#maxgeorge

“So what,” Charles suddenly interjects. “You jerk off to the idea of getting P1?”

“Doesn’t have to be P1,” George replies without meeting his eyes. It’s not Charles’s turn, which means George doesn’t technically have to answer, but George can feel Max’s eyes boring into him, expectant, and he feels compelled to challenge Charles’s assumption even though the truth is infinitely more embarrassing than letting the misconception stand. “We just both have to finish.”

“With you on top,” Daniel adds with a smirk, evoking giggles from both Heidi and Charlotte.

Max doesn’t laugh, and when George finally glances over at her, she’s staring at him with a concerned expression—the sort that you might turn on someone whose face is literally melting. Fair enough, he thinks. That’s about how it feels with all the blood in his body rushing unbidden to his cheeks and ears, flushing him hot and cold all at the same time.

Thankfully, Charlotte transitions smoothly into her turn without any prompting. “Daniel,” she says quickly, clearly having already put some thought into her question while the rest of them went around. “Fuck, marry, kill: Toto, Christian, Mattia.”

Daniel scoffs loudly. “Fuck Toto, marry Christian, kill Mattia,” he replies almost instantly. “Easy.” He glances over at Charles and gives a faux-apologetic smile. “Sorry, mate.”

“There’s no need to apologize to me,” Charles replies with a laugh. “I would pick the same.”

He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter as the laugh fades, his eyes scanning the others with an uncharacteristic seriousness.

“My turn, then?” he says, waiting for Daniel’s nod of affirmation before alighting on Max. She sighs long-sufferingly but with a smile. “How many people have you slept with?” Charles asks with an answering grin.

The smile on Max’s face immediately fades. “I—well…”

“If you don’t want to answer, you can always take the hard way out,” Daniel reminds her with a smirk.

Max bites down on her lip until it goes white from the pressure. A few seconds go by as she deliberates, and then finally, she slips down into the water and turns to face the hot tub jet.

“Make sure she doesn’t cheat,” Daniel instructs George, who has absolutely no intention of following through.

George can barely look at her now, unable to see much more than the flex of her arm and shoulder as she maneuvers into a suitable position on her knees. It’s harder for her than it had been for Daniel—usually the girls hook their legs over the side to get the right angle, but George would rather throw himself off the cliff and into the ocean than suggest Max do that.

“I don’t cheat,” Max retorts, tossing a glare over her shoulder in Daniel’s direction.

To her credit, there’s no need for George to make sure of anything. It’s painfully obvious as soon as the stream of water makes contact with Max’s clit through her swimsuit.

Her fingers clench hard enough around the lip of the deck that George wouldn’t be surprised if she somehow managed to crack right through the tile, and her breathing abruptly goes ragged as she violently trembles and shakes.

George stares at her with his mouth hanging open. He can feel the blood rushing from his cheeks to his dick so fast it hurts, and he’s already half-hard in his swim trunks by the time Max stops coming.

“Fuck,” Daniel comments in an awe-struck voice as Max peels herself away from the jet and curls into the fetal position on the bench, still evidently trying to catch her breath. She doesn’t meet his, or anyone else’s, eyes. “Well, that was fucking—something.” He turns to George without warning. “Does she always have a hair-trigger?”

“Not your turn,” George responds automatically. His brain is still mush. He can’t think, let alone navigate the treacherous waters of Daniel poking and prodding at the nature of his relationship with Max.

“It actually is his turn,” Charles points out. “Technically.”