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“You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, Kelsey.”
Her ability to speak seemed to have abandoned her momentarily, but she swallowed hard, found her voice, her breathing shallow and quick. “Sh-show me then. Make me… understand.”
“Put your hands down, flat against the fridge.” He didn’t snarl it, didn’t even raise his voice, as calm as he’d be if he were directing a child—or a pet.
He let go of her wrists, which throbbed faintly from his harsh grip, but she kept her hands up at her breasts. She wasn’t sure if it was protective, or if she was simply paralyzed at the shocking reaction she’d gotten from him. “I… I don’t…”
“You either do as I tell you, exactly as I tell you—or you walk out that door right now.” The cool, rich tone of his words made the wetness let down between her legs so strongly, she was sure it was seeping into her slacks now. He didn’t sound angry. It was more a simple statement of fact. A choice presented to her in direct, unmistakable terms. “Decide, Kelsey.”
“Max… I…”
“I told you. There’s no fair here, not with me.” He touched her lower lip, his fingertip stroking it as he stared at her mouth. “You understand me?”
She nodded, and his warm grin made her smile back at him.
“Good girl.”
It was a magical, erotic, tender combination of implication, meaning, and emotion, those two simple words. How often had she lain in bed, frantically rubbing her aching little clit to the imagined sound of those precise words tumbling from his lips?
The reality was so much better than the imagination. Scarier, yes, but much, much hotter.
“I… I want you.”
“Be quiet,” he said, an edge to his voice as his gaze unhurriedly coursed down her body, as if taking in the planes, curves, and hollows of her form for the very first time. His eyes locked with hers again, and he stared expectantly at her. “I’m waiting.”
Slowly, she dropped her arms, pressed her palms to the cool metal, her heart frantically beating in her chest now.
His grip on her throat tightened then as he kissed her, taking her mouth with his in a way no man ever had—with a force and possessive ferocity she didn’t even know was possible. For long, heart-pounding moments, he kissed her, his tongue tangling with hers, his sharp teeth testing the vulnerability of her lips. Then he pulled back just a little, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw, his mouth a heartbeat from hers. His breath was hot upon her, his words little more than a growl. “Keep those hands where they are, until I tell you otherwise.”
“O-okay…” Her voice was practically a squeak, her ability even to draw breath overcome by the intensity of his presence, all around her, his iron-hard control of her body, of her emotions.
The rigid line of his erection pressed to her abdomen again, and she longed to touch it, to have the weight of it hot and throbbing against her palm rather than the cold, unfeeling stainless steel of the refrigerator door.
His big hand still holding her firmly by the throat, his fingers worked at the buttons of her shirt, slipping them free each in turn. He was utterly casual, as if he had all the time in the world, as if it was his right to undo them however he liked, unquestioned by anyone. Especially not by her.
He yanked the blouse from the confines of her slacks, pulling it open, revealing her bra. It was the deep pink lace she liked to wear under staid, boring ‘work’ clothes. It made her feel just a tiny bit slutty, like a little secret she was keeping from everyone around her. The bra was probably a cup size too small, her breasts spilling out the top—which was a look she loved.
She hoped Max liked it, too.
He ran the backs of his fingers up and down the swollen, smooth inner curves of her breasts, his gaze locked upon them.
His fingers found the front clasp with lightning quickness, and he unsnapped it, her boobs springing free.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, as his hand closed around one breast, then the other squeezing tightly, just past the point of discomfort.
Just the way she liked it.
Truth be told, she liked it quite a bit harder than that, too, but there was no way she was telling Max that.
She didn’t want him thinking she was some sort of dirty pain slut. Maybe.
“Jesus Christ, these fucking tits,” he growled, lifting one upon his palm, thumbing her hard, aching nipple. He caught the tip of it in his fingers and squeezed harshly, until she hissed with the pain. Then he caressed it, soothing it, twisting it and plucking at it gently, tracing soft circles around the perimeter of her areola.
Those were the parts of her breasts she wished were different. They were too broad, the color of them not what she thought was ideal.
But at that moment, she didn’t care—and Max seemed to like them just fine indeed.
“Please touch me… please touch my pussy.”
