Page 63 of Playing for Keeps

“Promises, promises,” I said, my breath fogging up in the cold.

He stepped in so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. His hands were around my waist. “Last chance to back out.”

“Don’t be daft.” I slid my hands up his chest and added, “Pin me, Max.”

Something in his face went hungry. He took off his gloves and put one hand on my hip, the other braced against the wall next to my head. Of course, his mouth went to my throat first – open, warm, and maddening. He pulled down my scarf a bit and found the spot just below my ear and stayed there, his teeth lightly grazing it. What came out of my mouth wasn’t fit for public consumption.

He whispered against my skin, “Sounded a lot like a yes.” The words made my whole body vibrate.

I pulled him up by his collar and kissed him, no patience for teasing. He responded with the same ferocity – tongue slick and kiss so deep that it took my breath away and made me want more.

He broke away a little bit. “We’re in public.”

“Don’t back out on me now.”

His groan in response was a mix of a laugh and surrender. He kissed me harder and the angle changed – his thigh pushed between mine, and I couldn’t help but rock into it.

“Bossy,” he said against my lips.

“Correct,” I said.

His hand slid down slowly, his fingers gliding over my hip and the curve of my butt, squeezing. Then his hand slid down the back of my thigh and he pulled me closer. His warm palm went up my trousers, tracing up, until his knuckles brushed the waistband.

I swallowed. “Max…”

“Mm?” His breath warmed my jaw as he kissed down my throat again, lingering there like he had all the time in the world.

“Don’t you dare go slowly.”

His laugh was a low, happy sound. “Baby, you told me to pin you against a wall. You didn’t say anything about speed.”

He slipped his hand higher, his fingers sliding under the waistband, brushing against bare skin with rough fingertips. The lace brushed against my skin and I let my head tip back. My eyes fluttered shut. I might have cursed. Softly. Britishly.

“Language,” he teased, and then his mouth was on my pulse again, kissing me too softly for how mad he was making me.

He played with the edge of the lace, making me push against his hand without meaning to.

“You’re excruciating,” I whispered, which earned me a satisfied hum and an even slower sweep of his thumb.

His mouth turned into a wicked grin. “Baby, this is me taking my time.”

The bastard.

He moved the lace out of the way and, oh my God, slid a finger inside me. Slow. Intentional. As if he was tasting every reaction.

My head hit the wall with a soft thud, and my nails dug into his shoulders because I needed something, anything, to hold on to. The stretch was sharp in the best way, my body gripping him tight.

“Max…”

He didn’t stop. He pressed closer, his hot mouth on my neck, and gave me more. Another finger. Curling deep. Steady. Unrelenting. He wasn’t just moving; he was exploring, tracing every way I unravelled for him.

“Look at me,” he told me, his other hand gripping my chin, turning my face back towards his. His eyes were feral, devouring every stutter of my breath as his thumb circled harder and his fingers thrust deeper.

“Max, please,” I said. I hated how my voice broke and how desperate I sounded.

“Please what?” he whispered, his breath brushing my lips. He didn’t wait for an answer. He pressed harder and deeper, and his mouth twisted into a smug half-grin. I was shaking in his grip.

The pressure snapped. My whole body locked up and then shattered. My cry was muffled by his mouth as he kissed me through it. I shook in his hands, clenching hard around his fingers. Everything dissolved into white heat while he held me steady, relentless until I fell against the wall, wrecked.