7. Lila #2
“Please, Max.” The words are ragged.
He lowers his head and closes his mouth around one nipple. The wet heat of his mouth draws a moan from my throat as his tongue strokes across the hardened peak. His hand cups my other breast, kneading the soft weight before rolling the nipple between his fingers.
My hips jerk, thighs clamping around his hips.
His stubble rasps over my skin, leaving behind a trail of pink as he moves to the other side.
The sting only makes everything better, hotter. Only makes me needier.
He sucks harder, and I bury my fingers in his hair and pull. The sound he makes is deep, inhuman, vibrating through my nipple straight down to my clit.
His mouth seals around me and pulls with a steady, relentless pressure that makes my vision swim.
He bites down before lashing his tongue across the tight point.
My toes curl and my back bows, my hips grinding against the rigid length of him still trapped in his jeans.
Even through our clothes, I can feel the heat of him. The size of him.
“You like that.” His voice is thick, muffled against my skin.
It’s not a question, but I answer him anyway. “Yes. God, yes.”
He releases my nipple with a wet pop and blows a stream of cool air across the damp, sensitive skin flushed pink from his attention. The temperature change is a shock that makes me cry out and clutch at his shoulders.
His hand moves down my body, over the softness of my stomach and the curve of my hip before he finds the button of my shorts.
“Lila.” His voice comes out rough and wrecked and barely human. “Do I have your permission to take you however I want?”
This devastatingly beautiful man who carried me home and held me while I shook and tasted all seven frostings without a single complaint. He’s asking for permission to unleash himself on me.
And I have never, in my entire life, felt more safe with another person.
He could do anything to me right now, and I would let him. Not because I’m scared or overwhelmed or trying to forget. Because, from the moment we met, Max looked at me like I’m the only person in the world worth seeing.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He unbuttons my shorts. I lift my hips, and Max draws them down my thighs with my underwear. The white denim falls to the floor, followed by my neon-purple underwear.
Max stares between my legs, and I have never felt more exposed or more desired.
The sound that rises from his chest is most definitely animal. He swipes at my slit, and his fingers come away wet. “This for me?”
I nod as he brings those glistening fingers to his nose and inhales deeply. His eyes flutter closed, and a shudder rolls through his massive frame. When they open again, the last line of green has been nearly swallowed by black.
He slips his fingers into his mouth.
A groan vibrates from deep in his chest as he sucks them clean. His tongue works between them, and my inner muscles clench around nothing.
“Like sugar and citrus. I’ll spend the rest of my life craving your taste.”
My breath stutters out of me as Max drops to his knees. He nudges my thighs wider and drapes my legs over his shoulders.
“Hold onto the edge,” he tells me.
I grip the quartz countertop, and his mouth descends on me.
The first stroke of his tongue parts my folds, and a cry burns my throat as he licks into me like he’s starving. He circles my clit with the tip of his tongue, my hips bucking against his face.
One massive hand presses down on my stomach, pinning me in place. “Stay still.”
The command sends a fresh gush of wetness onto his tongue.
Max hums in approval and rewards me with a harder stroke. Then another. His lips seal around my clit and he sucks, and the pressure is so wonderful, so perfect, that my vision goes white at the edges.
“Oh god. Oh god, Max.”
He doesn’t answer. Can’t. He’s too busy devouring me.
Two thick, long fingers find my entrance and press inside, curling upward in a come-hither motion that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
Pressure builds low in my belly, coiling tighter and tighter. My thighs tremble on his shoulders. My knuckles ache from gripping the counter. Incoherent pleas and gasps fall from my lips.
“That’s it,” he growls against my flesh. “Let go, Lila. I’ve got you.”
My orgasm crashes through me in pulsing waves, and Max rides it out with me, his tongue gentling as I spasm around his fingers. He doesn’t stop until the last tremor leaves my body, until I’m slumped against the counter, boneless and gasping.
He rises slowly, pressing kisses to my inner thigh, my stomach. His lips trace a path between my breasts and up my throat until he reaches my mouth.
I taste myself on his tongue. Salt and musk and sweetness.
“Still with me?” He pulls back enough to study my face.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
His thumb traces my swollen bottom lip. “Good. Because I’m not done with you.”
The promise in those words reignites the fire in my veins as he grabs a bowl of lemon frosting, the spatula still in it.
“On your feet, Lila.”
I slide off the counter, my legs wobbling. Max steadies me, then turns me to face the island before he presses against my back, clothes rough against my bare skin. I can feel every inch of him through his jeans, and the friction makes me whimper.
“You’re overdressed,” I manage.
He steps back long enough to strip off his shirt. His belt clinks, and his zipper rasps before his shorts hit the floor.
Then he’s back, and there’s nothing between us but heat.
The length of him presses against my lower back, hot silk over iron. I push against him, and his hand clamps down on my hips.
“Patience.” But there’s affection in the growl.
Something flat and sticky smacks against my ass.
I jump. “Did you just spank me?”
“You left your spatula in the frosting. Seemed a shame to waste it. Now, hands on the counter, Lila.”