brutal than the others. Like maybe he’s getting close to the edge of his control. It should worry me, but it doesn’t. I trust him. I trust whatever this is between us.
“Kara…”
My name breaks on his lips.
“I don’t want to stop,” I answer in a fevered whisper.
“Good. Because I want to taste more of you. So much more.”
He inches his hands higher until the tips of his fingers reach the straps of my thong.
“I want to make you come, Kara. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I can’t taste you.”
Our gazes lock. There’s so much asking and hunger in his blue depths. I’m robbed of any uncertainty about where he’s taking this. He strokes his thumb along the front of my panties. I shudder against him at the hint of the orgasm he’s promising me.
“Say yes,” he murmurs, stroking me once more.
I answer with a moan, which he must take as a yes, because he lifts me away from the window and sets me down on the edge of his desk.
Without breaking eye contact, he slides my panties down my legs and tosses them away. Then he’s on his knees, dragging his tongue and hot kisses along my inner thighs. I’m trembling. Somehow in this delicious chaos, I recognize it’s not just lust. It’s fear and anticipation and everything Maximus makes me feel that I shouldn’t. Everything we’re doing that’s forbidden and wrong but feels so incredibly right. Unbelievably perfect…
He looks up at me with that intense gaze again. “Kara, you’re shaking.”
“Just nerves.” The words come out too breathy and light. I swear he can see through it to everything I’m not saying. Maybe he’s even figuring out what kind of line I’m crossing here. A line I’ve never crossed with anyone before. Just the idea of it has always been too dangerous. And nobody has ever felt worth the risk.
When he stills, the vibration between us changes. Thickens. It’s more real now. More significant.
“We can stop. If you’re not sure…”
I shake my head. He pauses a moment, like maybe he’s weighing my words—or the truth in them.
“I’m okay,” I promise. “I’m sure.”
He brings his hand to my stomach, then my sternum. His brows knit from the moment his palm presses on the spot where my heart is flying beneath my ribs. For another agonizing second, I think my trepidation may stop him…
“Lie down for me, beautiful.”
Thank the stars it doesn’t.
The sexy murmur and possessive push he gives me does something to my insides. A fresh hit of desire makes my head buzz to new levels as my back hits the broad wooden surface. Then I’m launched into another dimension when his lips and tongue sweep against my most sensitive flesh. I bow off the desk with a thready cry. My hips take on a mind of their own. And we’re quickly caught up in an erotic game of push and pull. A test of strength and will. Patience and hunger.
Even as he manages to keep me spread and pinned and climbing with every lash of his tongue, I feel my world tilting. The pressure in my chest is everywhere now. Pulsing down every limb. Hooking deep in my belly.
“Maximu—ah!” My hands fly from his hair to the mess of papers above my head, finally grasping the smooth edge of the wood.
All too quickly, the orgasm hits me. It’s painful but wonderful in its intensity. The tortured groan that erupts from Maximus sets off more of my own untethered cries. I hang on through the violent throbs of pleasure. When the last ribbons of delirium taper off, all I can do is whimper.
“Come here,” he rasps.
He lifts me so our mouths and torsos clash once more. Another soft moan vibrates between us. He tunnels his hands in my hair, angling me until we have to tear away to breathe.
But his features change the second we pull apart. His eyes widen as he scans over my face.
“Kara… Your eyes.”
I suck in a sharp breath, turn my head, and cast my gaze downward. If rapture looks anything like fury does on me, Maximus has just witnessed the fire in my eyes. Another inconvenient symptom of my biology that I’ve learned to hide. One I should have considered before going this far with him.
“What’s wrong?” he presses. “Kara?”
“Everything,” I mumble.
“What? Why?”
I don’t answer. I’m too damn close to spilling everything as it is.
What the hell was I thinking? What the hell am I thinking?
He brushes his hand across mine,