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He hesitated for a fraction of a moment, but when I nodded, he sat on the edge of the bed and took it off. He did it quickly; I hadn’t seen exactly how the leg came on and off yet, but it didn’t seem to be complicated. I heard the leg thump to the floor.
Then he turned and crawled up the bed toward me, his big shoulders and arms rippling. His look was intent. “Your underwear,” I said.
“Nope,” he replied, arriving between my knees. He pushed them apart, hooked his fingers in the sides of my panties, and ripped them off, yanking them down and away in one smooth motion. I was left bare beneath my skirt, my hand over my pussy. He lifted my hand in his and put my fingers in his mouth, tasting them.
“Oh,” I said.
He finished that and dropped my hand again, pressing himself higher between my thighs. “I owe you one,” he growled. “Now lie still until you come.”
He dropped his head, putting his mouth on me. It felt so good I closed my eyes and stretched back, my hands over my head, my hips lifting. His beard scratched my bare skin, tickled the insides of my thighs. He tasted every inch of me, exploring, licking and sucking just right, and the world spun away. I came fast and hard, like my body was in a rush, my back arching against the mattress. I’d never come so fast, or so often, with any other man—or even on my own. This was what he did to me.
He pushed my dress up, and I helped him pull it off over my head, tossing it away. I unhooked my bra and tossed it, too. He kissed my neck while I hooked my fingers in the waist of his boxer briefs and tried clumsily to push them down.
“You want it?” he said against my skin.
I had nothing but honesty. “Yes.”
He turned me over, and I propped my elbows in the sheets. I heard him shove the boxer briefs down. His big hand positioned my hip and he slid deep inside me from behind.
I dropped my forehead and closed my eyes. Why did this feel so good with him, and only him? This was a little like our first time on his sofa, but the angle was different, deeper, his touch gentler. He moved the hand from my hip and cupped my pussy from the front with it, his palm pressing into me as he moved.
“Oh, my God,” I said.
I felt his teeth graze my shoulder. “So fucking loud when I fuck you,” he said. “Spread your legs for me, Gwen. Wider.”
I did, and he angled deeper, moving in rhythm with me. I gave myself up to it, the sensation from the front, from behind, from his body moving over mine, his mouth against my shoulder, my breasts brushing against the cool sheets.
It was wild and soft at the same time, sweet and hard. “You make me insane, you know that?” Max rasped against my neck as we moved. “I’m losing my fucking mind.”
I couldn’t answer, because I was coming again, this time in a slow spiral that went on and on as he kept moving in me, as his hand still held me. And then he went still and I felt him release, his sigh harsh against my skin.
My eyes stung suddenly, and I pressed my face into the sheets, fighting a crazy, unreasonable urge to cry. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t know what person I was going to be tomorrow, or in an hour. I didn’t know what I was doing.
All I knew was that I didn’t want it to end.
Chapter 20
Max
Gwen seemed restless. She cleaned up in the bathroom for a long time, splashing the water, as I dozed in my post-orgasm haze. I should have been thinking something coherent, but I wasn’t. I was just a mass of satisfied testosterone.
The mattress moved as she got in bed again, but she didn’t lie down. I pulled out of my doze when her hand touched my damaged knee. “I want to see your leg,” she said.
My eyes opened and I felt my body tense. She was sitting near the foot of the bed, naked, her gaze on my fucked-up leg, studying it in the near-dark. Her fingers were already running over my skin, gently exploring. I felt my jaw tighten, my teeth clench, but it was too late and I wasn’t about to push her off. I stayed still.
“So many scars,” she said, touching the side of my thigh, the back where the flesh had been torn.
I forced myself to look at her. Her body was utterly beautiful, her breasts round and full, her skin flawless, her waist a perfect curve. Her lashes were lowered over her blue eyes as she looked down at me, and her lovely mouth was set in a line of concentration. “Most of the scars are from the explosion,” I explained. “Some of them are from the surgeries.”
She explored higher up my thigh, which of course interested my dick, even though we’d just finished and I was quietly freaking out. Then she explored back down again, below my knee to where my leg ended. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not much anymore. I get phantom pain sometimes. I lost some of the hearing in my right ear from the blast—the doctors say thirty per cent or so. And I have to stretch my leg regularly or the muscles bunch up.”
“They bunch up? Where?” She grabbed the thick muscle just above my knee and squeezed it, kneading. “Here? This feels tight.”
I was silent for a long minute, completely unable to speak.
“What?” Gwen asked, lifting her hand. “Did that hurt? My God, I’m so sorry.”
