Maddening Max

Chapter 5: War

"Love is an ideal thing, marriage a real thing." — Wolfgang Geothe

( Unedited )

Angelik's POV

I realized I had left my phone on the table. I quickly detoured and strode back towards the kitchen. I scowled when I caught Max staring at my phone like the damn thing had offended him gravely.

"What are you doing?" I grit out as I closed our gap and snatched my phone from his big palm.

He frowned.

"A certain Jo just called," he blinked, staring hard at me as he explained why my phone was in his hand. "He canceled when I was about to answer," he explained further, then looked away, and I caught him wincing as he had just tasted some lemon.

I ignored his weird reaction as my mind wrapped around the thought that he mistook Josephine for a man.

We called her Jo.

She's one of the cardiac nurses, and I get along well with her and Olivia or Livvy.

"So you weren't joking when you said you're taking a lover too?" he demanded, his lips shut into a thin, grim line.

His eyes, sharp and accusing, trained on my eyes. His jaws clamped tight, and I could feel the jealousy swirling, radiating off him, and I wanted to laugh, but damn, it's so fun watching him green-eyed over a Jo.

I schooled my face into neutral, not wanting to end this fun.

"And you're quite fast, too!" Max snipped.

I'd like to just laugh it out at some point, but then I remembered he didn't come home last night.

"Jo had been a friend of mine," I stressed out, forcing my face to stay poker as I met his frosty glare and bit the laughter down that's bubbling up, threatening to ruin the fun, "and he's nice. Lovely, love—"

"I don't care if he's lovely! You are not going to talk to that man!" He interjected in a tone brooking no argument. His face mottled with crimson, his eyes sharp and intimidating.

He was incensed.

"Why not?" I asked, faking a sharp tone I could muster, feigning anger.

Oh boy! I had to force myself to stop.

His demeanor turned thunderous.

His dark eyes perused my face, the sincerity in my eyes, and I squirmed inwardly.

I had to keep my face just as angry as his. I know I'm pushing his limits, but maybe, he'll crack and admit that he felt the same way as I am.

"Was he good in bed?" he growled darkly. In a slow, languid but unveiled threat of steps as he came closer and halted after a few inches away.

He loomed over me, and I had to crane my neck and meet his dark, thunderous gaze. He looked even more sinful, more maddeningly irresistible.

His scent assailed me and curled around me like a cloak of sandalwood with spice, and his natural male aroma, a hint of musk and earthy. It sent my mind spiraling, and in a few seconds, my mind was blank.

My mind lingered on how much his scent could disrupt my momentum.

I wanted to cry, and I wanted to wallop him hard. I want to vent out to him all these pent-up frustrations and anger.

And at the same time, I want to pull him onto the table and have my way with him.

I unconsciously chuckled at the thought. It would be funny seeing him laid on the table, and I'll feast on his broad, delectable ripped chest.