Chapter 26 Max
TWENTY-SIX
MAX
There’s something in the way he kisses me—too deep, too steady, like he’s trying to carve something permanent into me. And I feel it. The words he doesn’t say press against my skin as surely as his mouth does.
I know what they are. I’m not stupid.
But I can’t touch them, can’t say them out loud again. Not when I’m barely holding my own walls up. So instead, I give him what I can.
I thread my fingers through his hair and drag his head back into his pillow just enough to breathe against his lips. “You’re mine,” I murmur, low and rough. “And I’m going to prove it.”
His pupils blow wide, more black than blue, his chest rising against mine, and I don’t give him a chance to answer. My mouth trails lower, catching on his jaw, then down the curve of his throat. Each kiss is deliberate, staking a claim I can’t name out loud.
When I reach his chest, I bite gently at the swell of muscle there, sucking until I know he’ll feel it tomorrow.
My tongue follows, soothing the sting, my words spilling hot against his skin.
“I’ll mark you everywhere if that’s what it takes.
Every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember who you belong to. ”
His fingers clutch at my shoulders, breath hitching, and the sound makes something primal snap loose in me.
His nails bite into my shoulders like he’s anchoring himself, and fuck, maybe he is. Maybe I am, too. Because once I start, I can’t stop.
My mouth maps him in hungry strokes, down the sharp ridge of his ribs, across the dip of his stomach, until I’m tasting every inch like it’s mine. His body arches into me, restless, needy, and it lights something dark and feral in my chest.
“Max,” he gasps, voice breaking, and the sound is gasoline on a fire.
I strip the rest of his clothes away, palms dragging over heated skin like I’m trying to memorize him through touch alone. My joggers hit the floor, and then there’s no space left—just sweat, heat, and the desperate throb of wanting.
And fuck, if we were both tested, I’d take him bare. I’d sink in and feel all of him, nothing between us. The thought makes my cock ache.
I wrap my hand around both of us, pressing us together, stroking long and slow.
He arches up into my touch, and the sharp jolt of it ricochets through me.
Our pre-cum slicks between us, sticky and hot.
I swipe my finger through it and hold it to his lips.
He doesn’t hesitate—sucks it clean, moaning like it tastes better than sugar. My chest caves. I’m done for.
I pull back just enough to grab the lube and condoms, his legs spreading wider in a silent offering. The sight nearly undoes me. I tear one open, roll it on, and slick my fingers. When I press the first one inside, slow and careful, he clenches around me, gasping my name like it’s a prayer.
“Shh,” I whisper against his mouth, pushing deeper, curling until I feel him quake. “I’ve got you, Princess.”
“Max—fuck—please.” His plea is desperate, and it wrecks me.
I can’t help myself—I nip at his jaw, sucking hard enough to bruise his throat, leaving my claim just below his collar line in purple marks.
His body bows beneath mine, all pliant heat and trust, and it makes something violent twist in my chest. Because tomorrow his teammates will see the marks, tease him about some faceless hook-up.
And even if the guys notice in the locker room, they’ll never know it’s me.
And God help me, I’m starting to hate that.
I slick my cock, line myself up, and for a second—I just hover there, forehead pressed to his. His breath ghosts hot against my lips, his eyes wide and blown. He looks at me like he trusts me with everything. And fuck, maybe he does.
The thought nearly guts me. Because if he knew how badly I wanted to keep him—how much I hated the idea of letting go—he’d run. Or worse, he wouldn’t. And then I’d lose everything.
I push in, slow, inch by inch, watching his mouth fall open, watching the flush crawl high across his cheeks. He clutches at me, nails digging into my shoulders like he needs me to hold him together. The stretch pulls a sound from his throat that makes my vision blur.
“Max,” he moans, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from saying what’s sitting heavy in my chest. I love you. God, I love you.
Instead, I bury deeper until I’m fully seated inside him, both of us trembling from it. My hand cradles the side of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone like I can soothe the sharp edge of what we just did.
“You feel so good, Princess,” I whisper, rough and low, pressing my mouth to his temple. “Like you were made for me.”
