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She unfastened his jeans, hunger making her movements jerky and urgent as though he were a lifeline she desperately needed. She drew his arousal from his pants and he laughed, a thick, hoarse sound, lacking humour, hot with his own need.
“Jesus, Max. If you touch me like that, this isn’t going to last long.”
Excitement buzzed through her. She shifted to standing b
etween his legs, purely so she could strip her own jeans, but Noah was too fast, his body moving even as she undressed, so he lifted her over his shoulder and carried her upstairs, one hand resting on her bare bottom, so she couldn’t speak, couldn’t laugh – Max could barely breathe.
In her bedroom, he lay her in the centre of the bed, his eyes on hers, their depths swirling dark.
“This is something we will both regret.”
“I won’t.”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”
“Because I want this.”
“Why?”
Max felt as though everything hung in the balance of her answer. She stilled, frowning as she scanned his face. “Because you’re really hot?”
He laughed, the sound sending lightning bolts of desire through her central nervous system. She rolled to the side a little, flicking open her bedside table drawer and removing a condom.
The laughter died on his lips; he was serious again.
“I’m sure,” she said, before he could repeat his earlier question. “Please.”
He groaned, but she knew what the sound signified. It was a ‘yes’. It was an admission that he needed this too, even if his position as her bodyguard would mean that he might regret it later. In this moment, he was hers. She said nothing – she wasn’t capable of speech anyway – simply watched as he tore open the foil square and rolled the condom over his impressive length, the stroke of his fingers mesmerizing, then, he was bringing his body over hers, the weight of him everything she needed, or thought she needed, until his arousal nudged between her legs, his tip against her sex so she bucked instinctively, pleasure spiralling through her.
His hands moved over her arms, lightly, lifting goosebumps as he went, and she shivered, not from cold but from the sheer heat of her desire. He caught her hands, lifted them over her head, pinned them there as he kissed her hard, pressing her head into the mattress and out of nowhere, she felt his need for control, and heat and longing spun in her cells, the power one she was happy to concede here, in bed, where he was, without doubt, her body’s master.
Her nipples strained against the cool night air, and as if he sensed their need, his head dropped lower, his stubble running over the silken skin of her décolletage then lower, his tongue chasing one nipple and then the next, as his arousal continued to taunt her.
“Please,” she groaned, lifting her hips, writhing, one of his hands easily able to keep her wrists held just above her bed. She’d never allowed a man to restrain her before, but with Noah, she welcomed his sexual dominance. She trusted him completely. His other hand came between her legs, brushing her most sensitive cluster of nerves before moving to her thighs, nudging them apart. Max lifted her legs, digging her heels into the bed, his name on her lips an invitation that she issued over and over, until finally he thrust into her, hard and fast, with no warning, no preamble, so she cried out, the harsh, guttural sound of completion filling the room – and her own ears. His possession was instantaneous; they were melded together, one being, in synch, in lockstep, her body moving to answer his, her pleasure in perfect harmony with his. She pulled on her wrists instinctively, wanting to touch him, to feel him, but he held them where they were, lifting his head to stare into her eyes, and she saw in the depths of his own gaze a desperation – a need to hold onto his control, control that was slipping as totally as her own. It flooded her with a rush of power, a rush of euphoric triumph, because it was evidence that this was bigger than both of them, but a moment later, he was moving, pulling out of her, releasing his grip on her arms and pulling her off the bed, to her feet, his movements jerky and urgent.
“What is it?” She rushed the words out so they tripped over one another.
“I want you to see how beautiful you are,” he grunted, bringing her to her dressing table and bracing her hands on the edge of the timber, bending her at the waist, so the sight of them, like this, was so impossibly erotic, she almost couldn’t breathe. Her eyes lowered, blotting the image, but then his hands squeezed her hips. “Watch,” he commanded, and his power was absolute, his control impossible to ignore, so she did watch, every moment, as he entered her from behind, his arousal so deep at this angle, her muscles squeezing his length so they both expressed a low groan of satisfaction as he returned to her and stayed there, taking stock, buried deep inside of her for several moments before he thrust again, in and out, his possession rhythmic at first, his eyes locked to hers, as he drove into her again and again, each powerful movement jolting her body forward, rocking her backwards, so she had to press hard with her hands to brace herself. When he brought a hand around to her nipples, so sensitive and aroused, and began to tweak, hard, she had to bite down on her lip to stop from squealing. But Noah shook his head. “Say it. I want to hear you, too.”
She stopped censoring herself, stopping trying to hide any part of what she was feeling. He moved his hand to the other breast and rolled that nipple between his forefinger and thumb, his thrusts powerful and dominating, his control absolute, her pleasure more than anything she’d ever known. She couldn’t help it; as her orgasm exploded, she bit down on her lip, holding back the animalistic cries that were spreading through her. Only Noah ran his fingers through her hair, catching it in his fist, holding her head high for him to see, his watchful face missing nothing, not one iota, of her total abandonment to this bliss.
He slowed, watching her, waiting for the waves of delirium to pass, then he was moving again, more slowly now, teasing her, bringing her back to the peak of pleasure, to the edge of a cliff, holding her there, tormenting her, torturing her, until he was ready to tumble off the edge alongside her, and then he moved quickly, sweeping her into his bliss, bringing them to simultaneous climax, their voices as entwined as their bodies, pleasure absolute. Tears sparkled behind Max’s eyes, but she held them back with effort – he could already see so much, she didn’t want him to see those emotions too.
He had promised he would feel regret, but he didn’t. Not at first. He felt need – a tsunami of it, as though being together was the earthquake that shook the foundations of everything he thought he knew, and the resultant tidal wave was only just starting to gather, building pace and strength as it threatened to wash over him and drag him away completely.
Somewhere before dawn, he stood, moving to the nightlight on her bedside table, ready to flick it off, but pausing before he did so. Max was fast asleep, so peaceful, so goddamned beautiful he would do anything not to disturb her. He withdrew his hand, turned away and left, but not without a backwards glance. He wasn’t strong enough for that.
Chapter 8
“GOOD MORNING.” She was uncharacteristically hesitant as she walked into the kitchen, showered and dressed in a designer dress and heels, her armour protecting her – from what? His promised regrets? The ‘that shouldn’t have happened’ speech?
His eyes appraised her and she held her breath, waiting for it, wondering what it would feel like to receive that speech at all, let alone from Noah. But to her relief, he simply smiled, and her heart speeded up, as though his smile was the answer to everything she’d ever wanted.
“Hungry?”
Her eyes flared wide at the double entendre and he laughed, a sound she was easily becoming addicted to.
“Definitely.”
