Chapter 28 Prince Not Charming #2
"I thought you were hurt," I barely whisper. Despite my unsteady voice, I'm not scared. I know he'd never hurt me. He's drunk and naked on top of me. His penis is pressed to my thigh and I'm startled, aroused, and concerned, but not afraid.
"What made you—" He stops talking and looks back over his shoulder at the gun. He squints at it as if he's confused by its presence. "Fuck," he hisses.
"It's okay." I touch his cheek, drawing his eyes back to me. "I saw it."
His stare penetrates me. "Yeah. And?"
I gaze into the defensive grey eyes of the man I love. "The blood on your shirt. I thought you were hurt. I panicked."
His lips twitch. "You were worried about me?" He lets out a cynical chuckle. "That's the first thing that came to your mind? Even after you saw the gun?"
"Yes," I admit.
He presses his forehead to mine on a sigh. "You know I'm a bad guy, right? I thought you knew that."
I kiss his lips chastely and we close our eyes. I cup either side of his neck and rub my forehead against his. The feelings between us are thick and overwhelming. "You're many things, Max Butcher, but bad isn’t one of them."
He laughs and it's sad and dubious, and his tone forces a sob from my throat.
"I watched a man die tonight," he says smoothly.
Tears fall down my temples. More pool in my ears.
I'm not sure I truly register his words or maybe I'm so full of him, I no longer have regard for others.
Or maybe I'm selfish. Or maybe I've just been waiting for something like this to happen and now that it has, I'm somewhat prepared. I remember our conversation in Bali.
"Do you hurt people?"
"Not people like you. Only people like me."
"But people like you have people like me who love them."
"Oh God." I whimper. "Are you okay?"
"There you go again... Yes, Cassidy. I'm okay."
Even though I know he's physically okay, I'm not so sure his soul is settled. I can feel a darkness in him tonight. In the way he breathes. In his taut body.
"What did he do, Max?" My voice falters and my palms tremble against his neck. "What does a person have to do?"
He kisses my lips softly. "It was him or us."
I sob into his mouth. "Max, no. It's not that black and white. It can't be."
"He was a bad person, Little One."
"But he was a person."
He shakes his forehead against mine, groaning. "I thought you knew this!"
"I don't know what I know!"
When he lifts his forehead, my chest tightens, preparing itself for the hole of his absence. I know he's about to leave. I cover my face, not wanting him to see my anguish.
Fingers link through mine, pulling my palms away and exposing my pain. Our eyes meet. He runs his thumb possessively over my quivering lower lip and studies me closely. I weep quietly from confusion and the truth and my self-imposed naivety.
He winces ever so slightly. "Do you still want this with me?"
My heart aches. "I love you, Max Butcher. I'll always want to be with you."
He blinks at me slowly and, oh my gawd, I can’t believe I've just told him I love him. I can't believe I've done it right after he's admitted to watching a man die.
I'm so messed up.
But then he rolls onto his back, pulling me on top of him, and manhandles me until I spread my thighs to straddle him. He caresses my spine before gripping the nape of my neck and pulling me for a kiss.
His tongue skates inside my mouth, causing me to moan.
"I want you," I say, desperation in my voice. I need to be close to him right now. I need to get lost in our Cassidy and Max world.
He kisses me as if he's in physical pain. Then he helps me slide my knickers off before repositioning me above his erection. I've never been on top before. He likes to be in control.
My nipples skim his chest, the sensitive buds tightening. I start to whimper as he slides me down his length. It's a new level of penetration. No angle obstructs the depth.
Breaking our kiss, he pushes me upright.
And then his hands are back on my hips, controlling the level at which I take him.
I stare at him. He stares at me and then his eyes flutter as he forces me down all the way.
My body strains to consume the final inches of him.
As I recoil slightly, he curses and holds my hips in place, stirring his penis inside me.
"Max," I think I cry out.
My eyes squeeze shut.
"It's okay, Little One. It'll only hurt for a moment." He barely gets the words out through a long deep groan.
He doesn't thrust up into me.
But he also doesn’t let me inch away. I can feel him pulsing inside me. We stay very still for several seconds, panting, as I become accustomed to the feeling of being wrapped around the root of his erection.
"Look down," he breathes. "Look at your pretty little pussy swallowing my cock."
Oh God, the way he talks.
I force my eyes open and stare down at where he's opening me, spreading me wide.
His penis flexes. My clit is pressed into his neat dark-brown pubic hair and the sight of us has me dripping with pleasure.
Encouraging me, Max moves my hips again, rolling me along him in slow, deep, long waves.
I'm full, so crammed with him. My orgasm beckons me, so close. ..
I curl my hips, brushing my clit against him.
He groans, his fingers flexing around my hip bones as he wrestles with his need to take me. Longing, feverish and intense, brews inside me.
"Do that again," he begs.
Max Butcher is begging me.
I roll my hips again and his hands move to my breasts, palms stimulating my tight nipples. "Max," I moan.
"Good girl. I like it when you moan my name."
I move faster on top of him. The feeling of his erection inside me, pressing against my cervix, is consuming.
His eyes—heavy and carnal—lap up the sight of me working his erection from on top.
He's giving me the control and he's lost all composure in the process.
I feel a sense of power. I have given myself to him willingly and often, and he takes and I love it.
.. But right now, I have the reins. I control the speed.
The movement. I curl my hips on him until more moisture slides from inside me, until a tingle twists my clit.
Until hot pressure forces its way up my thigh and invades my abdomen before crashing together between my legs.
I come hard. "Max!"
He bares his teeth, but doesn't move.
I think I'm torturing him.
Once I regain my senses, I slowly move my hips in circles. Panting and buzzing from my orgasm, I try to keep my stamina up. I watch his face, his beautiful, tight, pleasured, and curbed expression. He glares at me through his lashes and his hands glide around my body.
They stroke my trim stomach, cup my breasts, and then fist my hair.
He tugs ever so lightly, sexual rage flaring in his irises. "Fuck me like you love me."
Oh God.
Anchoring myself in his eyes, I lean back and grip his toned thighs. I start to really work my pelvis, lifting and then sliding my backside down to take all of him in again. Over and over. So deep. So overwhelming. My breasts bounce. My hips roll down to draw him in and curl up to squeeze him out.
"Fuck!" He grips me harder, fingers biting at my skin.
Then they are on my thighs with a slap, clasping so tight, stirring me along his hips.
And now as his hands hold me to him, he's thrusting up into me as he comes.
His groaning is long and intense. His penis pulses, forcing cum up into me, but there is no room, so it explodes down the shaft of his penis and spills out from where we connect.
Feeling his orgasm as intensely as I do my own, I spiral into another, coming again. My hands cup his face as I lean forward to kiss him, riding the wave until my body drops to his.
I kiss him hard and desperately.
I kiss him with every piece of unconditional love I hold for him.
Unconditional.