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When we part, I look up to find a dumbstruck look on Max’s face. He stares down at me like I’meverything. I know because I’m looking at him the same way. That thought scares and thrills me more than anything else we’ve done tonight.
* * *
Max takesme back to the bedroom, and we fuck again, this time with no restraints. Just his bruising grip holding my hands above my head while his other hand rests on my throat. He whispers obscenities and dark promises to me as the intense black pools of his eyes bore into mine. He comes with a shout, but doesn’t stop thrusting. His cock stays hard as he pushes me over the edge, filling me twice more before he’s finally spent.
We’re both a panting, sweaty mess. Me more so than him, with his cum flooding out of me when he pulls out and rolls to lie beside me. I reach over to push a damp curl off his sweat-slicked brow, and he closes his eyes, savoring my touch. His hand strokes my belly, and it takes everything inside me to not shy away from his touch or suck in my stomach to make it less abundant.
“That was…tonight was…holy shit, Max,” I say, trailing off into a hoarse giggle as I’m unable to formulate any coherent thought.
“Holy shit is right. I thought I might black out at the end there.”
“Wait, so we’re done?” I give him a teasing pout. There’s no way in hell I could handle any more and he knows it.
“You’re insatiable. Give me a shower and a few hours of sleep and you’ll wish you hadn’t said that.”
“Hmm, I remember you telling me you could go all night.” I move to roll away, but he pins me down with his arm across my stomach.
“It’s almost light outside.” He checks his phone and groans, “4 am, guess that isn’t quite all night. I’ll rally if you insist, but I’d rather pace myself if you’re going to be mine for the weekend.”
I blink at him in disbelief. “The weekend?”
“Yes, unless you have other plans.”
“I don’t but, I…” The thought of spending an entire weekend with Max is thrilling, but very impractical. “I can’t just stay here with no warning. I need…stuff.” My damn brain won’t let me be upfront and tell him I can’t skip my antidepressant. It feels too vulnerable to admit.
“Good thing I asked Grace to sneak me what you’d need for a surprise trip. If she asks, tell her the beach was lovely.”
So that’s why she told me to say hi to Max and was acting weird. That sneaky little…
“I hope you’re not upset. You said you wanted to do everything from your dreams, and being kidnapped was one of them, so I had to improvise. I set up the spare bedroom for you if you’d rather sleep in there. Have a separate space for when we’re not in a scene together. All your stuff is in there—pajamas, clean clothes, your meds, toiletries, etc. Well, all of it but your vibrator. I’ve got that in here for later.” He winks at me as I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“You—I can’t believe you did this.”
Max’s face falls. “Oh gods, I went too far, didn’t I? Say the word and I’ll take you home. Shit, I knew it would be too much.”
I place my hand over his mouth to stop him before he apologizes. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Is it deranged? Yes.” Max laughs against my hand and I move it away. “But you know me. I like deranged. Just don’t go taping pictures of me to your wall for you to jack off on.”
“Oddly specific. Guess you shouldn’t look in my closet,” he deadpans. My eyebrows shoot up and he laughs. “I’m joking. No creepy pictures. Got it. Anything else?”
“Don’t go falling in love with me, either.” The words tumble out of my mouth without thinking. I try to cover them by laughing, sticking my tongue out at him like it’s a hilariously absurd concept. God knows why I said that. I must love torturing myself and making things awkward.
He grins back at me, a hint of his feral side gleaming in his eyes. “Can’t make any promises there, sorry.”
28
After a quick shower and a half-hearted argument, I let Mona convince me to sleep in the guest bed with her after I go in to check that she has everything she needs. Curled up against her plush form and drained from the night’s activities, I fall asleep right away.
Sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains wakes me around 10am, but she’s still knocked out. I kiss Mona’s cheek before getting out of bed, my chest tightening at the sleepy smile that washes over her face at my touch. I take a moment to enjoy her delicate, lovely features glowing in the morning light, her black hair a wild spray across the pillow. The tightness in my chest increases and I have to leave the room before I do anything stupid, like wake her up and confess my feelings to her. Feelings that go far beyond the pleasure of the games we’re playing together.
When I planned this weekend, I expected to wake her up with a rough fuck. To tie her back to my bed and leave her there for an hour or two until she really felt like my captive and begged me to return.
Instead, I dig out the box of my dad’s recipes. He passed them down to me once she realized my sisters would rather order takeout than cook. Thumbing through the recipe cards, I find the one for my favorite brown butter apple cinnamon muffins. The perfect breakfast for the sweet and spicy woman sleeping in the other room.
A mouthwatering smell fills the kitchen as the muffins bake, bringing back the memory of baking them in our family kitchen while my sisters hovered around like vultures waiting for them to finish. As much as they liked to torment me growing up—and who am I kidding, still do—I miss them. I miss the ease of those family interactions that I took for granted while I still lived close to home.
Maybe that’s why I’m making these muffins for Mona instead of continuing our game. The feeling I have around her reminds me of home. Of comfort and warmth, sweetness and spice, and—fuck me—love. I don’t love her, though. Loving a woman I barely know would be crazy, no matter how good the sex is. No matter how much I enjoy talking to her and holding her in my arms.
“Mmm, what’s that smell?” Mona’s sleep-roughened voice startles me out of my thoughts. I turn to see her approaching the kitchen, her lacy nightgown doing little to cover the sway of her full breasts and the tops of her thighs. Her cheeks darken as she sees me drink in the sight of her, and gods—that’snotlove bubbling in my chest, is it? It must be desire. Lust-fueled obsession brought on by my succubus nature that I’ve suppressed for too long. So then why aren’t I grabbing her and yanking that nightgown down to show off her perfect tits while I fuck her over the kitchen island?
