“You already got me where you want me, you don’t need to keep buttering me up,” he jokes, his hand rolling on the condom. And I change my mind. This . . . this is the moment I want burned behind my eyelids.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice quavering. “You might need to butter me up.”
“I think . . .” He climbs onto the bed and over my body, dropping a finger between my thighs and pushing it inside of me. “You already are.”
Listen.
I’m no virgin.
Not even close.
So I don’t expect a single finger to send me sailing to another planet, but it does. And I know, without an inkling of doubt, that Maxwell is the only person on this earth who could do it to me. It’s everything about him. The way his gaze travels over my body like I’m the most beautiful woman who has ever graced his presence. The rough touch of his calloused hands that are so contradictory to the gentle way they caress my body. It’s how outside of these walls, he’s shy and sweet, and right now he’s letting me—only me—get a taste of the wonderfully wicked way his mind works.
His hard to my soft, the dark to my light, everything about him causes something inside of me to unravel. He shoves me outside of myself and makes it impossible for me to keep hiding . . . to hold back.
He nips at my ear, whispering words I can’t hear, finding a spot with his finger that draws out every last bit of my orgasm, and as soon as I start to come down, his hand is gone and he is inside of me. Filling me so completely that I forget how to breathe.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my back damn near hovering off the bed.
My body moves of its own accord, my legs and arms wrapping around him, pulling him in closer . . . and deeper. He doesn’t move. He peppers my face with kisses, his soft lips offering a distraction while my body gets used to his size.
It’s like a switch is flipped inside of me.
One second I’m not sure I was ready, the next I don’t think I ever want him to stop.
My arms and legs loosen around him and it’s all the encouragement he needs.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his movements slow and measured. His arms are shaking, and beads of sweat are starting to fall from his hairline.
“Yeah,” I try to say, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything else. “Move, Maxwell, I need you to move.”
I knew he was holding back, but not until I whisper those words do I know how much.
He grabs my legs from around his waist and pulls them together, holding them with one hand while his free hand grabs onto my hip for leverage as he thrusts inside of me, keeping a steady pace of fast and hard.
Never in my life have I appreciated the body of an athlete more.
Each time he slams back inside of me, the coils of my core bunch tighter and tighter. “Please don’t stop!” I cry out between thrusts. I’m clinging to his arms so tightly, I’m sure my nails are going to draw blood.
“Never going to stop,” he says, like it’s an impossible promise only he can fulfill.
Every part of my body tenses up, from my fingers to my toes. His movements slow just a bit, but I know it’s not because he’s tired. “Come for me.” He drops a hand to where our bodies are joined.
The one added sensation on top of a mountain of sensations causes an avalanche. I let out a silent scream, my hands gripping the sheets and tethering me to the ground. I come so hard that even though the room is lit, my world goes black.
I’m holding on for dear life and tremors are rocking my system when Maxwell lets out a deep groan and his body stills before his weight falls on top of me.
Neither of us makes a move or says a word. We lie there, our sweat-covered bodies melded together for what could be hours . . . but is likely only moments.
“Holy shit.” I break the silence as flashbacks from our night start to filter through my mind, each moment hotter than the next. “That was . . . it was—” I start, but I can’t come up with a word that does justice to what we experienced.
“It was the best,” Maxwell finishes for me.
It’s such a simple description, but it’s right. What we did was the best and just like I knew he would, Maxwell has left me completely and utterly ruined.
I can’t go back to average after him.
I can’t be satisfied by anything other than the best.
Twenty-six
“Max gave you that D,” Vonnie announces to anyone within a three-mile radius as soon as she sits on her barstool.
I feel my face heat as my jaw falls to the ground and I try to remember if I had “Fucked by Maxwell Lewis” stamped on my forehead the last time I looked in the mirror.
I didn’t.
So how Vonnie makes such a confident declaration is a mystery I don’t even want to attempt to solve.
“What are you talking about?” I try to get a grasp on those acting classes Naomi, an ex-Mustangs wife, gave me a few years ago.
Vonnie actually repositions herself so she can give me the side-eye. “He did,” she says casually. “You have a glow that one only gets from a night of no sleep and great sex.”
“He didn’t!” I screech. Which I realize, after the high-pitched sound leaves my mouth, makes me look even more guilty. “Dammit, come here,” I mutter, heading to my office without checking that she’s following.
I know she is.
When your friend has hot sex with a hot guy, you are required to get all of the details. It’s a real rule. I know this because it’s been written on more than one sticky note stuck to the bathroom walls.
Plus, Vonnie is married. And yes, they’re happy and blah blah blah. That doesn’t mean you don’t want to hear the exciting beginnings of a new relationship. That’s when all the fun stuff happens.
Or actually? Maybe not. Vonnie and Charli tell me some wild-ass stories about their sex lives. I think that, maybe, there are things you are only comfortable requesting from somebody who is legally bound to you.
“Spill,” Vonnie says before the door to my office can even shut. Her arms are crossed, her hip is out, and her lips are pursed. I know that no amount of acting lessons could get me out of this conversation.
Oh well, it’d be a crime against humanity not to share.
“We consummated our relationship and it was . . .” I look to the ceiling, searching for the right word to describe it. “It was like a religious experience. Like, I know there has to be a god and there’s a good chance Maxwell might be a direct descendant.”
“Ah hell.” Vonnie eyes the door like she’s contemplating her exit. And I realize that brutal honesty might actually be my ticket out of this conversation. “Now I have to go to church and pray for listening to your sacrilegious ass.”