“Not at all,” I say, lifting a brow. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’m starting to wonder if your back’s going to fuse with the door.”
I push off said door, my cheeks warming under his amused scrutiny. I glance at the bed, its intricately detailed headboard and elegant drapery beckoning me. The bed’s so . . . intimate. It will eventually lead to sleep, maybe even cuddling if we’re feeling adventurous. And sleep leads to morning afters. Which are often filled with regrets and oh-shit-what-the-fuck-did-I-do’s. But thinking I can put all that off is silly, and I’m glad Max called me on it.
Just enjoy the moment and worry about everything else later.
I shake my head. “I’ve got no problem with the bed.” To prove it, I glide past him, pull back the coverlet, and crawl onto the mattress. Lying on my side with an elbow on the bed and my chin in my hand, I ask, “Now, where were we?”
He slides in as well and lies on his side. “You were going to instruct me on the finer points of bringing you pleasure.”
His statement doesn’t sit well with me. Everything’s not about me, and it’s selfish to focus on my needs only, especially considering how attuned he’s been to mine. “Let’s flip the script and talk about what you like.”
He pauses, his expression thoughtful, and then he scrunches his face. “You sure you won’t judge me too harshly?”
“If it warrants my judgment, then it can never be too harsh.”
Groaning, he rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll risk it. Okay, let’s just say I’m not a fan of possum sex.”
I gawk at him. “Possum sex? What the hell is that? Don’t tell me you’re a shape-shifter.”
He laughs. “No, possum sex is when a woman just lies in the bed, still as a statue, or as I like to think of it, when she plays dead like a possum. It’s disturbing as fuck. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a total asshole. If someone’s physically unable to ride me like a rodeo star, I’d understand. But barring that, I enjoy a little participation on the part of the person I’m having sex with.”
My shoulders shake as I imagine what possum sex looks like. When I recover, I offer an alternative explanation. “Are you sure it wasn’t a kink and you didn’t know it?”
“If it was, I didn’t sign up for it,” he says.
“Or maybe you just weren’t all that exciting. That’s a possibility, too.”
“You’re heartless, and I’m not going to treat you with kid gloves just because your pussy’s amazing.” He casually sits up, and before I can guess his intentions, he grabs a pillow and socks me in the face with it.
I yelp in surprise as I scramble to my knees, and then I’m brandishing my own pillow, ready to strike, until someone knocks on the door—yet again.
“Everything okay in there?” the voice asks.
“I think it’s James,” Max whispers. Then he calls out, “We’re fine.”
“Just having a pillow fight,” I explain in an overly loud voice.
“Okay, well, I think a few people are getting ready to retire for the night,” James says.
“We’ll be quieter,” I say. “We promise.”
Max slips from the bed and reaches for his jeans, fishing inside a back pocket. He returns with a few condom packets.
I gaze at him knowingly, my lips pursed in an “of course you did, you cocky son of a bitch” expression. “Just happened to have those handy, huh?”
He purses his lips, pretending to be insulted by my question. “Actually, I didn’t. Found them in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Went rummaging on the off chance this would happen.”
“Did you check the expiration date?”
“Yep.”
“Give me one, please.”
He moves on his knees to the center of the bed and offers one to me, his hand shaking slightly as he waits for me to take it. I don’t want him to be nervous about this, but I wonder if all my sex talk—designed to help me build my own bravado—has put unnecessary pressure on him. If so, I want to correct that. I knee-walk to him and set the condom on the bed. Placing one hand on his shoulder, I lean in to kiss his chest, then his Adam’s apple, then his jaw. When I straighten, I give him a penetrating stare. “It’s been incredible so far, and I truly believe there’s no way we’re going to mess this up.” I press a soft kiss to his lips and reach between us, stroking his cock slowly. “I just want us to make each other feel good.”
He shudders against me, his lids falling to half-mast. “Ahh, Lina. I think we can check that off the to-do list already.”
“Not yet,” I say, nudging his shoulder and motioning for him to lie down.
Max sits on his heels, then slides his legs in front of him and falls onto his back. I look over his smooth skin, his broad shoulders, his stiff erection—all of that’s waiting for me, and it’s alarming how much I’m looking forward to this.
“Lina, I need you,” he grounds out, his voice crackling like pebbles are churning in his throat.
The longing in his voice feeds my own hunger, powering it to another level and threatening to wipe out the grid. My nipples are puckered nearly to the point of pain, and I can feel the wetness at the apex of my thighs. I straddle him quickly, reaching for the protection with fumbling fingers and sighing in frustration when the packet doesn’t open easily. Max kneads my breasts, tweaking the nipples with light, torturous flicks, while I wrestle with the condom packet that refuses to give. I finally manage to pry the resilient fucker open and slip a finger inside.
My eyes go wide and my stomach drops. “It’s empty.”
Max lifts his head off the bed. “What the hell? Let me get another one.”
I study the packet and snort. “Don’t bother. These are gag condoms, Max. The name’s Nojans. The label says, For the person who won’t be getting any tonight.”
Max’s face flushes to a lovely shade of Mean Girls pink before he throws the pillow over his head, then he thinks better of it and peeks out. “Admit it, this is the worst sex you’ve ever had.”
I shove the pillow away. “Not the worst, but certainly the most memorable.” I climb off him and shift to the side, taking his thick shaft in my hand. Before I take him in my mouth, I say, “But don’t worry. The best is yet to come.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lina
Max’s side of the bed is empty when I wake up. I stare at the ceiling and wait for the oh-shit-what-the-fuck-did-I-do’s to rattle inside my brain, but they’re nowhere to be found. It’s easy to figure out why. Andrew is my past. Max is my present. Besides, Max and I aren’t interested in building a future together. We were both blindsided by our mutual attraction, and now we’re just enjoying it for what it is. Neither of us has any reason to feel guilty, and there’s no need to worry about the long-term consequences because there won’t be any.
I snuggle into the coverlet, wanting to enjoy the peace and quiet a few minutes more. But seconds after closing my eyes, Max bursts through the door, his reusable travel mug in his hands. “Rise and shine and drink coffee, sweetheart. It’s time to get on the road.”