Chapter Twenty Max
Chapter Twenty
Max
We stand in complete silence as I hit the button for the penthouse.
The moment the lift doors close, I’m on her.
I slam her back against the wall, my hands threading through her hair, tilting her head to mine.
She grabs fistfuls of my shirt, her fingers digging into the fabric as she pulls me closer, just as desperate as I am.
When our lips finally collide, everything else falls away.
Any nagging thoughts of the hotel, of Anna’s disapproval, flicker out as Gemma opens her mouth to let me in. The kiss is wild and urgent.
She rolls her hips, rubbing against my painfully hard erection. I groan at the contact, pressing further into her. I’ve spent two weeks imagining how she would taste, how she would sound, and reality is infinitely better than fantasy. I need to be inside her.
A loud ding sounds through the lift as the doors slowly open.
I clasp Gemma’s hand and lead her toward my penthouse, flicking on the light.
Closing the door, Gemma surveys our surroundings.
“Max,” she says, her voice breathy. “This is where you live?”
I come up behind her, kissing her exposed, elegant neck. “You should see the view.”
I follow as she pulls away and saunters over to the expanse of windows overlooking Hyde Park’s stunning greenery and the historic London architecture lining Brompton Road. The lights of the city cast a golden glow across her dainty features.
“No wonder you work from home most days. I wouldn’t want to leave this place either.”
“The office has its perks.”
“Oh?” she says innocently, fluttering her lashes.
I like this fun, playful side of her. I chuckle and she smiles, turning back to the windows.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, swirling her around and pulling her close. Gemma wastes no time reaching to unbutton my shirt.
“Fuck, I want you,” I growl.
Her cherry lipstick is smeared and her hair is wild, her lips kiss-swollen and her eyes sparkling with desire. She’s never looked more alluring than she does right now, undone and wanting.
Our lips collide once more and I snake a hand around her, finding the zipper of her skirt, dragging it down. The fabric pools at her feet as she pushes my shirt off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.
Once we’re both undressed, we stand in nothing but our underwear, Gemma still in her heels. My gaze roams over her, appreciating every curve and dip of her soft, creamy skin, made all the more enticing by the black lace that wraps around her most sacred parts—like a delectable gift.
“I knew you’d be exquisite,” I say, my voice rough.
“I know,” she says with a confident smirk. I want to devour her.
I huff a laugh as I spin her around, pulling her back against my chest, my arousal digging into her arse. We both groan at the contact.
My hands skim the front of her legs, climbing higher with deliberate speed, and she shivers beneath my touch.
When I reach the juncture of her thighs, I trace her lace thong with my fingertips, feeling the damp fabric.
She exhales sharply as I bypass her center, continuing until I reach the softness of her breasts.
“This bra is utterly pointless,” I say. It’s true—the material barely covers her, the fullness of her breasts spilling over the top.
“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on these tits since your button popped off during your pitch. This lace has been haunting me, you little tease,” I say against her ear.
She hums, and I work her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pulling and pinching.
Reaching back, she wraps her hand around me, stroking over the fabric of my briefs. I’m impossibly hard.
“Step forward. Hands against the glass and bend over,” I command.
She obeys without hesitation, pressing her palms flat against the cool glass. Her back arches, hips swaying with a teasing shimmy that makes my breath hitch.
I drag my hand over the curve of her pale arse. “Open wider, sweetheart.”
She steps her feet farther apart, granting me access, and the sight of her—bent over, heels still on—is enough to unravel me.
Leaning in, I kiss along her spine, my free hand gripping her hip as I slide the lace aside, baring her completely.
I run my fingers through her slit, groaning when I feel how ready she is for me.
“Sopping wet, aren’t you?”
“Just touch me, Max,” she says, her voice husky.
I oblige, teasing her with my fingers, circling them slowly over her clit, just enough to make her shift but not enough to satisfy.
“Look at you,” I murmur. “So ready, so fucking desperate.”
Her answer is a soft whimper, her hips rocking back and forth, chasing my touch. I give in, slipping two fingers inside her, slow and knuckle deep, while my other hand grips her waist to hold her steady.
She clenches around me, and I groan against her back, already imagining how it will feel when I finally sink my cock into her.
My thumb finds her clit and I start moving my fingers in tandem, dropping kisses against her naked back as she fucks my hand. Her body arches into every touch, greedy for more.
“More, Max,” she demands.
“What do you need?” I ask, wanting to hear her say it.
“Another finger.”
I slip a third finger in, curling it to hit that perfect spot inside her and relish the way she rocks over my hand before nearly bouncing up and down, chasing her release.
I can’t hold back anymore. The sight of her standing at the window, legs spread, tits out for any onlookers to see, almost has me exploding in my briefs. The thought of being watched, of someone witnessing her pleasure, seeing what I’m doing to her, sends a surge of possessive fire through me.
I drop to my knees between her legs, burying my face in her drenched heat. Her head drops forward, and she releases a soft cry that goes straight to my cock.
“Are you going to come on my fingers and tongue for everyone to see, Gemma?” I growl against her, the vibration making her shudder.
