“Can I get a condom?” I ask. “Please?” My voice is low and urgent. Needy as hell.
He nods, his mouth opening but not forming words.
I scramble off the bed and grab a packet from the bowl of condoms on the dresser. I toss it onto the bed, slip off my skirt and panties, and dive for his jeans. Max, my trusty assistant, unbuttons his shirt and slips it off well before I’m done.
“You’re fast,” I say, stepping back to give him room to discard his clothes.
“I’m impatient.”
He raises off the bed long enough to toe off his shoes and yank his jeans down, kicking both to the side of the bed. My gaze meets his when he puts his hand on his cock and strokes it—slowly. Oh God. My own personal sauna engulfs me, the heat originating inside me and spreading out to my arms, the backs of my knees, and the expanse of skin between my thighs. I’m unsteady on my feet and woozy in the brain. With shaky hands, I reach out to grasp the dresser behind me. He’s watching me intently as he touches himself, making it easy to imagine I’m the one bringing him pleasure.
Still watching me and stroking his erection, he slides his free hand out to the side and pats the bed until his fingers find the condom. He rips it open with his teeth, the intensity of the movement speaking for him, as if to say, This is what you do to me.
He rolls on the condom based on touch alone, his gaze never straying from my face. I stare at him as he sheaths himself, my lips parted to ensure I remember to breathe and my hands resting on the dresser for support.
“I wonder if you want me as much as I want you,” he says.
I don’t know the extent of his need. If it’s to a degree that muddles his brain and makes him ache everywhere, then the answer’s yes. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say I do.”
“Come here and take what you need, then.”
I straighten and walk toward the bed, holding out my hands when I’m close enough to reach his body. He threads his hands with mine and holds me up so I can straddle his thighs. I use my body to tease, grazing his cock as I center myself, until our bodies are aligned just so and I sink onto him.
“Max,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut and seeing spots.
We’re an exquisitely tight fit. For a few seconds I sit still, simply experiencing what it’s like to be stretched around him. Then I tighten my core and rise off him, reveling in the friction.
Max chokes out my name and grabs my ass, pumping up when I push down. “Can we just do this forever?”
My eyes pop open. Judging from his wide-eyed gaze, I gather the question startled him, too. I grind faster, focusing on the tingling in my body rather than any thoughts threatening to take root in my untrustworthy brain. He trails his hands up my back, caressing my shoulders before tracing his fingers over my nipples again. His touch leaves tiny sparks in its wake that heighten the pulsing between my legs. It’s lazy and decadent and deliciously torturous. The faster I bounce the slower he moves, until he’s touching me at a glacial place, as if he means to show me that everything isn’t always within my control.
“I need to come,” I say in a breathless rush.
“And you will,” he says, his voice as ragged as mine. “Look at me, Lina.”
I drag my gaze from the spot over his shoulder back to his face, slowing down to focus on him. “I’m here.”
“Are you?” he asks. “Just let go of whatever you think should be the case and simply feel. I promise you, I’ll be right there with you.”
I could fall for him easily. Make a fool of myself with hearts in my eyes and glitter bursting from my chest. For so many reasons, Max shouldn’t be the one for me. And certainly not for the version of me I need to be. I’m trapped in a maze, unsure where to turn, but somewhere in the distance, Max’s voice calls out, and though I don’t know where that voice will take me, I follow it anyway. Simply feel? I can do that. Am I with him? Yes, I want to be. So I nod.
With a triumphant gleam in his eye, Max pulls my torso against him and buries his face against my breasts. We rock against each other for several minutes, our harsh breathing and the slapping of our thighs the only sounds in the room. I pull away, searching for his lips, and find his mouth as eager as mine.
Through it all, I ride him hard, and when we come up for air, he nuzzles my jaw, peppering it with kisses as he tries to gauge whether my orgasm is near. “Lina, baby . . . are you . . . close?”
“I am,” I manage to eke out.
And I can hardly keep my head up. The pleasure spiraling through my body is like an anchor, tethering me to this moment and leaving no room for anything else. “Max, I need your fingers.”
He growls against my ear and snakes his hand between us, his thumb grazing my clit.
“That’s it, yes,” I say, still rocking against him.
Max looks up at me, his heavy gaze and swollen lips broadcasting that he’s as tied up in knots for me as I am for him. “Squeeze around me, baby. Make it as tight as you can.” His voice is laced with need, which only heightens my own.
As I contract around him, Max’s fingers roam over me, until he finds a glorious angle that produces the right amount of friction against my clitoris. All I can do in response is bear down on him and say his name: “Max . . . Max . . . yes, right there, Max.”
“Christ,” he says, his voice tinged with awe. “I can’t believe we feel this good together, baby. How can you not want this over and over?”
I clench around him, trying to draw out the orgasm that’s just out of reach, building and building. When Max alters his approach, using his middle and index fingers to draw tight circles perfectly centered on my nub, all my nerve endings seem to fuse together into one continuous loop of pleasure that flows through me like billions of fireworks going off at the same time. Crying out his name, I shake and shudder and writhe, a mass of vibration and movement that I can’t control even if I wanted to.
I tremble for what seems like minutes, experiencing tiny aftershocks, and when I finally, just barely, regain my bearings, Max is shuddering against me, too, his arms pulling me into his tight embrace as he pumps into me. “Fuck, Lina. Yes, yes, fuck, yes, fuck.” He stills, and then he lets out a long groan and slumps backward.
When our hearts are no longer racing, I press a light kiss to his forehead and smile against it.
“What’s so amusing?” he asks, his warm breath teasing my neck.
“I was thinking we’re an eloquent pair. All the yeses and fucks are a testament to the true depth of our vocabulary.”
“Having range is important,” he says on a chuckle, “and anyway, our bodies are communicating like they’ve mastered their own language. I’m good with that. You?”
I mimic his words because I can’t do much more. “Yeah, I’m good with that, too.”
Now that I’m capable of stringing coherent thoughts together, I remember that the point of this “main attraction” was to remind us—well, mostly me—that we’re having a fling. But as I wrap my arms around him, I admit to myself that I came nowhere close to reaching my goal.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Max
Feeling Lina’s backside against my morning wood ranks as my favorite wake-up call ever. Drawn to the peachy scent in her hair, I place my arm on her waist, scoot closer, and breathe her in. She moans and snuggles into the new position.