She flopped down on him, panting, and he was as stupidly pleased as a child being passed a note by a girl he had a crush on. Last time, at the palace, she’d lain down next to him but not touching him. This time, she was draped over him as if this was a thing they did.
Well. That had been fucking glorious. He threaded his fingers through her still-damp hair and said, “We should have started doing this a long time ago.”
“No we shouldn’t have. This is perfect.”
“You mean you wouldn’t have been ready before?” Maybe she truly had been hung up on the fact that she’d still been legally married.
He regretted the question because it made her pull away. She laid on her back next to him, staring at the ceiling. “It’s more that being here feels like being on holiday from real life, you know?”
He wasn’t sure he liked that idea.
“But even though I don’t think we should have done this any sooner than we did, I do think we should figure out when we can do it again.” She turned her head and blinded him with a smile.
He glanced at the clock on the nightstand over her shoulder. “I don’t see a way out of dinner with Leo and Marie. We can’t avoid them any more than we already have.”
“Yeah, I know. And really, I don’t want to.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Well, they’re leaving in the morning.”
“Mmm. I’m counting the hours. We’ll see them off, and then you’re mine for four solid days.” Something flared in her eyes. She liked that notion. “We can lose the second room.” And there went the heat in her gaze. She didn’t like that notion. “Or not.”
“I like to have my own space.”
“Of course.” He should have remembered her list. She didn’t want to feel like she was giving up things for a relationship. Not that this was a relationship. Unfortunately.
“I can pay for it, though.”
“No, no.” Somehow, he had talked her into this whole trip being his treat. After the private jet, it had been easier to convince her to accept gifts, but just because he would love nothing more than to spend the next four days in a room with her didn’t mean he should presume she felt the same. He would need to distract her, though, or the argument about who was paying for the room would ramp up.
He pounced on her and started kissing her neck. “How do you feel about doing it in restaurant bathrooms?”
“I am against it.”
“Really?”
“Yes! Gross!”
He performed a theatrical sigh. “Well, I shall simply have to hold out, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day flew by in a haze of sightseeing and sex. After they got up and saw the royal couple off, they went right back to bed and stayed there for a good long time, followed by an afternoon spent exploring the city. They climbed the tower they’d skipped before, poked around in shops lining the pretty cobblestoned streets, and ate and drank until Dani was full to bursting. After a nap, they ordered an array of munchies from room service for dinner and dined outside on Max’s balcony, watching the sun set.
And now they were rolling around making out like teenagers on Max’s bed.
Damn, Max could kiss. Kissing Max made Dani realize how much she loved kissing for its own sake. They kissed for what felt like an hour, gradually losing their clothing but in unspoken agreement that they were in no hurry to move things along.
Dani wasn’t sure when she’d had so much fun. Well, that wasn’t true. She’d had this much fun in Riems, before Max’s parents got home.
Okay, no. This was more fun. Because of the sex. With Max.
Honestly. She was like a starving woman being ushered into an all-you-can-eat buffet. And Max was a feast. He was a generous lover, always attentive to her pleasure. It felt like they were in sync, like, as cheesy as it sounded, they were moving and thinking and breathing as one when they came together. It had never been like that for her. Not that she’d never had good sex, but this kind of immersion, this total attunement with another person, was new. She figured it was because she and Max were such close friends, because he knew her better than anyone.
Getting it on with the Depraved Duke had a lot to recommend it.
Once, watching him sleep, she entertained a little flash of fear that something about this, something she couldn’t quite name, was going to come back to bite her. Was it because they were such close friends? Because he knew her better than anyone? No. Life wasn’t a rom-com. People didn’t lose friends in real life, at least not friends like Max, because they slept with them. She dismissed the fear as quickly as it had arisen, aided by the fact that he suddenly woke up and grinned at her.
“Come here,” he said, pulling on her arm. She had been sitting up in bed, reading while he napped.
“Ahh!” She laughed as she lost her balance and tumbled forward, but quickly sobered as she landed against his chest. She had forgotten how good it felt to touch someone. To exhaust yourself with someone.
She tried to lay herself out on him, mashing her breasts against his chest both because it felt good and because he seemed to really like her breasts, which was nice because they were definitely not Hollywood breasts. If she had been the kind of person who was insecure about her body, the smallness of her breasts might have gotten to her. And if she had been that kind of person, Max and his focus on them, on her pleasure as if it were his single abiding imperative, would have cured her of that.
He wasn’t letting her stretch out on him, though. He resisted, pushing her so she was upright again, but straddling him. “Get up here,” he said, almost peevishly, pointing to his mouth.
“What do you . . . oh.” Oh. She wasn’t the type to embarrass easily, but she could feel her cheeks heating. She could feel her core heating, too.
“Now you’re getting it.” He swatted her butt. “Scoot this pretty bottom up here and sit on my face.”
“Oh my god.” She almost came from those words alone.
She was learning that in the bedroom, Max was direct, guileless, and generous. She wasn’t sure why that should be surprising. He was like that in life, too. But he had a way of stating things so directly. It wasn’t dirty talk in the traditional sense. His point wasn’t to get her off—at least she didn’t think it was. And he was bossy, but not in the dominant sense. He would never push her to do anything she didn’t want to. She couldn’t imagine anything he would suggest that would fall into that category, anyway. It was like he knew, always, what would feel good, what was optimal in any scenario, and announced his intention to do that thing.
It sounded so simple when she thought about it like that.
“Or don’t,” he said with a smile, and started to sit up. Here was a case in point—he thought she wasn’t into what he’d suggested, and he was regrouping.
“Hang on.” She pressed her palm against his chest and pushed him back down. “Give me a second.”
“What? You have to think about it?”
“No. I just have never done it . . . quite like this before.”
“Well, listen,” he said with mock sternness. “I’m being resourceful. You’ve told me, and I have observed, that you like being on top.” He held up his thumb and pointed to it with the opposite index finger, like he was making a visual list. “Happily, I also like you being on top.”