"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.

"It's over before we even began," he briefly exclaimed in a low, deep growl."

His eyes darkened, his hands started stroking up and down my upper body again, then slowly trailing down to my buttocks.

I grinned.

"Another round?" I asked coyly, feigning a surprised, coquettish look. 

The kind of look with slightly widening of the eyes, lips slightly parted, with a very faint gasp.

Last night, I know Max came home close to dawn, around three in the morning. I heard him, but I didn't get up because I was too exhausted, too sleepy.

I woke up very early this morning and was greeted by a beautiful sight next to me. I decided to sleep in, and it took me a while, but I finally found sleep nestled against him.

The next time I opened my eyes, Max was kissing my belly. And that kisses turned to sex.

Then, we fell back to sleep.

It's probably way past lunch, but no one wants to leave my bed. Actually, we did. We used the washroom to relieve ourselves, brushed our teeth, and lay on the bed as we conversed about our days.

It's a routine.

We converse about our days, not about work, that ended up with sex.

We tried as much as possible to be discreet about our patients and just talk about things that came up in our minds.

He never talked about his patients as well to me.

I never ask.

We worked in the same hospital, and I worked with him in the operating room, but we never really hang out in the hospital when he had our break or talked like friends whenever we crossed our paths in the hospital hallways.

No one would suspect anything that we are close, that we are best friends, that we shared intimacy.

In the hospital, we kept everything purely professional.

"Are you keen?" Max drawled, deep and husky.

"Since when I rejected you, Max?" I murmured, breathless.

A familiar ached throbbed just below my belly. 

Familiar warm sensations zipped through my veins, coursing down and settled between my legs.

And Max hasn't done anything yet but touched me so intimately.

I bent my head, my breast under a thinly satin nightdress (long enough to be a shirt and short enough to be a dress), pressed against this hard chest, and I tentatively pressed my lips over his. 

My lips brushed softly against his full lips, and he grunted.

"You can kiss better than that, Ms. Mailov," Max teased, and he deepened the kiss.

I chuckled against his lips. 

He bunched up the skirt of my blush-colored hollowed-out satin nightdress, and his palm rested on one of my ass cheeks.

I was only wearing a lacy thong that matched the color of my silky soft nightgown.

A soft moan left my lips when Max licked my bottom lip as he stroked my bottom. 

I welcomed his hot, insistent tongue and let him explore every crevice of my mouth.

I was so lost I didn't hear the door's creaking as it swung open.

The loud gasps and my father's deep, dark and stern voice echoed in the room's four walls.

"YOU SON OF A GUN!" I quickly pulled my lips away and snapped my eyes at the door, wide-eyed.

I felt Max pull the coverlet up to my shoulders.

In a slow-motion, my dad's tall, all sinewy frame, despite his age, comes charging like a mad bull with narrowed eyes at the man underneath me.

"DAD!" My brothers, who I had just noticed were standing behind my father at the threshold of the door, jumped on my father and held him back.

"Dad?" I said softly, staring at him guilt-stricken.

He looked like he had aged ten years older as he stared back at me.

"CALL, STAVROS!" dad instructed angrily to no one in particular in a loud, stern tone.

Just then, I just realized that all of my siblings were present. And they all witnessed it. 

I felt my face hot in embarrassment.

My whole body froze. I was rooted atop Max's chest, thoroughly embarrassed as I watched my father pacing across the room like a tiger ready to pounce.

"What have you done?" Max's murmured in a defeated tone, causing me to look at him incredulously.

His frosty stare couldn't veil his emotions —anger, hatred, and betrayal. 

All at once directed at me, and it shattered my heart.

How easily could he blame me?

I quickly rolled off him, gripping the coverlet tightly up to my chin as I shot him a disgusted look.

And everything just passed by in a blur.

The next day, I was Mrs. Demakis.

In return, my best friend is now my enemy.  

The trust was broken. 

.........

And so their story begins...

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