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“Sorry.”
“Never apologise for pushing me away or telling me no. That was our deal, Ava, and it stands for eternity.”
Trying to shake it all off, I exhale three long breaths. Max pulls back, giving me space, which is good because I feel claustrophobic. Disappointed about the setback, I look into his concerned, tender eyes and say, “You can have my wrists. For a bit.”
His eyes crawl over my features, wondering what to do, so I take the decision out of his hands. Lying back, I beckon him with outstretched hands, my ring glinting prettily on my finger. “Please,” I murmur. “You chase away the bad and Ineedyou.”
Compassion gives way to resoluteness. Concern makes way for hunger. For craving. Climbing over me, Max threads his legs between mine until he’s nudging his crown against my entrance. Lifting my head to meet him, we kiss softly, slowly, before it turns into something urgent and desperate. His hair flops forward as he gorges on my mouth, his tongue hot and seeking. One by one, he gathers up my wrists and lifts them above my head, his grip unyielding.
My mind glitches, trying to delete the bad thoughts and concentrate on the way he pushes inside, possessing me, but it’s hard to fight away the painful reminders that assault me when I’m taken like this.
And then one by one, he releases my wrists, his fingers threading through mine instead. “It’s only me who gets to be in here. Who gets to fuck this sweet body into oblivion any time I like,” Max says roughly, bringing me back to him. His mouth descends to mine for a fast, punishing kiss. “Only me.”
“Only Max,” I murmur, rocking into him as he moves inside me. He pants against my throat, the muscles of his shoulders and back tight with tension. His eyes hold mine with so much intensity that I have to look away.
“Either look at me or say my name,” he demands through halting breaths. “I need to know you’re with me.”
Our foreheads press together, our lips too, brushing and bashing as our bodies crash together. I murmur his name over and over as one of his hands pins me to the bed, holding me down by my pelvic bone. Quickly, he gathers up my free hand with our already joined one, and I feel like I’m not just locked down, but double locked.
Somehow, I tolerate it. Somehow, I drag my head from the past and concentrate on what’s right in front of me.
My breathing goes haywire as I approach the cliff edge at breakneck speed. Heat swamps me as I fracture, everything disappearing until all I’m aware of is the way our bodies slap together. Of Max’s ability to send me into the stratosphere. Of how possessed he makes me feel.
When he comes, his movements are erratic and jolting, his brow glistening with sweat. Collapsing on top of me, I rake in lungfuls of air, processing. I go to bring my arms down, but Max and I are still tangled together and he resists my efforts easily.
When I look at him there’s a curious look in his eyes. “Maybe it will help you, feeling pressure here again, being held down but at your fingers and hands instead of your wrists.”
Still coming down and catching my breath, I relax as much as I can, adjusting to the feel of his hands laced through mine. And it is different, to be held like this. “Like an experiment,” I suggest hopefully.
“Yeah,” he answers, kissing me softly. “You liked it?”
Slowly, I nod. “I did. Did you?”
“I like every time with you.”
“But holding me down,” I start, all too aware of what he brought out of the drawer, “is important, no?”
His eyes skip between mine. “I like you tied in rope, yes.”
A shiver runs through me. “What else is in that drawer, Max?” What else does he want to do to me?
Suddenly, he releases my hands. Freed, I lower my arms to my sides. There’s stiffness in my triceps but nothing hurts. Nothing’s raw or bleeding.
“When you’re ready, I’ll show you.”
I look to the drawer, wondering what he’d do if I just opened it and looked inside.What’s worse than handcuffs and rope?
“No peeking, not yet,” he tells me, gathering me into his arms so that I can’t look anywhere except into his eyes.
Gradually, his cock softens, but he doesn’t pull away. Joined like this, I toy with his hair, the fingers of my other hand gentling over his smooth jawline. We stare into each other’s eyes for so long, connecting silently, that every troublesome thought drifts away.
And when he stiffens, swelling inside me like a balloon, he tells me, “I can’t get enough of you.”
“I’m sore,” I grumble, not wanting to say no becauseholy hell, despite my misgivings and fears, sex has never been like this before. My body has never felt so electrified and bone-weary.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he says playfully. “Are you telling me no?”
“Noooo . . . ” I begin. But before I have a chance to continue with my unformed sentence, Max manoeuvres me so that I’m kneeling, my arse raised up and my face pressed against a cool cotton pillow.
