“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.”
“Max –”
“I nearly came just watchin’ you.”
My stomach dipped pleasantly.
“Max,” I breathed but he released my hand, pulled his other out of my jeans carefully, tugged me to my side and into his arms and his face went into my neck.
“Drenched by the time I touched you, soaked right before you came. Gonna love eatin’ you,” he said against my neck and my stomach dipped again, in a plummet this time.
“Max –”
His head came up and he grinned at me, so big he looked like he was about to laugh, as his arms got even tighter. “Baby, you keep callin’ me and I’m right f**kin’ here.”
He looked at me, waiting for me to speak and I found I didn’t know what to say.
Then I found myself saying, “I’m sorry.”
His head jerked and his fight with his amusement became far more visible.
Even his voice vibrated with it when he asked, “What?”
“I… um, you didn’t… I didn’t…” I closed my eyes tight then opened them and said, “that went really fast.”
“Good thing, considerin’ we don’t have much time.”
“But –” I started, he kissed me and I stopped.
“Like that you respond to me that way, Duchess.”
“It’s that, well, I respond to you –”
He smiled against my mouth, I felt it and I watched his eyes doing it and both were so marvelous, I stopped speaking.
“Oh yeah, you respond to me.”
I decided maybe I should stop talking altogether. I didn’t have my head or my body under my control and I didn’t seem to be able to finish a sentence anyway.
So I dipped my chin, tucked my face into his throat and slid my arms around his waist.
“How fast can you eat steak?” he asked the top of my head.
“I’m sorry?” I asked his throat.
“You need to make it record time, darlin’. I wanna get home in time to have my turn and I’ve noticed when you get tired you pretty much slip into a coma.”
My head tilted back and I felt my brows come together as I protested, “I don’t slip into a coma.”
He didn’t answer, he just raised his brows in return.
“Last night I drank nearly a bottle of wine by myself,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, and the night before?”
“You were with Mindy.”
“I walked up here to get Mins a t-shirt about five minutes after you came up and you were dead to the world.”
“I was not.”
“Babe, you were. I took the ice out of your hand and you didn’t even flinch.”
I’d wondered where that ice had gone.
I decided my best course of action was to stop talking about this as it appeared my arguments weren’t holding much weight.
I pulled my arms from his waist, put my hands on his chest and gave a shove, saying, “I need to go get ready.”
His head tilted back to look at the clock then his arms got tighter, locking mine between our bodies, rendering them useless.
“We got another twenty minutes,” he muttered then he lifted his head and his face disappeared in my neck again as his hand slid over my behind and pulled my h*ps into his.
My fingers curled into his shirt as I steeled myself against a reaction and I tipped my head back and looked at the clock.
Then my hands flattened on his chest and I cried, “We don’t have twenty minutes! I need to start getting ready now.”
His tongue slid up my neck to my jaw and then along it before he responded, “You can hurry.”
“Max! ‘Makeup’ and ‘hurry’ are two concepts that do not mix well together.”
His head came up and he looked at me. “Then wash it all off. You look just as pretty in the morning as you do right now.”