believe what you heard, a notion so gentle that it seemed out of character for him. He… Cared? “You stayed with me?”

“F’course I did,” Max shrugged. “I was raised right; you gotta cherish your wife, what’s the point of having her if you don’t give a fuck about her?” 

You sighed. “Our conversation in the car…” you mumbled out. 

“What?” Max asked. “The one we were having before you pissed me off and made me turn you in the middle of the highway?” 

“You said I have responsibilities,” you continued, paying no mind to his words or what he meant by them, like the whole thing was sorta your fault. “That certainly doesn’t feel like ‘cherishing’.” 

“Well,” Max started. “I am ultimately doing you a favor here. I could’ve left your pretty ass in that cell to rot, but I figured you’d fare better here with me. You gotta do some things for me to prove that I didn’t make a mistake.” 

You closed your eyes, feeling the full weight of your situation hit you. You wanted to cry. If you were alone, you would have. His comforting hand on your neck didn’t help with that hot prick of tears in your nose, and you tried to sniffle it away. You had traded one prison for another, just as you thought. “Like what?” you asked softly. “What do I have to do?” 

“Just show me you appreciate what I did for you,” Max said. “Even if you’re lying and doing it with your teeth clenched. Can you do that?” 

You sighed. “I’ll try,” you told him. “I’m not promising you anything, Mister Borman, only that I’ll try.”

“Damn,” Max whispered, but that genuine, sweet smile of his had returned. “I could get used to hearing you call me that. Are you gonna be okay if I let go of you now?” 

You nodded. Even if the pain returned, you knew that relief was only one touch away. With that, Max pulled his hand off your neck, and he added, “I’ll be home ‘round six. Think you can make yourself comfortable?”

“I’m sure I can manage,” you replied, feeling the hot twinge of pain start to needle at your skin again, much less intense than before but still uncomfortable. 

You saw it in his eyes before he moved. Bright blue did little to hide his thoughts, and you leaned backwards at the same moment he leaned forward, and he gave you a soft, breathy laugh. “Now, c’mon, cher,” he whispered gently. “You ain’t gonna make me play cat and mouse, are you?”

“Earn it,” you told him, your eyes falling to his mouth. He wanted to kiss you so badly, but he was a man of his word; he wouldn’t do anything to you unless you ask for it. He would kidnap you from his prison and murder you and turn you into a monster and turn you back, he would uproot your life and stick you in a series of prisons, he would tear your hair and threaten you with his pistol, but he was better than all of that. At least the man had some standards, and you could use that against him. If he was going to make you play nice, you were going to make him do the same. 

“I’m sorry?” Max asked. 

“If you want to kiss me,” you started softly. “And do more to me… You have to earn it.” 

Max laughed, rubbing his jaw with his palm. “Aw, hell, you’re trouble,” he said with a fond smile. “I should’ve known it the moment I saw your pretty face back in Denver, you’re a goddamn troublemaker.” 

“Of course I am,” you insisted. “Look who I’m married to. I’d be ridiculous not to be.” 

As the days passed, Max started to prove himself to you. He was a good husband, or as good as his nature would allow him to be— it seems the game of intimidation was over now, no more making you respect him required, and he was gentle with you, and that started immediately. When he returned home from the prison that very first night, you were out of bed, though moving slowly, and Max had wrapped you up in a soft hug, settling his hand on your neck once more to send warm relief through your body. You had hummed softly into his chest and alerted him that dinner was warming on the stove, and he had smiled into your hair. “Shit,” he whispered. “What a thing to come home to.” 

He did things for you too, gave you the reciprocity that you wished for. In the absence of physical affection (you had yet to grant him any privileges), most of his displays of affection were relegated to the things he got for you, new clothes, nice jewelry, pretty makeup, but the things that meant the most to you weren’t flashy in the slightest. One night, just shy of a month into your arrangement, you had remarked how there wasn’t much to do at the house when Max wasn’t there and how you missed being able to read actual books, and the next day, Max returned home with a plastic milk-crate full of all different types of books, thick or short, leather-bound or paperback— “Shit that’s on people when they get brought to Loveland, we confiscate it,” Max explained as your eyes bugged out of your head, shuffling through the crate in awe. “Usually the books or papers or whatever, we burn them to keep the power on, but this month’s, we hadn’t gotten rid of them yet. Anything in there worth your time, you’re free to it.” You had thrown your arms around Max’s neck and squeezed him, thanking him a million times, and he gave you his genuine smile again. After that, at the end of every month, Max brought home the books for you. You kept every single one. 

You figured out, despite Max’s outward opulence, the silk robes and scarves and expensive booze, he was a simple man. He was pretty easy to please, and it didn’t take a lot to get him smiling— a warm dinner on cold days, a cool drink on the hot ones, a wrinkled nose from over the top of your book, nudging your foot against his in bed. You knew that, more than anything else, Max was a deeply hurt man who just wanted to be loved, but, despite your curiosity, you never once pried. Every so often, he’d make reference to his past life, a little “God rest her soul” when he mentioned his mother, or a quiet “My sister used to like this book”, but never full details. He would tell you when he was ready. 

