Chapter 32 Maya
MAYA
My legs didn’t work. My brain didn’t work. My entire nervous system had been rewired by the man currently holding me upright against him. The only reason I was still vertical was because his arm was doing all the heavy lifting.
I pressed my forehead against his shirt and focused on breathing.
When I could finally string a coherent thought together, I tipped my head back. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight. The look on his face was so raw and hungry that my stomach flipped all over again.
I smiled. “I have to say,” I grabbed his shirt and pushed it up, my fingers dragging over the hard ridges of his stomach, “one of us is way overdressed for this party, and it’s definitely not me.”
He let me pull the shirt over his head and it hit the floor.
My blood warmed as I ran my hands over his chest, palms flat against warm skin and solid muscle. I let them drift down over his ribs, his stomach, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared below his waistband.
I unzipped him slowly, easing his jeans and boxers down, my eyes fixed on his face.
Every fantasy, every daydream, every dirty thought had been leading to this. This was my moment, and I was going to take it.
I looked down. Good lord, the man was magnificent.
My hand shook as I wrapped it around his cock. The way his whole body jerked in response sent a white-hot thrill through me. I stroked him, slow and firm, and his eyes slammed shut, his head tipping back, the cords of his neck standing out as a groan ripped through him.
“Maya.” My name sounded like a prayer and a warning rolled into one.
His hand closed around my wrist, stilling me. “Tell me how you want it.”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Hot and dirty.”
A wicked, thoroughly filthy smile curved his lips. “Good girl.”
He backed me toward the bed, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was all heat and intent, then turned me around.
His hands roved over my breasts, thumbs rolling across my nipples until I gasped.
Down my stomach. Between my legs, his fingers sliding over my clit in slow, maddening circles until my breathing turned ragged and my head fell back against his shoulder.
Then his voice was a low rumble in my ear as he said, “Hands on the bed.”
A molten shiver rolled through me. I bent forward and braced my palms on the mattress, gasping when his foot nudged mine wider apart.
“Oh God.” The words fell out of me before I could catch them.
His hands gripped my hips, and he pushed into me in one long, slow thrust.
The stretch of him was almost too much, full and deep, making my vision blur. His fingers dug into my hips as he stilled, giving me a second to adjust.
Then he fucked me the way I’d asked him to, driving a sound out of me that I couldn’t have held back if I’d tried.
The bed frame knocked against the wall and I didn’t care. His grip on my hips was bruising and I didn’t care about that either. All I cared about was the relentless, devastating rhythm of him inside me and the heavy, sweet ache pooling low in my belly like a wave about to break.
I started pushing back, chasing the angle that sent sparks up my spine. His groan was raw and ragged behind me, and one hand slid up my back to grip my shoulder, pulling me harder onto him.
The friction was driving me out of my mind. My breath hitched, fragmenting into short gasps as the tension wound tighter and tighter. I was right on the edge, teetering over a dizzying drop.
Then he hit that perfect spot one more time.
The orgasm slammed through me. My back arched, my fists twisted in the blankets and I came with a moan that started low and shattered into something broken and desperate as it tore through me. My arms gave out and I fell forward onto the bed, my legs trembling, every muscle liquid.
I lay there, face down, absolutely destroyed.
“Oh, you think we’re done?” His voice was rough and strained behind me.
I summoned every remaining ounce of strength and rolled onto my back. His cock was still rigid, still straining, and the look on his face was dark and feral.
A fresh wave of heat hit me, despite the fact that my body had already been wrung out twice.
“Where do you want me?” The words came out throaty and wrecked.
“Head on the pillow.”
I shuffled up the bed. He followed, kissing his way up my body until he found my lips.
I let out a sigh, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and my legs around his hips.
He entered me slowly this time, and I tilted my hips up so I could take him deeper.
The guttural sound that left him vibrated right through and settled in my bones.
Nothing in my life had ever felt this good. Or this right.
He fucked me with long, drawn-out strokes that made me feel every single inch of him, his mouth on mine, his hands in my hair. My fingers drifted over his back, tracing the muscles that shifted under his skin with every thrust.
“Nate?” My hands moved down to his ass.
“Mm?”
“Is this one of those Captain America moments, where I find out you can actually, literally, do this all day?”
His laugh was sudden and real, his forehead dropping to mine. “Jesus, Slayer.”
He leaned back to look at me, and the laughter in his eyes made my heart squeeze. “Is this boring you?” he teased.
I clenched my inner walls around him and watched his expression fracture. “Not at all.”
“That’s it. You’ve done it now.” His eyes darkened, and before I could react, he pulled out and pushed up to his knees.
“Yes,” I breathed, when he grabbed my ankles and put them on his shoulders, gripped my thighs and drove back into me. “Oh God, yes.”
I wrapped my fingers around the bed head railings and gave myself up to him. He pounded into me, relentless, over and over, the angle so deep and so perfect that every stroke pushed a cry from my throat. The pressure built, and built, and built until there was nowhere left for it to go.
I came apart screaming his name. The orgasm crashed through me in waves so intense my whole body shook with it, my knuckles white on the railings. He came moments later with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from somewhere deep inside him, his hips stuttering as he spilled into me.
He collapsed beside me, chest heaving. I curled into him immediately, throwing my arm over him while I gasped for air.
We lay there in a tangled, sweaty heap for a long time, letting the adrenaline slowly bleed out of our systems. Finally, he turned his head and pressed a damp kiss to my hair, letting out a heavy, contented sigh.
His arm came around me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder, and my heartbeat gradually slowed to something approaching normal. The room was quiet except for our breathing, and the air smelled like sex and sweat and the faint trace of his cologne that clung to the pillows.
His pillows. His bed. Except it wasn’t, was it? It was mine.
A smile spread across my face.
“Hey, you wanna know something?”
“Mmm?”
“I used to masturbate in this bed. Fantasizing about you.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Jesus.”
“And let me just say,” I propped my chin on his chest and looked up at him, “nothing in my wildest dreams ever came close to the reality.”
The look on his face was worth every single one of those ten years. Stunned, pleased, and something deeper that flickered behind his eyes before I could catch it. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering there.
“I’m glad,” he said quietly.
“Mm. Me too.”
I settled back against him, my eyes growing heavy.
The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heart started to pull me under.
His arm tightened around me, and I felt his lips brush my hair one more time.
I was halfway to sleep, completely boneless and blissed out, when he suddenly stiffened.
“Nate?” I murmured, lifting my head. “What is it?”
He stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wide in the dark. “Your clothes.”
“What about them?”
“They’re in the living room, Maya.” His voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “Right next to the coffee table.”
I let out a soft laugh. “And?”
“Your mom’ll see them and…” He gently but firmly moved me aside and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m going to get them.”
He scrambled out of bed and snatched his boxers off the floor, pulling them on with frantic movements.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud. The sight of this incredibly built, terrifyingly capable man reduced to an absolute panic over my mom was the greatest thing I’d ever seen.
“I’ll be right back.” He crept toward the bedroom door like he was on a highly classified stealth mission.
He returned a minute later, clutching my jeans and underwear like contraband. He dumped the bundle on my desk chair, shucked his boxers, let out a massive sigh of relief, and climbed back into bed.
“Crisis averted,” he muttered, pulling me flush against him again.
“My hero,” I teased, kissing his collarbone.
He grumbled something about having a heart attack at thirty-two. His arm tightened around me, and I snuggled in, letting out a contented sigh while my eyes drifted closed.