My throat hurts, and only then do I realize the roaring in my ears is my own scream.
When the pleasure finally ceases, I collapse in the chair, utterly spent.
My arms and legs exist only as tingles. The rest of my body’s nothing but pulses and quivers I can’t reel in. I suck in air, wondering when I last took a breath.
Then Max eases his fingers out of me, and the twitching starts all over again.
I want the pleasure back. All of it. The fullness…
I open my eyes.
He’s breathing hard, too, still on his knees in front of me, leaning back and undoing his pants. His eyes shine with victory and lust. He’s still rigid.
I’ve already been satisfied and gave him nothing of worth.
He thinks he’s won, but he’s empty-handed.
Even as the aftershocks roll through me—as my body trembles and my mind struggles to reform itself from the scattered pieces—I’m recalibrating.
Nothing I said, as far as I can remember, matters.
Now I’m going to give him what he thinks he wants.
But that won’t be a gift.
It’ll be a shiv to his black heart.
Chapter 23
Max
Nika slides off the chair like a leopard closing in on prey as I remain on my knees, my senses saturated with her. The way she tastes, her silky smooth skin, those sweet little moans when she came.
My brain screams warnings, but I stay frozen, mesmerized by the sweep of her hair over her shoulders as she gets on her hands and knees, her flushed body crawling toward me.
Every step is hypnotic, graceful, awe-inspiring. And so damn hot.
I should put distance between us and re-establish the power dynamic. Remind her who’s the hunter and who’s the prey.
But I don’t, because right now, I’m no longer sure.
She glides across the floor with liquid grace, her tight ass bobbing and weaving, white hair trailing over her shoulders. Her breasts peek through the V-neck of her t-shirt, and her hungry eyes lock on mine.
She’s a fucking siren beckoning me beneath the waters, and part of me wants to let her lure me to my demise.
She reaches my knees and pauses. Then she eases her arms forward and lowers herself, her hands coasting up my thighs.
Head down, ass up.
It’s a submissive posture, but nothing in her expression says “surrender.” That glint in her eyes promises schemes.
My breathing runs shallow. Every nerve ending fires warnings I ignore as she reaches for my fly.
I’ve already unbuttoned my pants, and after a few fumbles, she manages to pull them down and liberate my dick. She wraps a hand around my cock and starts stroking. Every rational thought in my brain dissipates.
Sweet fucking hell.
She strokes base to tip. When her thumb swipes across the top, I nearly come off the floor. She does that long slide again, this time pressing the head against her tongue. That drags a grunt out of me.