It took a little while to finally crack through that tough exterior, but eventually, two months gone, over expensive wine and smoky cigars and blue solocite one night as the sun set, Max had told you everything about him. “I was a poor kid,” he told you. “Grew up with nothing. I was the oldest of five— my youngest sibling, she was about fifteen years younger than me. Our dad was absent as hell, fucking off about the time I came around and only coming back ‘round every few years to burden my mom with another baby, just to fuck off once more until he decided he wanted to get his dick wet again. That bastard left us in the lurch too many times, I can’t even count up how often we got our water turned off, our heating, whatever. I mean, I was working since I could walk, and my poor mother, she did all she could, but it wasn’t enough.

“And I was angry. I think anyone would be, but I was just… Mad. I couldn’t even stomach the thought of my father without putting my fist through the wall. What sorta man would just abandon his woman and his five children? A fuckin’ drunk deadbeat, that’s who.” Max puffed on his cigar as he talked, a sorta train-of-thought recounting of his life story that made tears well in your eyes with every new detail. “I wasn’t shocked when I heard he got killed. I must’ve been about… Oh, sixteen or so. I was just surprised it didn't happen sooner. Or that I wasn’t the one who did it. God, I’d thought about it. Y’know, boys my age, they’d fall asleep, fantasizing about fucking some pretty girl on the TV, but I remember, I’d fall asleep dreaming of being the one who killed my father. Seeing the fear in his eyes, hoping he realized in his last moments what a devil he’d been, having him die with the realization that he caused it…” 

At that, you shifted closer to him, resting your hand on his leg. Max’s breathing came all shuddery as he tried to tamp down the emotions he recounted. “You don’t have to—” you started, and Max’s leg began to bounce as he shook his head. 

“Yes, I do,” he whispered. “At least for myself. But, um… Right ‘bout the time I turned twenty, that’s when… The vampires came. My family didn’t even last through the first day… New Orleans was fuckin’ crawling with those assholes; the moment it started, everyone in Orleans parish was screwed. I still remember— I don’t think I can forget it, honestly, s’long as I walk this earth— Ma got bit, right on her neck. I was pretty good with a pistol by then, and I shot the fucker who got her, and she grabbed at me and got blood all over my chest, she made me promise to protect the little ones, and I told her I would, and she told me to make sure she wasn’t the one who killed them and asked me to get rid of her once she turned.” 

The balcony was deadly quiet as you waited for Max to continue, and he finally whispered, “I think that’s why I use that blue shit so much. Can’t sleep if I’m high, and that’s good, ‘cause, when I sleep, I just see my mother. The thing I shot wasn’t her, my mama was already dead by the time I pulled that trigger, but it was her face, and… And I failed her. I told her I’d protect the rest of ‘em and I couldn’t. After that day, I was the last surviving Borman on earth. I didn’t know what else to do, where to go, nothing, so I just… Went. Wherever the wind took me, I guess. I think I was searching for my death, which just kept never coming. Eventually, after a few years of this, I met Dmitri. He was an elder, he’d been a vamp since before the apocalypse, and he said he ‘sensed’ something about me, something ‘greater’. I still have no idea what he meant, but he was the one who bit me.”

Max’s hand rose from its limp place on the chair armrest to touch at his neck, the exact same place where he had bitten you, where his mother had been bitten. “I figure I was like that, a vamp, for a little longer than five years, but it all felt like it happened in an instant, like I had blinked with Dmitri’s fangs in my neck and suddenly I was waking up in the middle of some forest clearing. But, ‘cause word got around to the powerful, important people that I was one of Dmitri’s kin… Well, shit started happening for me. One of those ‘it’s all who you know’ type things, apparently. Started at Loveland, was moved on up ‘til I got where I am now, and I thought havin’ everything would fix me. But it hasn’t. I thought… Thought satisfaction would fix a life of disappointment and hurt, but so far, I’ve yet to be proven right about that.” 

Your tears spilled from your lashes, and you carefully pushed Max’s arms to the side to expose his body to you. The way you fit across his lap, bodies molded together, your forehead resting on his jaw, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, it all felt too perfect to not be meant to be. “Maxie,” you sniffled, and you felt a warmth prick at your nose. He was crying, his tears dripping from his eyelashes onto your face. You had never seen Max cry before. Your hand moved faster than your brain could work, touching your palm to his face and making him look down at you, and you pressed your mouth to his. Your first kiss with your husband was swallowing his tears. He was quick to put down his cigar and focus all of his attention on you, holding you tenderly as he kissed you back. You could tell he craved more than a kiss, the way his firm chest barrelled with your kisses and the softest grunts punched from the back of his throat, and you pulled away from him, your lips tingling. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Max kissed his teeth, cradling your head to his chest. “You don’t need to be,” he told you. “I got you now. And it’s a lot easier to stomach all of that when I know I got someone who’s okay with the pity party I throw myself every once in a while.” After a moment of silence, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and he whispered, “I guess spilling my greasy lil’ guts to you earned me a kiss. Is that it? Admit heinous shit to you, and I earn something? ‘Cause, cher, I gotta warn you, we can move through the rest of these privileges here and now, I got a lot of awful shit to unpack.” 

“No,” you chuckled lightly. “It’s just… Vulnerability. I like that. You don’t need to be such a brick wall all the time; I appreciate you letting me in.”

“I see,” Max whispered. “So, once I earn certain privileges, is it an open invitation? Now that I can kiss you, I get to do it whenever I want?” 

“Right,” you nodded. 

“What if I wanted to kiss you again right now?” Max asked, nudging his nose against your cheek. His warm breath, sweet with wine and bitter with smoke, fanned against your skin, and a shiver ran down your back. “Would you let me?” 

