“They can wait.” I wrap my legs around his waist again and pull him back to me. “I can’t.”
I reach for his jeans, unbutton them and slide my hand down inside, cupping his cock in my hand. And he is so hard and huge and, oh my God, I cannot wait to feel him inside of me again.
Except . . .
This time I pull back. “Unless you’re worried they might destroy your house.”
He kisses his way down my neck, tugging at the front of my dress until the buttons pop open. “They can tear the fucking house down for all I care.”
His fingers work quickly through the last few buttons of my dress and then he peels it off of me before flicking open my bra. He sucks one nipple into his mouth as he rolls off of me, baring my now nearly naked body. He skims his hand down over my abdomen, under the edge of my panties. It’s like he knows exactly how to touch me. Exactly what I need.
His thumb finds my clit, rubs gentle circles across it that make my whole body tremble.
And he’s the one who groans, like it’s his body that feels like it’s about to fly apart.
“God,” he murmurs. “You’re so hot. You’re so wet.” He lifts his head.
My eyes flutter open to see him gazing at me, wonder and heat and need in his eyes.
His thumb keeps up that steady pressure on my clit. His finger pushes deeper inside of me, pressing my G-spot, hitting it just right.
He holds me tightly as tremors wrack my body. Wreck my soul.
Then, while I’m still shaking, he quickly shucks off the rest of his clothes and moves above me, rubbing his thick cock over my entrance, wetting himself with my juices, before sliding deep inside of me.
“How the fuck are you this wet for me?” he whispers.
“Because it’s you,” I gasp, shattering again as he drives into me, bringing me to the brink of pleasure so intense the entire universe seems to implode.
Chapter 29
Holly
I’m still a quivering, incoherent bundle of nerves when Max rolls off of me and returns a few minutes later with a wet washcloth. His jeans are back on, but his chest is still bare. He lies down beside me, cleaning me off. His hands and gaze skim my body like it’s worthy of worship.
I know it’s not, but, dear God, the way he looks at me is addictive. Intoxicating.
He tosses the washcloth aside and pulls me against him. He’s propped up on one elbow, gazing down at me as he brushes a lock of hair off my forehead.
He presses a single, soft kiss on my forehead, then pulls back and says, “There was rabbit shit on the floor.”
My fingers slip from his hair. “Oooookay?”
“That’s why I picked you up.”
“Huh?”
“I didn’t want you to step in the rabbit shit.”
“Oh.”
So, he picked me up because he didn’t want me to step in rabbit shit. Not because he felt like he couldn’t live without kissing me.
Bummer.
“I think I’m confused,” I admit.
He’s saying this all like this is a perfectly normal topic to discuss after he’s just made me come, not once, but twice. After he’s damn near fucked my brains out. While he’s still running his hand over my body like it’s his new favorite toy and gazing at me like he can’t decide which part he wants to lick next.
