Chapter 26 Twenty-Five #2
The stretch was perfect, just shy of painful and exactly what I needed. He paused when he was buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to mine, giving me time to adjust. Our breath mingled.
Then he began to move with a slow withdrawal followed by a thrust that sent pleasure racing along my spine. The angle was perfect, each stroke hitting that spot that made my vision blur. My hands found his back, nails digging into muscle as he set an unhurried, devastating rhythm.
His lips found mine briefly before moving to my throat. I arched beneath him, offering myself. His teeth found the skin above my collarbone, pressing deep enough to leave a mark. I moaned, knowing that tomorrow I would wear his claim visibly.
His tongue soothed each bite before finding new territory. My shoulder. The curve where my neck met my chest. This wasn't just sex. This was him writing ownership across my skin.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, catching the city lights.
I licked it away. My lips found the small scar on his collarbone, the one from Santiago he'd mentioned years ago.
I pressed kisses there, then traced lower to another mark, this one from a knife fight in Marseille.
Each scar was a story. A piece of the man I'd served for thirty-two years.
I worshipped them all with lips and tongue.
He shuddered at my attention, hips stuttering before he regained control. His mouth returned to my throat, teeth finding the spot he'd marked earlier and biting down again, deeper. The pain-pleasure made me cry out, made my cock twitch between our bodies.
My cock rubbed against his stomach as he thrust. The friction was delicious but not quite enough. I was close. Had been balanced on the edge since I'd first knelt at his feet. But I didn't want to come yet. I wanted to hold this moment and preserve it against whatever Macau might bring.
My body disagreed. The steady pressure against my prostate, the weight of him above me, the emotion in his eyes… It was too much. Pleasure coiled tighter, threatening to overwhelm me.
"Don't leave me alone in the world, Al," I demanded. It was the only demand I'd ever made that wasn't about business.
He stilled above me, eyes widening. His hand found my face, palm warm against my cheek.
"Never," he whispered against my lips. "I swear to you, Maxime. I will never leave you alone. Never."
The promise shattered something inside me. Tears I hadn't known were building spilled down my temples, and he kissed them away with devastating gentleness.
Pathetic. Crying during sex like some heartbroken teenager. But I couldn't stop.
He began to move again, deeper now, more urgent. The steady rhythm became something wilder. His teeth found my shoulder, biting hard enough that I knew the mark would last for weeks. I welcomed it, arched into it, offered him more skin to claim.
His mouth moved to my chest, teeth scraping across my nipple before biting down. The sharp sensation shot straight to my cock. He marked my arms, my collarbone, anywhere his mouth could reach while he moved inside me.
His hand wrapped around my cock, slick with oil and pre-cum, stroking in time as his thrusts deepened. The dual sensation was devastating. Pleasure crashed over me in waves.
His breath was hot against my throat, voice rough. "Maxime."
Hearing my name on his lips sent me over the edge. My climax tore through me, back arching as I spilled across his hand and my stomach.
He followed moments later, rhythm faltering as he came. He pulsed inside me, hot and wet. His face contorted, mouth falling open as he gasped my name.
For long minutes, we lay entwined, hearts slowing, breath returning to normal. The city sparkled beyond the windows, oblivious.
He withdrew finally, leaving me empty but sated. Instead of moving away, he gathered me against his chest, arms wrapping around me. His fingers traced the fresh marks on my throat, my shoulder, my chest.
"Beautiful," he murmured against my hair, thumb stroking the deepest bite mark. The touch sent a pleasant ache through the tender skin. I pressed closer.
His skin was warm and damp. I pressed my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in while the marks on my body throbbed with sweet tenderness.
I lifted my head after a moment, studying his face in the silver light. The sharp lines had softened. I leaned down and kissed him, soft and reverent, tasting salt on his lips.
"I love you," I whispered against his mouth.
His eyes opened. "I love you too," he said simply. As if it were the most natural truth in the world. He pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep," he murmured into my hair. "A few hours. Then we end this."
I pressed closer to his warmth, memorizing the sound of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers traced patterns on my spine. In a few hours, we'd board the jet for Macau and face Shaw together.
But for now, in this bed, in his arms, I had everything I'd ever wanted.
Everything I'd spent thirty-two years convincing myself I didn't deserve.