“I was hoping you would,” you admitted, and Max wasted no time to kiss you once more. 

Now, half a year gone into your routine as Mrs. Borman, and you were getting restless. The monthly book deposits did a lot for you, as did Max’s extensive collection of vinyl records, but that only served you for so long. The days felt endless, especially as you got towards the end of the summer, sweltering heat making the dog days even longer, but you found that your life had become a bacchus dream, hazy heatwaves warming your wine before you could have a chance to drink it. Recently, you had also taken to another form of passing the time, and, while pushing your hand down your panties and bringing yourself to your climax did little to help the heat situation, it did a lot to satisfy your desires. With your enhanced senses, every feeling was cranked up to a ten— things tasted better, colors were brighter, and your own touch was electrifying. You honestly enjoyed that aspect of being a daywalker, but, outside of self-pleasure, there were little other benefits to the new state of living. 

The doors of the back patio, a big garage-door situation on chains, were difficult to pull open on your own, but the view out back was welcoming, a pond just off the patio where ducks would sometimes roost in the cool morning, a tree line surrounding and protecting the property You weren’t stupid— you knew the house you called home wasn’t Max’s— but he certainly could have picked a worse abandoned mansion to set up residence in. You stretched your legs out as you sat in one of the cushioned seats that lived out on the slab of cement, letting the warm sun hit your bare skin— no pants was a common occurrence by now during the hot months, although you always redressed before Max got home. He did, however, love whenever you wore his clothes, some sort of animalistic need to have a silent claim on you, and you rubbed the thin fabric of the t-shirt that hung on your frame as you took a healthy drink of sweet wine. You never used to drink before Max, you remembered telling him such in his office the day he “married” you, but he had cultivated that in you. He had learned your tastes, too, sweet and not bitter in all things, always making sure you had everything you wanted in that regard. 

The more you drank, the more you thought about Max, deeper thoughts than you had ever really considered giving him. He was a good husband, a great one, and, if it weren’t for the way you met, you might have seriously considered actually falling in love with him. But it was the crux of your marriage, the very foundation of it, that kept your heart from careening off that cliff. He was your captor, and no amount of sweet wines or loving kisses or book collections or heavy jewelry could take that title from him. Although, a counterpoint played in your brain; lately, your daily masturbation sessions had begun to include visions of him. You imagined Max in all sorts of situations, and the walls of the bedroom were by now no stranger to your strangled whines of his name. Some part of you did desire him, and you wondered how long it would take desire to outweigh your hatred. Maybe you just had too much wine. That could also be a possibility. 

But, as you heard a soulful bassline start to thump through the house, emanating from the turntable and stereo that Max loved so much, you thought about your husband again. Maybe you weren’t so different, you considered, taking up your glass of wine to pad barefooted over to the sound system. He loved a good song as much as you did, and sometimes, you would indulge him in a dance at night. Max was a fucking awful dancer, and it always made you laugh, but that seemed to be his goal. In fact, when you were laughing at his little shimmies, it was some of the only times you ever considered that he was in fact earning your favor. Underneath everything, the rough edges and the psychopathic tendencies, all the stories he would tell you at night about beating prisoners with clubs just because he felt like it, peeling away all of those layers— he was good to you. Who else would do all of that, but touch their wife so tenderly at the end of the day, send her to bed with the softest of kisses and a promise that the solicite won’t keep him up for much longer (even though you both knew it would)? You smiled to yourself, already imagining the way Max would grasp your hips when he came home and land one of those gentle kisses on your mouth. 

You almost missed the squeak of the front door opening, but Max’s booming, “Honey, I’m home!” would have clued you in anyway. You looked over your shoulder to him, gasping in joy at his presence, and you grinned as he approached you, doing just as you thought he would, grabbing your waist and kissing your lips. Your hand came to cup the back of his neck, holding him close to you, and he broke the kiss with a smile, yet an air of confusion. “What’s all this?” he asked. 

“What’s all what?” you asked. 

“Well, fuck,” Max chuckled. “I mean, I walk in, and what do I see? My gorgeous girl, half naked, dancin’ around to my favorite song? Did I forget my own birthday or something?”

You smiled. “No,” you giggled. “Just enjoying myself.” 

“Enjoying yourself,” Max repeated softly. His eyes were soft as he looked at you lightly swaying with the music, and he added, “What’re you drinking?”

“Wine,” you told him, offering the glass to him. “Some of that stuff you brought home last week.”

Max hummed as he took a drink from your glass, and your eyes locked on his mouth as his tongue came out, capturing the blood-red droplets that clung to his lip. That fucking mouth of his. All soft and perfectly pink, the scruffy facial hair adorning his lip showing just the slightest hint ginger. “That’s good,” he said softly. “How much have you drank?” 

You shrugged. “I get bored when you’re at work,” you told him, not so much an answer to his question but rather an explanation for your behavior. You started to turn away from him, but his big hand, solid and strong against your hip, turned you back to him quickly. 

“You got bored,” he started. “So you put on my clothes, started listening to my music, drinking my wine? Oh, cher, I don’t know if I’d call that ‘bored’.”

“What would you call it, then?” you asked with a sugary-sweet sarcastic bite. 

“I’d call it horny,” Max said plainly. His fingers nudged under the waistband on your panties, resting just so on your skin, not venturing any further but certainly lingering. “I think you were missing me really badly, is what I think; that you want me but won’t tell me, so you gotta get your kicks when I’m not home.” 

