Burn Down the Night (Everything I Left Unsaid #3)- Molly O'Keefe Page 0,70

in my head, like a fire drill pulled by Miss Ramona.

But I wasn’t listening to Miss Ramona anymore. She’d screwed me up enough.

“Go ahead,” I said.

His laughter was dark and twisty and it worked a compelling kind of magic over me. “You gotta say the words, Joan.”

“I want you to show me what you like,” I said. Because I wasn’t scared of these words. These words, for all their power, had no hold over me. I could talk filth all day long. It was the other shit that wrecked me.

On the bed, spread out like a buffet of riches, Max shifted, putting an arm behind his head, revealing that tattoo. And for a moment I got lost in it, wondering what kind of tree grew from a bed of bones. What could survive with that kind of food?

But then he curled his fist around his cock. And my mind banished all dark thoughts. I was here and I was now. And I was painfully alive.

He gripped his cock so hard, the tip turned dark and a small drop of milky pre-cum leaked from the tip. He used the palm of his hand to spread the come over the head and when that wasn’t enough he licked his hand.

“I’m thinking of your mouth,” he said, his eyes dark and hooded and secretive in the shadows. But they were on me and I could feel his gaze on my body, like my shirt and my pants weren’t there.

“I’m thinking of you on your knees in front of me. You have your blonde hair back and you’re so fucking hot and so fucking hungry for my cock.”

It was not hard to imagine.

“You lick me,” he said. “Bottom to tip, your hand on my balls, nice and firm like you know what you’re doing.”

Oh, he had no idea. And I could show him. I could crawl up the bed between his legs and I could swat his hands away, replace them with my own. Suck the tip of that monster into my mouth and down my throat. All the way down. Until my nose was pressed to the hair of his groin and it hurt and I couldn’t breathe.

Yeah.

I put a knee on the bed and he lifted his head. “No,” he said. All firm and hard and I could barely breathe for wanting him so badly. “Watch, remember? No touching.”

His lip curled in what looked like fondness and affection and I had to look away to get my bearings. To find my familiar self in the moment.

“Watch,” he said, pulling my focus back to him. He spread his legs, muscular and dusted with hair. His chest, just over his ribs, was still mottled with bruises. He looked fierce. He looked damaged.

He looked exactly like what I wanted.

“Show me,” I breathed. He nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in what had to be the sexiest expression. Like he hurt just a little, or he wanted to. Like he was holding on to himself using all possible means. I clenched my hands into fists so I wouldn’t touch him. So I wouldn’t slip my hand down the front of these yoga pants and give myself a little relief.

His hand moved faster, squeezing harder, and every few strokes he gathered more come from the tip and spread it down over his dick until I heard the wet slick of his hand against his cock. Once he was good and wet he moved faster, twisting his hand at the top, squeezing until the head was purple.

“You like it hard,” I said.

“It’s how I imagine fucking you,” he said.

“Tell me,” I breathed.

“I imagine bending you over this bed. I imagine your ass in my hands and my dick in your cunt. I imagine pressing as high and as hard into you as you can take. I imagine you asking me to stop, but when I ask you if you’re sure you say you want more. I imagine being inside you so deep you can feel me in the back of your throat. You can taste me on your tongue.”

I had to take a step back until I was up against the wall, because my knees were weak. My pussy was on fire. On fire.

“Every time I push into you, you say my name. You say Max and more and please. I fuck you until you’re screaming.” His hand was a blur on his dick but I was barely watching. Our eyes were locked, I couldn’t look