"Doing what."
"Cataloguing."
He smiles, the one that only exists when no one is watching and something genuine has occurred to him.
"I'm allowed," I say.
"Yeah," he says. "You are."
I reach up and put my palm flat against his chest. His heart is going at a rate I could clock without a watch.
"You're nervous," I say.
"Correct." He doesn't move. His eyes stay on mine.
"Good," I say. "So am I."
I'm standing before him in my underwear, my mother's ring at my throat, the superstar bracelet on my wrist. His eyes roam over me, taking me in. He reaches out, his fingers tracing the line of my collarbone, the swell of my breast. I shiver, my breath catching in my throat. His touch is gentle, reverent. He exhales, the specific exhale I’ve catalogued from the dock, corridor, and empty rink, signifying he’s holding something and has set it down. I understand it now from the inside. He’s been observing me the same way I've been observing him.
My body presses against his. The heat of him, the strength is so sexy hot. His hands find my waist, his fingers splaying, pulling me closer. One slides up my back, the other cups my chin, and his thumb traces my bottom lip. My tongue darts out to taste him. He lets out a low, vibrating groan causing shivers. I find his shirt buttons, my fingers brushing his skin, feelingthe hard planes of his torso and flexing muscles. He's watching me, his eyes dark, his breath coming faster now.
Nothing has prepared me for being the thing he's paying homage to when there's no distance left. He takes his time the way he takes everything seriously, and the specific deliberateness of it undoes the last thing I was holding together.
I say his name. It emerges from the register I have been concealing for months with no management on it, no professional sentence preceding it, merely his name in my mouth as it sounds when I cease being cautious. His hands tighten. He says mine back, the full version, Antonia, and that's the one that breaks me open.
Everything that follows, I don't catalogue. I note this as a specific departure from my established methodology. Some data you collect not to analyze but to keep.
This is what I keep.
He guides me backward, toward the bed. I go, my body moving with his as I undo the buckle of his belt, the button of his pants, and the zipper. I push them down, my hands sliding over the hard muscles of his thighs, his ass.
He's naked now, standing before me, his body a work of art. He's beautiful. And he's mine. I reach out, my hand wrapping around the hard length of him. He groans, his head tipping back, his eyes closing. I stroke him, my hand moving slowly, learning the feel of him, the weight of him.
His hand covers mine, stopping me. "Not yet," he says, his voice ragged. "Not like this."
I climb onto the bed, feeling his body envelop mine. Theweight and heat of him are overwhelming. His passionate kiss deepens as his hands explore my burning skin, finding the spots that make me gasp and causing my body to arch into his touch. It's Max, paying attention, the way he always does. His lips caress my breast, his tongue tracing the hard peak. I moan, my fingernails scoring into his hair, holding him to me.
He moves down, his mouth exploring my stomach, my hips, the edge of my panties. He hooks his fingers into the lace, pulling them down, his mouth following the path of his hands. When he pleasures me with his mouth I gasp, my body arching into his touch. He's slow, deliberate, the pleasure building.
He slips a finger inside me, then another, his mouth and his hand working in tandem, driving me closer to the edge. I'm panting now, my body moving with his, my fingers fisting the sheets.
"Max," I gasp, my voice ragged. "Please."
He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. "What do you need, Toni?" he asks, his voice low, husky.
"You," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "I need you."
Max moves up, his body covering mine. The hard length of him rests on my stomach while reaching for a condom on the bedside table.
He enters me slowly, his hands holding me, guiding me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper. He groans, his head tipping back, his eyes closing.
We rock together, his body sliding in and out of mine, his pace slow, deliberate. Every inch of him, every movement, everythrust. It's Max, making love to me. I'm close, so close. My back arches, my eyes squeeze shut, my orgasm building.
“Max," I gasp, my voice ragged. "I'm close."
He reaches between us, his fingers locate my clit, rubbing slow circles. That's all it takes. I fall, my body shuddering, my pussy pulsing around him. He follows me, groaning as he releases inside me.
Max collapses on top of me, his body spent, his heart pounding. I wrap my arms around him, still trembling with aftershocks. He rolls to the side, taking me with him, his arms wrapping around me, holding me close.