You scoffed and went at your wine glass. “I think,” you retorted. “You’ve been sniffing too much of that blue shit. It’s warping your mind, Maxie.” You never usually deployed the sweet diminutive, only ever doing it when you were teasing him or you were in his lap, and you smiled at his obvious confusion. Were you teasing him, or wanting him? You liked that he couldn’t figure it out. 

“I got you something,” Max told you, going for the pocket of his waistcoat. God, he looked delicious— definitely an image that you were going to think on tomorrow while he was at Love Less again. His form-fitting pants, that grey waistcoat that matched his eyes when he got all broody and stormy, his shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose that little thatch of hair on his freckled chest, his sleeves rolled to his elbow. He hadn’t taken his shoulder holster off when he came in the door, and you tugged at it in excitement. 

“What did you get me?” you asked, and Max extracted a small linen handkerchief from his pocket, folded up over itself several times, and he carefully wrapped it until he got to the middle, the contents that took your breath away. Three rings, two of them smaller and one larger— two bands and a diamond ring. No, not a diamond, a ruby, beautiful and glimmering. It took your breath away, and you quickly set down your wine glass to examine the jewelry further. “Max,” you sighed softly, in disbelief. “Oh my God. They’re beautiful.”

“I figured you would like it,” Max said with an affectionate, soft voice. “One’s mine, and the others are yours.” 

Wedding rings. Max had gotten you wedding rings. The air suddenly felt warmer than before, your skin prickling with it, and you lightly picked up the ruby ring, studying it. It felt too important to tarnish with your touch, like a piece of artwork, and you looked at your left hand for a moment. “Where did you get these?” you asked softly, finally looking back to Max’s face. 

Your husband gave you his genuine, real smile, more common an occurrence nowadays than ever before. “For once, not something I stole from one of my inmates,” Max laughed lightly. “I had them made for us. Had to call in some favors from Blak-Tek, and they were confused as fuck why I was needing wedding rings of all things. I just told them I had a pretty lady back here at Loveland that needed my ring on her finger, and they whipped them up for me in a jif.” 

“Maxie,” you whispered fondly. “This is too much, sweetheart, you shouldn’t have.” 

“Too much?” Max scoffed. He shifted the handkerchief and rings into his palm, and he carefully took the bejeweled ring from you. Skillfully, Max took your left hand and pushed the ring onto your finger, and you bit your bottom lip as it fit onto you perfectly. “I don’t think it’s enough. You’re my woman, you deserve all the best.”

“This is the best,” you assured him. “It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned…” Max slipped the simple band on next, nestling perfectly next to the ruby ring, and the sight of the jewels and shine on your hand made your eyes sting with tears. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, and Max lifted your face to look at him. “Thank you, Maxie, thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Max told you softly. “It’s like I just said. You’re my woman, and I’m a piss-poor little man for not getting you a ring before now.” 

You smiled, all thin and watery, sniffling up your tears as you redirected your gaze to the last ring he had, made for him. Your hands shook a little as you took it into your grip, and you held Max’s hand with tender care as you pushed his ring onto his own hand. You had never thought to look too hard at his hands, but you saw the hands of a man who worked, certainly from his past life— passes of hardened, calloused skin on the softs of his fingers, tiny scars littered here and there, but it was the deeper scars, laid in his knuckles, that made you frown. You still remembered the story he told you, a young hot-headed kid, punching walls in anger at the injustice he was forced into. It was enough to make you cry again, and you pressed a soft kiss to his scarred knuckles. “I love you,” you whispered, your gaze still affixed to his hand, and you listened to him sigh with heavy weight. 

“You don’t have to say that, cher,” Max told you. “I know you don’t mean it, that’s okay—”

“No,” you said, lacing your fingers with his. “I wanna say it, because I do mean it. I love you, Max Borman. You’re so good to me, you treat me better than I could have ever hoped for, and… I love you. I’m tired of pretending like I don’t.” 

Max’s body relaxed as a smile spread over his lips, and he leaned in to touch a kiss to your mouth. This kiss was different from any others you had shared before, though, and you breathed in deep, taking in every cell of Max, his smell, his heat, his strength, his taste. He grabbed your waist and pulled you close as you reciprocated, and you grabbed at the leather and snakeskin holster around his shoulders to keep him as close as possible. Your body was on fire, the heat pooling down in your cunt, and you moaned softly as Max’s thumbs dug into your hips, grabbing palmfuls of your flesh. 

Max chuckled and broke the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. “‘You may now kiss the bride’ and all that, right?” he whispered, his warm breath fanning across your face, and a lightning bolt of boldness struck your chest.

“Max,” you said gently, catching his gaze, and the intense look in his eyes, bright blue, unwavering, as clear as the sky and twice as stunning, only confirmed that he did finally earn this. You fingers played with the buttons on his shirt as he waited for you to speak again, and you knew he was impatient but would wait however long it took. “I think you should take me to bed.”

Max chuckled, deep in his throat and raspy, exactly the sort of sound that made wet collect in your panties. “Oh, now, cher, don’t tease me,” he told you. “That’s just a mean thing to tell a man.” 

Quick as a flash, you reached down and grabbed his wrist, and you directed him exactly where you needed him, where you craved his touch the most— between your legs, his fingers feeling the soaked patch of your panties, his palm encompassing the rest. “That feel like teasing to you?” you asked, never breaking his eye contact, and you got the pleasure of watching his peach-hued blush color the tops of his cheeks. 

