Chapter 14 Max #2
I let my mouth wander—across his chest, over the sharp ridge of his ribs, down to the curve of his stomach. His skin tastes faintly of salt and sugar, and when my teeth graze the dip of his hip, he lets out a broken laugh that melts into a moan.
“Max,” he breathes as he arches into my touch.
I glance up, and the sight nearly undoes me, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, his eyes dark and steady on mine. Like he’s not just giving me permission, but begging me not to stop.
I peel the joggers lower, inch by inch, my fingertips following, stroking the newly exposed skin with a reverence I don’t dare name. He lifts his hips in a silent offering, and soon the joggers are tangled at his knees, forgotten.
I bow my head and press a kiss to the crown of his cock, soft and lingering, testing the weight of him against my lips. His breath stutters, his thighs lift instinctively off the bed.
“Jesus, Max—” His voice cracks, desperate already, and I can’t help the smug curl at the corner of my mouth.
I do it again. Another kiss, wetter this time, the tip of my tongue flicking against him before I pull back far enough to watch him tremble. His hands clutch at the sheets, his hips twitching upward in small, helpless movements.
“You like that?” I murmur, low against his skin, my breath hot enough to make him gasp.
“Don’t—” He tries to glare, tries to bite back his reaction, but then I flatten my tongue and drag it slowly up his length, from root to tip, and the sound that tears from him is pure surrender.
I take my time. Mapping him with my mouth, slow pulls and softer grazes, each pass deliberate until he’s a wreck beneath me. Every twitch, every gasp, every choked-off moan feeds something inside me.
By the time I wrap my hand around the base of him and sink my mouth deeper, his back arches clean off the mattress. He fists the blanket with one hand, the other buried in my hair, not guiding so much as holding on for dear life.
“Max, please—” It’s broken, shaking. The kind of plea that goes straight to my gut and twists hard.
I hum around him, giving him what he wants, but not nearly fast enough. Drawing it out until his thighs quiver, until his whole body shakes with the effort of holding back. Until he’s nothing but ragged breaths and my name torn from his throat over and over again.
It’s perfect.
I ease off him, lips slipping wetly from his cock, and drag the back of my hand across my mouth. His eyes snap open at the loss, wild and dark, and I can’t resist twisting the knife just a little.
“Impatient, aren’t you, Princess?” The nickname washes over him exactly the way I mean it to—his pupils blow wide, his whole body jerks up toward me, as if I’ve touched him without laying a single hand on him.
Before he can fire back, I drop my head again and swallow him down in one smooth motion. Swallowing his head as my throat relaxes around him.
He cries out, high and raw, hips lifting off the bed again. My hands pin him back down, fingers digging into his thighs as I hollow my cheeks and take every inch. His taste floods my tongue, his pulse thrumming hot against the back of my throat, and I can feel him unraveling under me.
“Fuuuck—Max—” His voice breaks, and then he’s gone, shaking apart as I hold him down and drink everything he gives me.
I take it all. Every last drop. Not pulling back, not letting him hide, just taking every bit of him down my throat until he’s boneless beneath me, his chest heaving as if he just ran miles through the snow.
When I finally lift my head, his lashes are wet, his lips parted in a dazed, crooked smile. He looks destroyed. Beautiful. Mine.
That’s a dangerous thought I shouldn’t be having. But I don’t stop it. No, I embrace it. For now.
I crawl up over him, dragging my mouth across the flat of his stomach, over his chest, until I’m braced above him.
His cheeks are flushed, eyes tracking mine, and his lips swollen as if he’s sunk his teeth into them.
He looks undone—and he still manages to hook a hand behind my neck and pull me down for a kiss.
It’s messy, hungry, and I know he can taste himself on my tongue. He doesn’t shy away from it. If anything, he moans into my mouth and clings tighter, like it makes him even more fevered.
When I finally break for air, I press my forehead to his. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling under mine, but his eyes are steady—bright, burning, alive.
“Fuck me,” he whispers, voice husky and bliss-drunk. “Now, Max. I need to feel every inch of your dick deep inside of me.”
His words slam into me like a fist to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs. I swear I feel them in my bloodstream, heating me from the inside out. If I wasn’t hard as a rock and weeping with pre-cum already, that would do it.
“Jesus, Eli,” I rasp, my hand tightening on his hip as if that alone could anchor me.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blush or backpedal. He just arches against me, needy and sure, his breath ghosting hot against my lips. “Don’t make me beg.”
