Page 37 of Bared

In ways she had never imagined.

But now, could barely imagine anything else. Could hardly think or breathe because of it.

How he made her burn.

How he made her quiver.

How he made her—

“Ohhh! Ahhh!”

—splinter and shatter and break and burst.

Dear sweet Creator…the bursting.

She was bliss and abandon. Fire and surrender. Vibration and light. An explosion that made everything so good and hot and right.

And the man who had brought it to her.

“Fuck. Jayd.” And his urgent sough in her ear.

“You’re doing it, aren’t you?” And his fingers, rubbing her core and pressing her most precious button.

“That’s right. Oh yeah, that’s right. Keep going, girl. Let me have all of it.”

All of it?

Wasn’t that what she had just done?

But Max Brickham, force of nature extraordinaire, was determined to live up to his nickname. Even now, before knowing he had it. Even now, after he had stroked her to one stunning climax. Even now, as he touched her in places she did not know about. In ways she had never known—but now, would never forget.

“That’s it, Pixie. Almost…there.”

There…where?

She almost demanded it of him, despite her cotton restraint. Because he could not be serious about making her—

But he was.

And now she was. All over again.

A climax even better than the first. An eruption so fierce and forceful, she swayed on her feet. But Brickham was there, steadying her. He pulled her back, closer than ever before, allowing her to rest her thighs atop his. Of course, that also brought the middle of her body flush to his. And ohhh yes, that meant being aware of the defined abdominal muscles that formed a perfect V to his own center. It also meant a sharp new awareness about the ridge where that V ended. He was pulsing there. Throbbing with vital need.

With lust.

For her.

Which made her even more dizzy. Brickham braced her again, his resilience seemingly effortless. She marveled at how he handled her as if he would an orchid bloom. As if she were the same weight. As if she were an equally special bloom.

Or…maybe not.

Her heart rate had barely come down before the man relegated their weight once more—this time, eschewing his tenderness for briskness and his sensual aura for a basic friendliness.

Yes…basic.

But none of what they had just shared was basic.

Why did he not acknowledge it? Or at this point, seem to know it? Even as he loosened her shirt and let it fall back into place. And yes, even as he accepted her leggings from the green armband man, who came over to relay that Gervais was good and gone, and deftly helped her get back into one leg of them.