Max let out a strangled sound, his eyes lowering from yours down to where he touched you. His fingers worked to push your panties to the side to feel your soft skin, all slick with your arousal, and he hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. “No,” he whispered. “Nah, none of that is teasing. You’re telling me I earned this?” He dragged his finger along your slit, gathering your wet on his fingertip for just a moment before carefully nudging against your hole, almost as if he were waiting for you to grant him entrance. 

It amused you to no end how your husband was so eager for everything, but once you gave him permission for the one thing you knew he craved, he was hesitating. “Yes, sweetheart,” you whispered, smoothing your hand up from his wrist to touch his elbow, then his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck. “You earned all of this. Now take me.” 

Max didn’t need to be told twice now. He captured you in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue dragging into your mouth, and he swallowed your moan as he pushed his finger into your cunt. God, he felt good, his skin warm, perfectly thick, gentle and nice— exactly what you had hoped he would be. He moved inside of you, feeling you, relishing the way you writhed in his grip, begging for more without using any words, and he broke the kiss as he gave you what you wanted, adding a second finger into you.

You let out a whine, dropping your head to press into Max’s neck, and you felt like your legs could just give out. “Yeah?” Max whispered in your ear, lightly nibbling on your soft lobe. “You like that?” 

You nodded quickly, and your body rippled with pleasure as Max began to slowly move his fingers, making sure you adjusted to the new sensation before he tried for more. His fingers felt like nothing you had ever felt before, not even your own, and you choked down pathetic little noises as he played with you, in and out, fucking you on his fingers with a slow, controlled pace. He redirected his mouth back to yours, kissing you with a fever that made your heart thump at the base of your throat, and he pulled his fingers from you to rub firm circles around your throbbing clit. Your body lurched at the sudden heat that pooled in your cunt, forcing a shocked moan from your mouth, and Max pulled away from your lips with a smile. “Answer me this, cher,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. “All these long, boring days when I’m at the prison, did you ever think about this? You ever drive yourself crazy wanting my touch?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed, trying to kiss him again, but Max was quick, moving just out of your reach. 

“Yes?” Max repeated. “Were you fucking yourself all pathetic on your fingers? Rubbed this little button here? All of the above?” Your mouth hung open as you breathed heavily, his heavy touch making you squirm in his grip, and Max leaned in to swipe the quickest of kisses to your pouty bottom lip. “Fuck. And I had no fucking clue. How could I be so stupid? Well, honey, I think we’re definitely skipping a few steps here— why, an hour ago, I was driving home, fantasizing about getting to kiss you when I put that ring on you, but now you’re giving me all of this? What a fucking treat.”

Max finally pulled his hand out of your panties, and you watched with widened doe eyes as he took no hesitation in sliding his fingers into his mouth, tasting what you left behind. It made your stomach jolt with that same hot electricity Max had been giving to you, and you were glad he was holding you, otherwise the sight of him pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a satisfied smile might have made you crumble into a puddle on the ground. He hummed softly, tilting his head at you, and he said, “My God, that’s delicious. Tastiest pussy I’ve ever had.” 

Something about him, his warm chest pressed against yours, the stormy look in his eyes, something, made you open your mouth for him, and his eyebrows flicked up with amusement. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” he chuckled. “You want a taste too?” You nodded quickly, pushing your tongue out to invite him in, and Max followed through, pushing the same two fingers past your lips. You didn’t really know what you were meant to be tasting, something heady and distinctly human, but you weren’t focused on that. Your focus was primarily on sucking on his thick fingers, letting him feel exactly how warm and soft and wet your mouth was. The easier you could rile him up, the better, and, based on the size of his dark pupils as he watched you, you seemed to be succeeding. 

“Now, that’s a tease if I’ve ever seen one, honey,” Max chuckled. “Don’t tell me you like sucking cock, you’ll make me cum in my pants.”

You pulled off of his fingers and landed a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Never done it before,” you told him, and Max gave you a startled look. 

“Really?” he asked. “Pretty lips like those, figured you’d be real good at it.” 

You shook your head. “Never,” you said, and Max’s eyes seemed to melt at you. 

“We’ll do that another night,” Max told you softly. “I want the first part of you I fuck to be this sweet little pussy. I’ll take everything else later.” 

You had read the phrase a hundred times in all the romance books that were included in the library Max had been accruing for you, ‘stumbling to the bedroom’, but you never understood what that meant until you were actually doing it, kissing Max and hardly giving yourself time to actually walk. Max was equally as eager, his hands gripping your hips as he pushed you against walls to kiss your neck, and it made you feel drunk and giddy. Once in the confines of your bedroom, the same one where you had woken up months ago, fresh from the bite, the same one you woke up in morning, Max resumed his rough kisses, gripping your face as he pushed you backwards until your legs were meeting the bed and you were falling back. In an instant, your legs were wrapping around his waist, a perfect width between your thighs to squeeze him tight, and Max moaned, full-throated and deep, into your mouth. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me one day soon, huh?” 

“Sure nope not,” you giggled. “Who else am I meant to fuck if you’re dead?” 

“Nobody,” Max huffed, almost a growl. His kisses traveled from your mouth to your jaw, sucking hard at the skin right below your ear, and down your throat, leaving another tender bruise on your collarbone. His greedy hands shoved your shirt up your chest to expose your tits to him, and he made quick work of giving them love as well, licking at your sensitive nipples. Your hips jerked up into his as he suckled hard at you, and a broken moan left your mouth. “You’re mine now, nobody else’s. Even after I’m fucking cold in the ground, you’re my woman. You hear me?” 

