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Chapter 14
She woke up before he did, the morning light slanting its way across the bed. He was sprawled alongside her, lightly snoring, the bedclothes wrapped about his waist revealing the broad expanse of his back. She let him sleep though, still needing to work through in her mind what had happened the night before.
They’d both snoozed on the couch for an hour or so, spent, exhausted in ways much more than physical. The way he’d eventually led her back to his bedroom, in silence, holding her hand, leading her behind him as if she were a disobedient girl being led to her penitence, was both strangely humbling and deeply arousing. That was one of many points in the encounter last night that had hinted at a dynamic between her and Max that was becoming evident. The problem was she had no idea what to even call it.
It was … paternal? It would be easy to say Max was beginning to feel like a father figure to her, but it was more complicated than that. Much more. Mainly because of the deeply sexual nature to it, and the profoundly unequal power exchange threaded throughout the dynamic. She’d read of such things, of course, but she never actually believed she would encounter it in real life—much less in a man as special, as wonderful as ‘Uncle’ Max.
She smiled as she laid there in the sunlight, not knowing why she used that moniker for him even in her own thoughts. On the surface, it had always just been something she’d said to get a rise out of him. He’d constantly told her he didn’t like it, but that only enhanced its appeal in her mind.
Perhaps it was merely habit… and perhaps there was something deeper there that she wasn’t quite ready to examine. But the more she thought of it, the more she realized maybe that same impulse, that need to see him in that way… was part and parcel of this new, emerging dynamic. It was confusing, hot, and wrong—all at once.
But she didn’t care about that. Because what happened last night, even if it was all she ever got with him, was wonderful. When he’d led her back to the bedroom, he’d held her in his arms hugging her, neither one of them saying a thing. Then she’d felt his cock rise up hard and thick, jutting against her lower belly. And again, without saying a single word, he’d folded her tightly over the side of his bed, held her down as he fucked her once more, hard, almost brutally. In a way no man had ever taken her before.
That time he’d held her by the hair, cranking her head back, while with his other hand he’d pinned her wrists at the small of her back, immobilizing her as strongly as any steel manacles.
He hadn’t let her come that time—which, shockingly, only aroused her more—filling her pussy with his hot, sticky seed, then withdrawing, wiping his cock clean on the back of her thigh. Then he’d pulled her into his arms again, holding her tight against his chest as they laid in the dark upon the bed, their sweat cooling against the rumpled sheets.
Max stirred then, snapping her out of her reverie. He mumbled something, obviously not quite awake yet. But she wanted to pull those sheets down just a tiny bit more, to play with that thick cock, make it hard and throbbing for him. But somehow, she knew it was forbidden. And part of her liked that. Yes, part of her liked that very much indeed.
How long have you known you’re a dirty, kinky whore?
As morning had begun to brighten the sky, he’d woken her one last time. She’d been so tired she was practically delirious. But when she’d realized what he wanted, she’d turned upon her side, presented her bottom to him, and at his grunted order, she pulled her bottom cheek away from its twin, exposing her cleft for him.
That third time he’d slid inside her pussy nice and slow, almost gently, using her with the languid, desultory casualness born of someone utterly unconcerned about his woman even considering disobeying him. What did that say about her, that in the space of eight hours he essentially had her eating out of his hand? Wasn’t she supposed to be the strong, modern woman, taking the world by the balls?
What if the only thing she really wanted was to simply be taken? Over, and over, and over again?
Of course, she’d had plenty of fantasies along those lines, over the years. But fantasy and reality were often two entirely different things. Weren’t they? But her experience with Max last night had taught her many things, both about him, and more important, about herself.
She just wasn’t sure what to make of it. For while many questions had been answered, even more had been raised. The biggest one was obvious: what on earth happened next?
A deep groan sounded in the room, and Max sat up, scratching the back of his head. She reached out to him, stroking his warm side, loving the way his muscles felt against her palm.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I didn’t even realize you were awake.”
He turned his head, staring at her for a moment, an odd look in his eye. “Shit… shit.”
“Well, good morning to you, too, sleepyhead.” She tried to force a laugh, hoping he’d crack at least a smile in response. But he wasn’t even looking at her anymore.
He sprang up from the bed, apparently wide awake now. Scrubbing both of his hands over his face, he let out a long, deep yawn. “I’m going to get some coffee. Why don’t you… come with me?”
“Um, okay,” she murmured, rolling over and setting her feet on the carpet. She looked around for any other clothing, but the bedroom was devoid of anything save the bed itself and a tall, six-drawer dresser with gold-polished pull handles. She wasn’t surprised to see that her clothes were nowhere to be found. They were probably still in the living room. “Hey, Max, I need to get, ah, some clothes.”
He strolled over to the dresser, its cherry wood stained so dark it was almost black. The hollow sound echoed in the bedroom, as he opened up one drawer then another, Max rummaging around inside each one of them. Finally, he tossed her a white T-shirt. “It’s going to be way too big on you, but it should work for now.”
“Um, thanks!” She pulled it on quickly, loving the way it smelled, the clean note of fabric softener and detergent, and just a hint of Max’s masculine scent, a cross between his sweat and sandalwood.
“Let’s go,” he said, holding out a hand, having pulled on a pair of white and black patterned pajama bottoms. He still had no shirt on, a mouthwatering look, even with his morning chin stubble and horrendous bedhead. He still looked good enough to eat, and the deep coiling in her belly was either her awakening hunger or a renewed craving to have her cunt skewered by his thick cock yet again.
He’s apparently converted you into some kind of Super Nympho. Settle down, slut.
Without saying a word, he led her by the hand down the hall, and out into the kitchen. She sat at the island, the shirt so long it hung down over her knees, which was a welcome shelter against the surprising morning chill. He apparently kept the air conditioning quite low in the mornings. The smell of brewing coffee quickly filled the kitchen while he leaned his ass against the counter, regarding her with a strangely solemn expression.
“What are you thinking about, Uncle Max? You’re looking at me as if you just met me. Did you have a nightmare or something?”
He snorted softly, shaking his head. “I’m thinking about how the hell we ever thought last night was a good idea.”
She almost gasped with the shock of it, the words like a slap to her face. And not the good kind either. “What’s that supposed to mean? Last night was wonderful. I don’t care what you say.”
