To Dance until Dawn - Emma V. Leech Page 0,82

said urgently.

She stared up at this new vision of Max, one she had only glimpsed before. There was something wild in his eyes. The quiet calm she had always associated with him burned away to leave something far more primitive in its place, something that made her shiver with pleasure and anticipation. He was so strong, strong enough to overpower her, yet strong enough that he would never try to.

Phoebe gathered her courage, determined not to be missish and coy when he clearly wanted her to say the words. “You said you wanted to k-kiss me.”

“I did.” He stared at her, hunger in his expression. “And you want that? You want my mouth on you?”

“Yes,” she could hardly get the words out now. Her breathing was shallow, coming too fast. “Very much.”

“Where? Where do you want my mouth?”

He released her wrists and, with hands that were not entirely steady, Phoebe reached for the silken hem of her skirts and the lace of her petticoats, all of them crumpled and in disarray. Max moved back, sitting on his heels as she drew them up over her legs, over her knees.

Impossibly, his eyes darkened further as she revealed her garters and the little black ribbons, and then the first glimmer of her skin at her stocking tops.

Max swallowed, his gaze following the fabric as it rose. She thought perhaps he was holding his breath.

“More,” he said, sounding as though his throat was parched, as if he had been wandering a desert for days and she was his oasis.

She did as he asked, until he could glimpse the dark gold curls at the apex of her thighs. He let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as though he’d been running. Suddenly he moved, stripping off his coat and flinging it away from him before prowling up the mattress towards her.

“M-Max?” she said, a little uncertain now at the predatory glint in his eyes.

“Your wish is my command, Phoebe,” he murmured, sliding his hands up the backs of her ankles, her calves, and then tugging so she fell back against the pillows with a gasp.

He rubbed his cheek against the soft skin of her inner thigh, his breath fluttering against her so intimately she couldn’t speak. Perhaps sensing her tension, he looked up, and the pure lust in his expression made her quiver, made a hot liquid rush fill her as though that look had melted her from the inside out.

“You can say no. You can tell me to stop.”

Phoebe licked her lips, hesitating for a moment. “Don’t stop.”

He smiled then, a purely masculine smile of triumph that made her want to laugh, except that at that moment he did just as he’d promised and covered her with his mouth. The laughter died in her throat as a combination of shock and wonder rippled through her. Good heavens, that was… that… that was….

“Oh, Max. Oh, that’s… wicked.”

He chuckled against her skin. “You like it?”

“It’s utterly sinful,” she breathed the words, gasping as his tongue slid over her in one, long, sinuous lick. “Of course I like it.”

“Good, because I like you. I like you very much, especially the way you taste, sweet and tart and delicious.”

Phoebe blushed, astonished that Max would say such things to her, that he would be so… so different from how he had always seemed. To think, she had once believed him staid and boring and… dull. What a little simpleton she’d been.

She could not think at all after that, as he returned to his sensual attack on her person, leaving her giddy and dazed as he made her cry out, louder and with greater abandon, seeming to revel in the wanton sounds she made. Finally, she shattered, the sensation one of flying, of being flung into some high, bright place that sparkled through her as pleasure rippled through her body. Through all of it Max stayed with her, easing every last shudder of bliss from her sensitive flesh until she was wrung out and boneless in the afterglow. Then he lay down beside her and praised her, told her she was beautiful, wonderful, utterly perfect… which made her giggle and turn in to his chest, laughing uncontrollably.

“P-Perfect,” she stammered helplessly, clutching at his shirt.

“You are,” he insisted. “Perfect for me. I had forgotten what living felt like, what joy felt like. It has been so long since I felt it I believed I had outgrown it, that it was for children and fools, those who had