You rolled your hips up, meeting his as he jutted downwards, and you gasped at what you felt in his pants, hard as a rock, straining against his zipper. Your hands scrambled for his belt, the buckle big and silver, in the shape of a crown— he was nothing if not ostentatious—and you worked quick to undo it and start to open his pants. Max relocated his attention up to himself, tearing off his holster and undoing his waistcoat, and you abandoned his belt for just a moment to tug his shirt up his back. “Off,” you whimpered, and Max righted himself to pull the shirt up and over his head, not bothered in the slightest about trying to manage the buttons. Of course you had seen Max’s body before, but that was usually just before bed, after his shower, catching glimpses of him through cracked bathroom doors— back when he was still respecting the allowances he earned and trying not to push you. But seeing him like this, the last strains of that orange sunset illuminating him, making his skin glow like some soft of god, casting a shine onto that gorgeous tattoo on his ribs, two snakes curled around a rose; seeing this was something different, something beautiful. 

“I love you,” you told him, your hands skating up his bare sides as he went to finish the job on his pants that you had started, and you caught the gorgeous smile that came over him as he shoved his pants down his thighs. This sight was a new one, and you wanted to make fun of him for the lack of underwear he had, but you were transfixed by everything else you saw. A small line of hair from his belly down; thick, hairy thighs, another tattoo laid in the skin there, a fleur de lis, the same as his index ring, the symbol of his home; and, of course, his hard cock, thick, flushed dark, wet clinging on his spongy head. 

“Oh, honey,” Max whispered, leaning back down and kissing your neck again, his warm hands capturing your tits. “You look like you liked what you saw.” 

“Mhm,” you moaned softly. You pushed your shirt over your head, keening up into his warmth, and the way he rocked down into your open legs made your mouth open as hot pleasure thrummed through your veins. “Want you, Maxie, want you bad.” 

“I’ll take care of you,” Max assured you. “But I wanna hear you say what you want me to do to you.” 

“Max,” you whined, and he mocked your sound into your skin. 

“You have to tell me,” Max said, and it almost sounded less like him tormenting you and more like he was begging for it. “Don’t leave out any dirty details. Tell me everything.”

Filthy words spilled from your mouth as soon as you thought them, having no sense keeping anything to yourself. “Fuck me,” you whimpered. “Want you to fuck my pussy, please, y-you can spit on me to make it fit, don’t stop if I tell you hurts. Y-You can cum inside me too, I want it, want you to fill me up, wanna feel you even when you’re not here, please, Maxie—”

“My God,” Max laughed into your neck. “You’re a fucking wet dream come true, you know that? You like when it hurts a little?” His hand snaked down between your bodies, landing a few hard taps onto your pussy, still covered by your soaked-through cotton panties, and you jolted as hot shockwaves hit your core. “Oh, you really like that, huh? My dirty girl, I didn’t even know what a good fuckin’ decision I was making with you.”

And with that, Max sat himself up, and his hands, still adorned in all his rings and bracelets, grabbed at your panties and ripped them down the seams, getting them off your body as quickly as possible. The sound of the fabric tearing made your breaths come in quick, short pants, and you gripped at Max’s hips to tug him right onto you, soft flesh meeting soft flesh. “Max,” you gasped. “Sweetheart, please fuck me, please.”

“Cher,” Max purred. “You sound so pretty when you’re desperate. What about when you’re screaming for me? Still gonna sound pretty, or you just gonna sound like a filthy slut?” 

You watched as he took his cock into his grip, stroking his length a few times as he nudged your legs open even wider, exposing your sopping pussy fully to him. You should have felt humiliated at his gaze, small or demeaned in some way, but you didn’t. His gaze felt gentle, affectionate, even as he gathered a mouthful of saliva and spit down onto you, just as you had asked him to. He sighed as you throbbed for him, admiring the view below him, and he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance before pausing. 

“Max,” you gasped. “Don’t tell me you’re pussying out. Fuck me.” 

“God, I fucking love you,” Max growled and, with a wrinkle of his nose, bullied his way inside of you. You weren’t sure if your moans were louder, or if his were, but his thick cock split you open and stretched you, and you started to throb around him in an instant. “Yeah, honey, that’s right, squeeze my cock. Goddamn it, you’re tight, shit.”

“Not surprised,” you chuckled, and Max threw you a confused look as his stomach tensed for just a moment, reacting to your cunt throbbing on his cock. “Isn’t that the whole reason guys like fucking virgins, ‘cause of how tight we are?” 

“Wait,” Max said quickly, turning soberingly serious in an instant. He was nearly fully seated inside you now, and your back arched to try to get him that final bit deeper, but his hand flat on your mound forced you to stop. “Wait, honey, stop. That’s what this is? Am I really popping your cherry right now?” 

“Ugh, you make it sound so romantic,” you said lightly, hoping your humor overshadowed the way tears were welling at the inner corners of your eyes. Not because it hurt— even though it did, the burn of him stretching you definitely was painful— but because, yes, Max was taking your virginity. It was emotional for you, even if you knew in your heart that first times really only meant as much as you allowed for them to, and you had almost expected Max to not really give a fuck about it, seeing as how, before you, he was a brothel regular. Sex was familiar to him, so why should he care?