That nearly undoes me. I cup his face, kissing him hard, pouring every ounce of restraint into the press of my mouth even as my body aches to give in. My other hand slides down, gripping his thigh, guiding it higher around my waist until he’s cradling me against him.
“You don’t have to beg, Princess,” I whisper against his lips, low and rough. “You’ve got me, I’ll give you what you need.”
The way his eyes darken at the pet name, the way he drags me closer, it burrows under my skin. Makes me crave so much more than a weekend with him. My hand fumbles in his nightstand until I find the condom and lube he stashed there.
I shove my joggers down, my cock springing free, hard and aching, bobbing between us. His gaze drops immediately, hungry, and heat licks through me at the way he looks at me, like he’s starving, like he’d worship me if I let him.
Pre-come quickly drips from the tip, catching the low light. On instinct, I swipe my thumb over it and bring it to his lips. His eyes track the motion, sharp and intent, before he parts his lips and licks it clean off my skin with a little happy moan.
The sight of his tongue on my thumb makes my whole body jolt. A groan rips out of me, my head tipping back as heat pools low and heavy, my balls tightening. “Ffffuck, Eli…”
The groan still hangs in the air when Eli plucks the foil packet from my hand. His lips curve, just a little, before he tears it open with his teeth.
“Let me,” he says.
I don’t argue. I can’t. My chest heaves as he sits up, his fingers curling around my cock with a confidence that makes my breath stutter. The air in the room is cold, but his touch is hot—so fucking hot I nearly lose it already.
He pinches the tip of the condom, rolls it down my length inch by inch, so achingly slow I swear he’s doing it on purpose. His thumb drags against my vein, his palm wrapping me as though he’s savoring the weight of me in his hand.
By the time the latex is snug at the base, I’m shaking. My hips twitch upward despite myself, chasing more friction, but he only smirks up at me, wicked and beautiful.
“Eli,” I growl, gripping his jaw and kissing him hard. “You keep that up, and I won’t last long enough to fuck you.”
“Then shut up,” he whispers against my mouth, before lying back and hooking his leg higher on my hip. “And give me what I asked for.”
I grab the bottle of lube, snapping the cap open, and coat my fingers until they glisten.
Eli watches every movement, his chest rising fast, his lips parted as if he’s ready to argue if I stall too long.
But then my slick fingers drag down the inside of his thigh, brushing deliberately close before slipping between his cheeks.
The second I circle his rim, he gasps, his hips jerking up against me. “Max—”
“Easy,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m not rushing this. You’re going to take me slow, remember?”
He shivers under my touch, but he doesn’t fight me when I ease one finger inside.
The heat grips me instantly, tight and hot, and I have to bite back a groan.
He clutches the sheets, breaths breaking as I stroke in and out, twisting just enough to make him whine.
Ghosting over his prostrate with each touch.
When I add a second finger, he arches beautifully, head tipping back, exposing his throat. I lean forward and mouth at the skin there, sucking lightly while I scissor him open, stretching him until I feel him loosen around my fingers.
“God, you’re perfect like this,” I breathe against his skin. “So fucking tight. Taking me so well.”
He moans, legs trembling around my waist. “Max, please—”
I curl my fingers, brushing his prostrate more firmly until he cries out, and his whole body bows off the bed. The sound shoots straight to my cock, throbbing beneath the thin barrier of latex.
“Not yet,” I growl, even as my own restraint starts to fray. “One more.”
I slick up again and slid in a third finger, stretching him wider. He whimpers into my shoulder, clinging tight, but then pushes back against my hand, desperate. His body knows what it wants, even if he can’t get the words out.
When I finally pull my fingers free, slick and trembling, he looks on edge already—cheeks flushed, lips swollen, sea blue eyes dark with need.
“Ready?”
“Max.” His gaze locks onto mine, blazing. “Now. Please.”
I slick myself with the lube, cock throbbing, and aching to be inside him.
Lining up at his entrance, I press forward just enough to feel the heat of him. Eli’s legs tighten around my waist, pulling me closer, his nails biting into my shoulders. His eyes lock on mine.
“Breathe for me,” I murmur, kissing his temple.
And then I push in.
Slow. Torturous. Every inch burns, his body clenching around me like he was made to fit me and me alone. Eli gasps, back arching off the mattress, his lips parting on a sound that isn’t even a word. It’s so different from last night that I can’t help but grip his hips as I ease in slowly.