I pull back slowly, then sink in again, steady and deliberate. Each thrust drags a broken sound from him, and I swallow them against his skin, my body moving with a control I don’t feel. Every roll of my hips is a confession I don’t dare speak out loud.
And in the back of my head, I know this can’t last. But right now, with him wrapped around me, gasping my name like it’s the only word that matters—right now, I let myself believe it can.
I rock into him carefully, every inch deliberate, every sound he makes seared into me. His head tips back, throat bared, lips parted on these quiet, shuddering moans that sound like prayer.
I drag my hand down his chest, splay it wide over his stomach, feel the tremor that ripples through him when I grind slow and deep instead of quick. He clutches at me, pulls me closer, like he wants me inside his skin.
“Max…” My name spills from him, soft and pleading, but I don’t speed up. I keep him right here, strung out on every movement.
“Easy, Princess,” I murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the pulse in his throat. “I want you to feel all of it. Every second.”
His legs tighten around my waist, anchoring me as though he’s afraid I’ll slip away. My chest aches with it—how much he wants me here. How much I want to stay.
I move again, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in slowly, filling him until he gasps and claws at my shoulders. The look in his eyes nearly undoes me—wide, wrecked, and open in a way that feels dangerous. Like he’s giving me something more than his body.
And I match it, even though I shouldn’t. I press my forehead to his, kiss him lazily and unhurried, like the world isn’t outside this bed. Like time isn’t running out.
Every thrust is slower than the last, as if dragging this out long enough could make it last forever.
I hold myself steady inside him, rocking slow, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter until his body is trembling around me. His nails drag down my back, leaving little trails of heat, and he’s whispering my name like it’s the only word he knows.
“Please,” he gasps, hips shifting against mine, desperate for more, for faster.
I don’t give it to him. Not yet. I kiss him instead—deep, unhurried, swallowing every sound that spills from him. My hand slides down between us, wrapping around him, stroking him in time with the slow roll of my hips.
He jerks into my touch, broken sounds catching in his throat. “Max—God, Max—”
“Shh,” I murmur against his mouth. “I’ve got you, Princess. Just let go for me.”
The words do something—I feel it in the way he clenches, in the way his body bows up against mine.
His eyes squeeze shut, his lips part, and then he’s coming undone in my hand, spilling hot between us as I keep stroking him through it, whispering low nonsense into his ear.
Sweet, filthy things I can’t stop myself from saying.
The sight, the feel of him unraveling beneath me—it’s too much. My control snaps, and I bury myself deep, grinding into him as I come hard, groaning his name like it’s a confession.
For a long moment, it’s only the sound of our breathing, rough and uneven, filling the room. My body shakes with the effort to stay over him, to not crush him with my weight, but he pulls me down anyway, arms wrapping tight around my shoulders, holding me there.
And I let him.
Because right now, with his heartbeat thundering against mine and his skin hot and damp under my lips, there’s no place else I want to be.
His chest is still heaving against mine, damp skin sticking where we’re pressed together. I nose along his jaw, kissing the corner of his mouth, his temple, anywhere I can reach without pulling out of him yet.
“You really do drive me insane,” I whisper, voice rough with the aftermath. “Do you know that?”
He hums, lazy and content, stroking his fingers through the hair at the back of my neck. “Mm. Good insane?”
I huff out a laugh, shaky and unsteady, pressing my forehead to his. “The kind I can’t walk away from.”
The words tumble out before I can catch them, and my throat tightens instantly. Too close. Too much. I smooth my hand over his ribs, slow and steady, like I can soothe the weight of what I didn’t say.
His eyes search mine, soft and knowing, but he doesn’t push. He just leans up to kiss me, sweet and lingering, like he heard every word I didn’t let out.
And maybe he did.
Then he wiggles his ass deliberately, the smug little bastard, making me groan low in my throat because I’m still buried deep inside him. His grin blooms, wicked and sunshiney all at once.
“If you keep making me cum while you’re still inside me,” he says, sing-song, “I might just let you stay, Calder.”
I choke out a laugh, half a growl, half a surrender, dragging my hand down his side and gripping his hip hard enough to anchor myself. “Princess, don’t tempt me.”
But he already has. He always does.