Page 73 of Playing for Keeps

“Bloody hell,” I teased, as I looked up at him with a wicked smile. “You’re barely holding it together.”

His voice was low and rough when he tried to answer. I pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the head of his cock and licked, smiling when his hips jolted. Half the thrill was watching Max – this grounded, powerful man – fall apart for me. He hissed a breath and said my name like he had forgotten all other words.

“Fuck, Emma…”

Hearing my name like that – ruined and reverent – hit me low and hot. I took all of him in my mouth, savouring the weight and heat. His hand guided me gently, not pushing, just steady, like he needed the connection as much as the pleasure. We found a rhythm, slow and building, each movement drawing more desperate sounds out of him. His chest rose and fell hard, and his eyes stayed locked on mine.

Suddenly, his hand tightened in my hair. “Baby… stop. I need to be inside you.”

I slowly released him, still smiling, and took a breath. “Good. Because we’re taking this to the sofa.”

He laughed, a breathless, desperate sound, his eyes glued to me as I slid off my underwear and let it hit the floor.

“Now move,” I whispered, pulling him closer.

We barely made it two steps before he kissed me again. I shoved the rest of his shirt off, my hands gliding over the dense muscles of his shoulders. His jeans hit the floor, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, mouth swollen, eyes dark.

“Look at you,” I whispered, my hands roaming his body. Wide chest, ridged stomach, the kind of body that screamed discipline and control. Heat pooled in my core. I pulled him down onto the sofa, his weight pressing into me in the best possible way.

“God, I want you,” His voice was rough with need, making me shiver. Our kisses turned frantic until he pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice broken, thumb brushing my cheek.

“Max, if you stop now, I’ll kill you.”

That did it. His grin flashed – half smug, half undone – and then his mouth was on mine again. He kissed me like he was starving, his tongue sliding against mine, messy and deep, until I was gasping into his mouth. His skin was deliciously hot against mine. His hand slid up my thigh, pushing me open, and when his hips pressed down on me, the friction made my whole body jerk. I couldn’t help the needy sound that escaped me.

“Christ, Em,” he groaned, pausing just long enough to catch his breath.

I tugged at his waistband, impatient. “Off.”

He laughed, breathless, but obeyed, shoving his boxers down and kicking them aside. And then he was there – hard, flushed, heavy against my thigh – and my mouth went dry. He moaned into my mouth and reached for his wallet on the coffee table. The foil tearing was loud in the quiet room. I watched him put on the condom, my nerves buzzing with excitement. Then he was back, leaning over me, his hand on my cheek as if he couldn’t decide whether to devour or cradle me.

“Max,” I whispered, almost pleading. Every nerve was straining toward him.

That broke him. He pushed into me with one deep thrust, filling me so completely that I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groaned, burying his face in my neck. “You feel – oh my God – you feel perfect.”

I clung to him, adjusting to the stretch, my body already fluttering around him. He pulled back and drove in again, harder, and my whole body lit up. He set a deep, steady rhythm, his hips snapping against mine. His hand slid down to hook under my thigh, lifting it higher, changing the angle until every thrust hit that spot that made my vision blur.

“Jesus,” I gasped, my head dropping back into the cushions. “Please don’t stop…”

“Not planning to,” he growled, his pace turning rougher, hungrier.

Pleasure coiled up hot and tight in my core, sending waves of electricity through my limbs. He must have felt how close I was because he grabbed my hand and laced our fingers together, pinning my arm by my head.

“Look at me,” he said, voice hoarse.

I forced my eyes open and met his dark, desperate gaze. He was completely undone for me.

That was the final push. The pressure snapped.

I came hard, clenching around him and screaming as I arched into him. Max held me tight, thrusting through it, and lost it too, groaning my name like I’d ruined him.

For a while, we barely moved. Just breathing, chests heaving, sweat cooling between us. He collapsed onto me, still holding my hand, his forehead resting on mine.

“You,” he panted, smiling against my mouth, “are going to kill me.”