“Don’t fuck with me right now, sweetheart,” Max snapped, breaking that illusion for you. He cared; he cared a lot. “Am I the first man you’ve ever had sex with? Yes or no?” 

“I…” you began, and finally sighed, allowing a quick sniffle. “I was a kid when this apocalypse bullshit started, baby… Not many chances for a girl to have sex in that world, even less if you were like me. Alone, only worried about myself… Didn’t think I was worth anyone caring about me like that.” 

Max said your name, gentle and soft, and he pressed his hand to your cheek tenderly. You keened into his warm touch, closing your eyes and letting your tears finally fall, and he leaned forward, pressing his body fully to yours as he softly kissed up your tears. Your arms wrapped around his neck to keep him close, and he whispered softly in your ear, “My sweet girl. Of course you’re worthy of being cared for. You’re the worthiest person in the world, to be cared for, to be loved, because you found it in your heart to love me. Fucked up lil’ ole me; you found something in this dead, hollow chest to adore, and that… That’s not something I can just ignore, cher, pretend like I ain’t flattered by it. You know, you’ve wormed your way into my head, starting to affect the way I act— six months ago, I would’ve wasted ammo on a guard talking back to me, but, when it happened today, I could only picture your face and the sad little crease you get between your eyebrows when I tell you I killed someone else, and I just… You’ve made me a better man, and you’ve made me want to be a better man.”

“Max,” you whispered, trying to pull away from his affection, but, as Max began to slowly roll his hips forward, sinking all the way into you, all other thoughts melted away. “Max.”

“It might not mean a lot to you,” Max started again. “But this is an honor I’ll carry with me ‘til the day I get killed. Truly, it is.” 

His hand floated gently to take up your left hand, and he raised it to his mouth, kissing your fingers and your ring. As he started up his rhythm— slow, firm, forcing little moans and grunts from your chest— he laced your fingers together and squeezed your hand tight. “You know I love you, right?” Max asked. “You feel that?” 

You nodded quickly. And it was true; you never felt unloved by him. “Good,” Max whispered. “‘Cause I wanna fuck you like I don’t, but I wanna make sure you know I do.” 

“I know,” you assured him, a hot and buzzy feeling permeating your brain at his words. 

“What do you know?” Max asked, and you smiled. So playful, so mean; so was your husband’s way.

“I know that you love me,” you whispered. 

“Good girl,” Max whispered. With that, he let go of your hand, and his hands went to your legs, tugging them up to rest along his shoulders, folding you nearly in half underneath him. His slow pace suddenly switched, turning brutal and merciless as his hot cock dragged inside of you, threatening pain with every hard shove inside. But you loved it— you loved the hot shock that made your body twitch, the gasping laughter that left you every time he pushed a little too deep and made the slightest strings of pain pop in your mouth. Every moment of this version of him was to die for, and certainly lined up more with what you expected out of him. You knew you wanted to explore that sweet, slow lovemaking later, but, for now, a hard, unrelenting tempo was all you wanted. 

You cried out his name, every thrust extending it one more syllable, a pathetic little “M-a-a-a-x”, and you dug your nails hard into his back, clawing at his skin. Max gave a tight hiss through gritted teeth as his cock pulsed inside you, and he whispered, “Damn, honey, you scratch me up too much and we’re gonna have a fucking problem.”

“Oh?” you challenged, and Max cocked his head at you, almost as if he was surprised you were testing him. “A problem? My, that just sounds awful.”

“If I’ve said it once…” Max chuckled with a huff of exertion. “You’re a heap of trouble, cher.”

“And you love it,” you bit back at him, playfully touching the tip of your tongue to your teeth, and Max leaned down and captured your mouth in a deep kiss, his hand coming to grab hard at your chin. 

“My sweet girl,” Max whispered into your mouth. “Are you my sweet girl? Or are you my fuckin’ whore wife? Which one you wanna be?” 

When his hand fell from your face down to your clit and he started at it, rougher than before, obviously chasing an end goal now, you gave him his answer, tugging his hair and letting your head fall back to choke out a sob. You had never felt anything like this, pleasure so intense that it threatened to unstitch your seams and dissolve you, and the fire pit in your belly was coming to a scorching climax. “Max!” you whimpered. “Fuck, Maxie, I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” Max whispered, kissing your face as you turned your head to cry. “No, no, no tears, honey. Does it just feel that fucking good?”

“Yes!” you whimpered, and Max licked up your tears with a hearty chuckle. 

“Aw,” he pouted. “Your mascara’s running, cher. You wanted to look all pretty for me. How fuckin’ cute.” His fucking became depserate now, in pursuit of your orgasm as much as his, and the bed creaked underneath you as he groaned into your ear, nearly concealing the obscene sounds of him inside you, wet and sticky and loud. The entire experience was too much, unable to focus on any one single thing, and all of it unraveled in a second, like a rubber band snapping. 

Your body shook against your will as you came, only able to moan as Max fucked you through it, and your hearing dipped for just a second before coming back, buzzy and fuzzy in your head. Max was consistent the whole way through, “Yes, honey, just like that, good girl”, and you panted, exhausted, as you tried to return to Earth. Luckily for you, Max was right at his cliff’s edge as well, and you got to watch the beautiful picture before you, his eyebrows knitting, his eyes squeezing shut, his mouth falling open— almost a pained expression, but, if what you just went through was any indication, pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin. Now, it was Max’s turn to moan like a wanton slut, and you watched his necklace bounce and jostle against his chest as he fucked hard into you one last time before he came.