“Oh God, yes. Don’t stop,” she whimpers, maintaining her hands on the glass.
I indulge, lapping at her slit, drinking up her arousal like a starved man. She tastes better than any whisky I’ve had—richer, more complex and intoxicating. Her sweet scent and musky flavor coat my tongue, and I’m done for. This is all I want to taste. Forever.
I continue to stroke and pump and lick when—
“Ah! I’m going to—Max, I’m going—”
I don’t let up as her inner walls squeeze my fingers. She saturates my hand as she comes apart so magnificently. She cries and moans, and I lap up every drop of her release until her legs begin to tremble.
I release her and stand, but she doesn’t move.
Good girl.
“You did so well for me,” I say, smoothing a hand over her arse cheek. “Do you want more?”
She peers over her shoulder, hair tousled, skin flushed, eyes glossy as she bites her lower lip, nodding.
I reel back and deliver a sharp spank. Her porcelain skin blooms the most beautiful pink under my palm.
I continue, alternating between firm slaps and gentle caresses, running my fingers between her cheeks and down to her core, where she’s impossibly wet.
I stroke her swollen clit, feeling her quiver before withdrawing to land another strike against her reddening skin.
By the time I’ve reached five spanks, she’s whimpering and moaning, crying out beautifully.
I’m in awe of her beauty—how she welcomes each strike fervently.
How she’s submitting to me. It’s like she was made specifically for me, crafted to fit every dark desire I’ve ever had.
I need to feel her—bare. No barriers. Nothing between us.
“Do you want my cock?” I ask her, my voice low.
“So badly,” she says.
“Then come and get it,” I tease.
She spins on her heels, her confidence taking over as she plants her palm firmly against my bare chest. Her shoes click against the wooden floor as she walks me back toward my sofa, each step slow and purposeful, her lips curved into a wry smirk.
I watch, enraptured as her hips sway with each step.
I drop into the cushions, legs spread wide, as she settles between my thighs.
The power between us shifts immediately.
She holds all the cards now. I’m completely at her mercy.
On her knees, she reaches for the elastic of my briefs, and I lift myself to help her peel them off, my aching cock springing free and standing proud.
Her eyes widen momentarily, so slightly that I almost miss it.
“Like what you see?” I ask, arching a brow.
She shrugs—the brat. “It’s fine.”
I huff a laugh as she wraps one hand around my base. Her touch is feather-light at first and it drives me insane. I need it hard and rough.
She looks up at me through her dark lashes.
“Is this what you’ve been thinking about?” she asks, her breath warm against my skin.
“Among other things,” I manage, my voice strained as she begins to stroke me slowly. “Christ, Gemma.”
She holds my gaze as she leans forward, her tongue darting out to taste the pre-cum on my tip.
The sight of this fierce woman on her knees might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. When her crimson lips finally wrap around me, taking me into the wet heat of her mouth, I grip the sofa cushions to refrain from instinctively thrusting up.
This is her game now.
Instead, I thread my fingers through her hair, gripping tight as she takes me deeper. Each slide of her lips and swirl of her tongue has my muscles tightening, pressure building in the base of my spine.
“Fuck, just like that,” I groan, watching her take me. “Your mouth is perfect.”
She hums around me, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me, and I know I need to stop this soon or else—
“Where do you want my come? Your mouth, your tits, or your pussy?”
“My mouth,” she mumbles around me.
She increases her pace and I’m helpless as she pushes me further toward the edge. My grip in her hair tightens as every muscle in my body tenses.
“Gemma, I’m close,” I warn, giving her one last chance to pull away.
Instead, she takes me deeper, looking up with those challenging green eyes, tears falling down her cheeks, and that’s what does it. With a guttural groan, I come hard, spilling down her throat as pleasure rips through me. She swallows everything, never letting up until I’m completely empty.
When she finally pulls back, she wipes her lips with the back of her hand, a satisfied glint in her eyes. I pull her up onto my lap, claiming her mouth in a punishing kiss, tasting myself on her tongue.
That was, hands down, the best blow job I’ve ever received.
“I intend to have you every way possible before the sun rises,” I say. I’m only just getting started with her.
She leans back, pats me on the shoulder like I’m a dog, and slips off my lap. “Maybe another time.”
My brows furrow as I watch her pick up her clothing to get dressed.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my ego bruising with every step she takes.
“I should go,” she says, zipping up her skirt.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, standing and making my way over to her.
She—I shit you not—fakes a yawn. “It’s late. This has been fun, but I’m exhausted.”
“You’re serious?” I say, my arms spread wide as she struts to the door. I know I’ve just blown a load, but I’m ready to go again.
“As a heart attack. See you tomorrow.” She turns, shooting me a wink. “Sweet dreams.” She swings open the door and slams it closed behind her.
I’m left stark naked, in the middle of the living room, sporting a semi.
Did she seriously just leave?
I chuckle to myself, shaking my head in amusement as I rub my hand over my stubble.
The cheeky little shit.
For the first time in years, a woman has left me wanting more.
And somehow, I’m not even mad about it.