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“Okay.” I barely get the words out of my mouth before she pulls her panties to the side and lowers herself, sheathing me with her tight, wet muscles.
“Oh, God. Mika…”
My hands go to her thighs, but she smacks them away. “No. Don’t move. Don’t touch me. I won’t make you come if you do.”
I growl and breathe out through my mouth. “Max…”
She circles her hips and grinds on me, but the moment my fingers touch her knee, she stops to glare at me. “I said no touching. You touch me, I stop.”
Oh, fuck. Why does that turn me on even more?
“Fine. Use me,” I grit out, every muscle straining.
“Oh, I will.”
Max tilts her head backward, closes her eyes, and runs her manicured nails along her body—her throat, the valley between her tits, her soft stomach, her thighs. And of fucking course, she kneads her tits and pinches her own nipples.
Fuck.
My hips struggle not to move even if all I want to do is drive upward and bury myself deeper inside her.
But … I sit still, my heels digging into the floor, my clenched fists burrowing into the sofa.
She feels so damn good sliding along my length. Her nails scratch along my arms while she rolls her hips and bounces on my lap.
“I’m coming.”
I watch, mesmerized, as Max’s whole body shakes, and her lips part in a silent moan. She surrenders to the sensations flooding through her.
That vision alone snaps my tether. I dig my fingers into her thighs and take her with hard, frantic thrusts before swelling and pulsing inside her. She continues to flutter around me and wring every last drop from me.
Max slumps on my chest, and I run a hand through her hair, savoring her scent and how her body molds easily to mine.
With a kiss on her forehead, I breathe her in and whisper, “Mine.”
4
MAX
Two weeks after I temporarily moved in, Mika and I fell into a natural rhythm. He usually works at night and arrives just as I’m about to leave for work. The thing is, no matter how tired he is or even if he has two or even three consecutive night shifts, he’ll pick me up at the office. Every single time.
I’m starting to feel spoiled, especially since he always looks at me funny whenever I insist he doesn’t have to do that. Sometimes, we get home and he’s already done preparing dinner.
It all feels … overwhelming sometimes. I’ve lived alone for most of my adult life. My meals consisted of takeout boxes or ramen or convenience store microwaveables. Since I worked from home, I rarely went out unless I had a grocery run or Mindy wanted to meet up.
So having someone take care of me and look after me feels a little off. Okay, not in a bad way. It just puts me off balance, and I feel like I’m treading uncharted waters. It’s unfamiliar and sometimes confusing. But definitely not unwelcome.
“Hey, doll. I got something for you,” Mika calls out from the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel and grabbing a piece of paper from the top of the fridge.
I level him with a suspicious look, scrunching my forehead and setting my bag on the coffee table. “What is it?”
“Close your eyes first,” he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes. “I’m too old for that.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Fine.” I do as he says and feel his lips brush mine. As if on instinct, I grab onto him and pull him closer.