It was an odd feeling, for sure, as Max throbbed inside your tired cunt and pumped you full of his cum. Your brain knew how fucking dirty it was, how bad it was, how risky it was, but your heart (and more importantly, your pussy) didn’t care. “Fuck,” he gasped, his head tipping back towards the ceiling. His stomach flexed with every spurt and rope he gave you, and finally he inhaled deep, seemingly at peace. His chest and stomach were covered in a thin sheen of sweat, glimmering in the moonlight now coming through the big glass windows, and he looked down at you, shoving his sweaty hair off his forehead. “You okay, honey?” He asked gently, his hands soothing down your legs, tugging them from his shoulders. “Everything feel alright?” 

There was already a soreness in your thighs, and, based on the loose feeling of your muscles, you figured walking would be out of the question for your immediate future. “Legs hurt,” you managed softly, and Max nodded, lightly kneading your thigh to ease some of the soreness out. 

“Anything else?” he asked, and you shook your head. “Just your legs? You’ll probably walk with a cute little limp tomorrow morning, but that’s okay.” 

Slowly, Max withdrew his softening cock from you, and you choked out a cracking little sob at the feeling. Max shushed you, his firm hands moving to your hips to massage there, and he littered featherlight kisses on your cheeks and jaw as he softly assured you how good you were for him, how beautiful you were, how much he loved you. Your heart warmed at the sound of that. Max’s raspy post-sex drawl forming those words— “I love you so much, Mrs. Borman, I think I could die”— was music to your ears. 

All you wanted was to lay there and recover, but Max steadfastly refused. He scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the bathroom, setting you on the cool stone countertop, and you watched the way his body moved, his muscles tugging his skin as he reached for the bathtub tap to test the temperature of the water. In the bathroom light, you watched his arm, tanned on the outside but creamy and smooth on the inside, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw his scar, big and light, from his elbow to his wrist. The one he had been given the day you met him, what felt like forever ago, on a shitty highway outside Denver. If you could have told that girl a year that that gentleman, who hooted and laughed as he played with his food, wrestling the vampire away from you for a moment before blowing its brains out with his pistol, loading a few rounds of silver into it afterwards, would come to be the greatest love you had ever known, she would have laughed at you, but it was true. 

Once Max was satisfied with the bath, he helped you into the warm suds, settling himself behind you and wrapping his arms around you as your eyelids flagged, sleepy and exhausted. “Just a little longer, cher,” Max whispered, sudsing up his hands and diligently cleaning your arms, then your chest, then down to your cunt. You groaned as his hand made contact with your puffy lips, your thighs nudging together just so, and he added, “I know, I’m sorry, but you’ll feel better once you’re all clean.” 

And, as usual, Max was right. He washed your body with his soap, even rinsing your sweaty hair, and he brought you back to the bed once he was satisfied with his work. The warmth of the bed, his bed, your bed, made you feel like you could purr, and, as Max slid under the blankets alongside you, he did something he had never done before, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, settling your head right over his heart. 

“You hear that?” Max whispered, gently carding his fingers through the ends of your wet hair. 

“Hear what?” you mumbled sleepily, mashing your cheek into his warm chest.

“My heart,” Max said. “I haven’t felt this alive since I died. I think, if you listen hard enough, you can hear my heart beating again. And it beats only for you, cher.”

“God, you’re cheesy,” you murmured, and Max smiled into your scalp. He shifted a bit, and your sticky eyes opened just in time to see him reaching over the side of the bed and grabbing at his pants, withdrawing the thick, leather cigar case from his fallen back pocket. You knew your job, and, with a yawn, you right yourself to slink out of bed, going for the hulking dresser settled opposite the bed. In the mirror, you watched Max’s face contort confused at you, your naked form glittering in the moonlight, and he smiled as you grabbed his silver lighter. 

“Oh, cher, you don’t need to—” Max started, and you plucked the cigar from the corner of his mouth and silenced him with a kiss. You climbed into his lap, caging his hips with your thighs, and you broke the kiss to put his cigar between your own lips, dutifully lighting it and taking a hearty pull. As you blew a mouthful of smoke at him, you felt his cock between your legs twitch, and you giggled. “My God, honey. You’re gonna kill me, I know it.” 

“Maybe,” you shrugged, and you turned the cigar back to him, watching as he accepted it between his teeth. “But I know you’ll be begging me for it, so who’s the real loser?”

You could have burned up with how intense Max’s gaze was, his eyes nearly burning holes in your soft skin. He puffed at his cigar, letting the smoke issue out of his nose as he sighed, and his hand smoothed up the side of your body, admiring everything you had given him. “I think…” Max started. “Up ‘til the day you do kill me, we’re gonna have a hell of a good life together.” 

“What’s the past six months been, then?” you scoffed. You flattened your hands on his chest, letting your eyes wander down to the dark ink on his skin, and you started to lightly rock your hips, dragging yourself along the head of his cock. “Hell on earth?”

Max let out a tired grunt, his eyes closing in bliss, and his head fell back onto the pillow to expose his creamy throat to you. “S’been heaven,” he murmured. “My life’s been heaven on earth with you, Mrs. Borman. Don’t ever let it end.”

You bit your lip with satisfaction, watching the way you fully unraveled this man. A girl could get used to this view. “I won’t,” you assured him. “I won’t ever let it end. I promise.”