“No,” I whispered, my eyes flying open when I lost the beauty of his touch.
His fingers circled my wrist and pulled it over my head where his other hand captured it. Then he held it there as his body settled back into me, imprisoning my other arm as it was around his back, my elbow cocked, my hand still in his hair.
“What –?” I started.
His hand slipped back inside my jeans and he muttered, “Not me, baby, you.”
“But –” I began again and stopped when he resumed his play between my legs and I couldn’t talk anymore, I could just feel.
“Feels so f**kin’ sweet, Duchess,” he muttered, his head up, his eyes, always beautiful, were more so now as desire was darkening them.
“Max –” I panted, my h*ps jerking under his hand, my wrist pulling against his hold, my fingers fisting in his hair. It was building again, fast, too fast and it felt good, too good, sensational.
“When I f**k you, wanna take my time,” he told me, his voice hoarse his gaze never shifting from my face.
I closed my eyes and arched my neck as the glorious pressure intensified.
His finger stopped but then it slid inside.
“Yes,” I whispered, my eyes still closed.
“Christ, honey,” Max growled.
“More,” I begged and he gave it to me, sliding his finger in and out in the space allowed but it felt good, tight, close, intimate, his thumb hitting me at my sweet spot again, circling as he finger f**ked me.
His mouth came to mine as I got close.
“I can’t wait to get in there,” he muttered and my mouth opened under his, the moan gliding out as his tongue glided in and I came, hard, harder than ever before, and longer, so much longer, it felt, for tense, wondrous moments, like it would never end and I didn’t want it to.
And it was far more beautiful than anything I’d ever had.
Glorious.
Earth-shattering.
I came down slowly, my body feeling like golden, warm liquid. Sublime. Max kept his hand between my legs, his fingers slipping through my wetness, exploring, gentle, becoming intimately familiar in a way I liked. Tender, sweet, just like Max. His tongue was tracing my lower lip and his hand still held mine by the wrist over my head.
When I opened my eyes, I saw his were open too and he was watching me.
“How you feelin’?” he murmured against my mouth.
I felt great. And I felt scared out of my mind. And, for some reason, I blurted the latter.
“Scared.”
His fingers stopped moving and his hand cupped me as his brows drew together, his head went away an inch and his face filled with puzzled humor.
“What?”
Now what had I done?
“Max,” I whispered, “I –”
“Yeah,” he interrupted as understanding came to him, it wasn’t the correct understanding, not completely, but it was part of it. “You come harder than that when I f**k you, honey, you’ll split straight out of your skin.”
“Max –”
He kissed me softly and said, “Christ, Duchess, that was f**kin’ beautiful.”