“What are you doing?” I cry out.
His lips quirk in one corner. “What does it look like?”
He lowers his head, watching me watching him as he presses a kiss right in the center of my legs. My whole body jerks.
He gives me a knowing smile. “No one has ever gone down on you?”
I want to say yes, to tell a lie, but the sweep of his tongue over my folds steals my words. It’s hot. It’s delicious. Grabbing my knees, he keeps my legs open and licks from the bottom to the top of my slit. My thighs quake. The swipe of his tongue over my clit makes my back arch.
“So responsive,” he says, sounding pleased.
When he sucks lightly on the bundle of nerves, my body bows. The pleasure is exquisite. Heat unfurls and coils in my lower body, spinning a web of need. It climbs, transporting me to a place I desperately need to go, but then he slows down. I fist my hands in the sheets in frustration. Devouring me, he keeps his gaze on my face, gauging my reaction. He uses his thumbs to spread me, then nips and licks until the tightly coiled tension is about to snap, but just before it does, he slows down again.
I moan in frustration. “Maxime.”
His tone is lazy, teasing almost. “What is it, ma belle?”
“Please.” Make it stop.
“Do you want to come?”
No, not like this but being kept on the edge of something unknown is torture.
“You have to say it,” he says.
Even in this, he forces my consent. Yet just like with our warped arrangement, he doesn’t give me a choice. Not really. Not when he’s tormenting me with his erotic administrations.
The word escapes on a defeated breath from my lips. “Yes.”
He immediately complies, focusing all his wicked attention on my clit. He drags his tongue in circles and bites down gently before flicking the tip of his tongue over the flesh that feels engorged and needy.
At last, the tension snaps. Fireworks set off in my core. My muscles contract, my legs hugging his face as he continues his assault and pushes me higher, still. It’s better and worse than I imagined. Better because the pleasure is unique, a powerful sensation unlike any other. Worse, because the surrender tastes like defeat. The relief is physical. The agony is mental.
The thoughts lash at me as I lie naked and spread with my ecstasy on display, little shocks tightening my sex while Maxime studies me, studies his work. I wish I could disappear within myself like yesterday when he forced me to write the letter, but the pleasure grounds me. I’m fully present in the moment.
As Maxime shifts me to the middle of the bed and stretches out over me, I tell myself I’m someone else, the woman with the dark makeup. When he aligns his cock with my entrance, I don’t want to feel the heat that liquefies my center. I want to be cold and frigid, but I’m aroused and on fire.
He threads his fingers through my hair, holding my head gently as he stares into my eyes. The moment imprints in my memory. What we’re about to do, neither of us can ever erase. It’s nothing, just sex, and yet it’s everything. It’s my whole life’s worth of dreaming combined. Destroyed. When the head of his cock nudges my folds apart and my wetness coats him, I see the pleasure in his eyes. I hope he can see the hate in mine. I hate him, but not nearly as much as I hate myself for what he makes me feel.
When he pushes forward, parting me, I grab his upper arms despite my intention not to touch him. It burns. It feels like he’ll split me in two.
“Shh.” He kisses my forehead. “You’ll adapt in a minute.”
I don’t, but he’s patient. He moves slowly. When he slides another inch inside, I start to panic. He’s too big. It hurts too much.
“It’ll soon be better,” he says.
His promise is a lie, because the more he stretches me the more it hurts. He seems to have difficulty entering me deeper. My breath catches. I clench my teeth, trying not to show him my agony.
Bringing his hands to my face, he brushes his thumbs over my cheeks. “You’re tight, my little flower.” His voice is strained. “Has it been a while?”
I can’t speak for the fear of giving myself away. I don’t deny or admit it. I only focus on breathing through the intrusion that burns like fire and makes me regret not choosing a cell full of rats over this.
He pulls out a fraction and pushes back gently. My inner muscles clench in an effort to expel the cause of my pain. He curses under his breath, sweat beading on his forehead.
“You’re going to make me come before I’m fully inside you,” he says with a tight jaw.
It sounds like a reprimand, but I don’t know what he wants from me. I moan when he moves again, and it’s not a sound of pleasure.
“Relax, ma cherie,” he says. “Take a deep breath for me.”
I do, and it helps a little.
“That’s good.” He kisses my cheek. “Like that.”
Just as the tension in my muscles ease marginally, he surges forward, driving past the barrier that prevents his entry. My inner muscles protest. It feels as if he’s tearing me apart. The stretch is unbearable, the pain white-hot. I forget to breathe. My lips part on a soundless gasp.
Maxime stills. His entire body tenses on top of mine. His gaze goes wide. Shock settles in the winter-gray pools and bleeds into male pride.
“Ah, Zoe.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, but possessive satisfaction burns in his eyes. “You should’ve told me.”
Unbidden tears gather in my eyes. I try to blink them away, but they spill over when I lower my lashes.
He kisses the corner of my eye, his lips tracing the path of my tears. “I would’ve prepared you better.”
Him having this knowledge only makes it worse.
“Don’t cry.” His big hands cup my jaw, holding my head carefully. “I’ll take care of you.”
He moved as he spoke, his shallow thrusts making the burn flare. I dig my nails into the fabric of his shirt, clutching his arms as he punishes me with every roll of his hips, but then his lips are on mine. The kiss is sweet and tender. It somehow settles me as his hands find their way to my breasts, his fingers brushing softly over my nipples. They harden, and the pleasure his touch elicits echoes in my clit.
The burn doesn’t abate, but I turn slicker. He presses deeper, his entry slightly easier. The more he kisses me, the more my body softens around him until he’s fully sheathed and our groins press together.
“Zoe,” he says into my mouth, his voice drenched in arousal.
I can only cling to him as he lets me get used to the feeling for a moment before increasing his pace. He releases my mouth and pulls away to look at my face. Pushing up on one arm, he slips a hand between our bodies. When his fingers find my clit, the pleasure of earlier returns, the need I’m now familiar with rising above the hurt and somehow diminishing the pain.
“That’s my girl,” he says.
I don’t want to touch him, but as the pleasure climbs, and I’m spiraling out of control I need to hold onto something. My arms go around him of their own accord, finding an anchor in his strong body.
He starts moving faster, and my body follows instinctively. He groans when I wrap my legs around him in an automatic move to hold on. The pain is still there, but I don’t register it any longer. I only feel the tension of the building release I need like food or water. I’m almost at the crescendo when he pulls out of me violently. I cry out in discomfort.