Chapter Twenty-Nine Max
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Max
I help guide her until she’s hovering just above my cock, the angry head notched perfectly against her entrance. I’m so desperate to feel her—all of her—that I’m fighting the fiery urge to slam her down onto me and fuck her senseless.
We groan in unison as she finally starts to sink, inch by inch, her tight heat swallowing me whole.
“Fuck, Gemma,” I grind out. “You were made for me.”
Her palms flatten against my chest, then she hooks her toes under my shins for leverage and begins to move. She starts with slow, deliberate circles. Every downward grind has me sinking deeper, stretching her.
I can’t wait to come inside her, claim her like she’s my property.
She moves as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. And I bet she bloody does. Those needy little cries, the way her perfect tits bounce each time she sinks down onto me, the way her soft belly moves with her, the way her head tips back, chanting my name as if I’m her very own sacred vow.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, my hands gripping her hips.
She smirks, her cheeks stained the most glorious pink. Her hands slide further up my chest to land on my shoulders as she picks up her pace.
“You feel so, so good,” she moans, her eyes hooded.
I can feel every ridge, every curve, every inch of her perfect little pussy as it grips me like a vise.
Grasping her hips, I pound into her, meeting her stroke for stroke. The sound of skin slapping together fills the large room, echoing off the walls as I thrust into her.
“Ah! Max! I think you’re touching my cervix.”
“I am, baby, I can feel you,” I grit out.
“Do you like watching me ride you?” she asks, breathless.
“I would frame this moment if I could,” I say. “You’re so gorgeous like this.”
I don’t just like it. I’m obsessed. The image of her riding me has scored itself into my memory. Now I’ve had her, I know I’ll never get enough.
She feels as perfect as I imagined. All those nights I spent jerking myself off to the image of her, doing exactly this, taking her pleasure from me. Falling apart for me.
I keep my pace, releasing a hand to reach for her perfect breast. She gasps as I knead and squeeze, pinching and pulling her taut, rosy nipple.
“I love your cock,” she breathes.
“Show me,” I say raggedly. “Show me how much you love coming all over my cock.”
I swap out her nipple for her ripe clit, sucking my thumb and pressing it against her hot little bud. She’s absolutely saturated.
“I don’t need any lube, do I? You’re soaked, you greedy girl.” I rub her while she grinds herself all over me. Her fingernails dig into my skin, sure to leave a mark, but I don’t care. I want them all.
“Ah!” she cries, tipping her head back. My eyes trace the delicate curve of her swan-like neck, imagining pressing my hand there to feel her pulse flutter. Gripping until she sees stars before releasing the pressure for her to come for me.
“You make me so wet,” she says, her voice coming out in breathy moans.
She lifts herself up, just enough for the tip of my cock to almost fall out, before dropping back down with a wet slap.
“Yeah. Just like that,” I hiss, my hands burrowing into her soft flesh as she continues building her rhythm.
Her tits sway and her breath catches as her movements slow from exertion, but she doesn’t let up.
I can tell that the fire in my eyes sparks something inside her, spurring her on.
The sounds we’re making are obscene. Debauched. I’m completely at her mercy.
She releases my shoulders, scratching a line down my stomach before cupping her breasts, pinching herself. She breathes and pants as she tugs and rubs her tits, pressing them together, her eyes closed in ecstasy as she bounces up and down.
I can’t take it anymore. I need to pound into that sweet little pussy and fill her with my cum.
I sit up in a rush so we’re chest to chest and catch her whimper in my mouth. One hand grips the nape of her neck, the other slips to her lower back, pulling her to me as I drive up hard.
“Max,” she pants.
“I’m going to fuck you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow,” I growl, my forehead pressed to hers.
“I’m gonna come!” she shouts, her body trembling. She clings to me as her pussy throbs around my dick, squeezing and milking me like she needs it as much as I do.
“Yeah?” I whisper, biting her bottom lip. “You gonna come all over my cock?”
She nods frantically as I hammer into her.
“I’m coming,” she whispers. Her mouth parts in a silent cry as she jacks me off with her throbbing pussy.
My jaw tightens as pressure builds at the base of my spine, and I know I’m about to come with her. My hips falter as every muscle inside me tightens.
“Gemma,” I grunt into her neck. “I’m going to come like this.”
“Give it to me,” she begs. “Don’t hold back. I want every drop.”
Christ. That mouth of hers is as foul as mine.
Her eyes are fierce and penetrating as she focuses on me, like a plea. She almost looks surprised as I hold her close while she surrenders to the storm inside her.
Unable to hold back any longer, I let go. Thick spurts of cum paint her insides as she moans, grinding and shuddering as she milks me.
I claim her mouth with mine, tongues tangling as I fuck her through it. We kiss and crash and come untethered together, like waves breaking against the shore.
It feels so natural, so human, so right.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I assure her, my voice low.
The air shifts, turning thick. The vulnerability of what we just did catches me off guard. It’s tender and fragile. Nothing has ever been more perfect than this woman coming apart in my arms. With me inside her.
Seeing her like this… it’s the most honest she’s been with me.
“So,” she says. “That was…”
“Intense,” I finish for her.
“I was going to say adequate, but whatever works.”
I laugh. “Is lying a perpetual thing with you? Should I be concerned?”
“Someone needs to stop your head from disappearing right up your own bum. Soon you’ll have more ego than sense.”
I laugh, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. Just as quickly as the tenderness settles over us, I feel her adjust in my lap. She pulls back ever so slightly, turning her head away.
“This doesn’t change anything,” she murmurs. Her voice carries an undercurrent of doubt, and I’m right there with her.
I crook a smile. “Are you falling for me, Clarke?”
She scoffs. “Yeah, right. The only thing falling around here are my standards.”
I hold my hand over my heart. “Really? You’re going to say that after everything we’ve shared? You wound me.”
“You’ll get over it,” she replies, her lips curling.
She shifts to get off me.
I reach for her wrist, feeling her delicate pulse beneath my thumb.
“Can I offer you a glass of water? More wine?”
For purely selfish reasons, I don’t want her to leave.
Not like last time. Something about her walking out that door feels wrong tonight.
I never ask women to stay after we fuck.
But knowing I’ll see her in the office on Monday—and at April’s engagement dinner tomorrow—makes me feel like we could benefit by forming a friendship.
She’s my sister’s best friend. I know this is a superficial arrangement, but I don’t want her to feel like I’m using her, like I don’t value her or what she’s given me.
She exhales. “Sure. Wine would be nice. Thanks.”
I follow her into the hallway, naked, watching as she collects her trench, wrapping it around herself.
“I have clothes,” I say, rounding the island and twisting open the wine bottle. “What do you need? Joggers? A jumper?”
She cocks a brow. “You want me to wear your clothes?”
I shrug. “They’d look good on you.”
“I have clothes,” she says.
“Gemma, you came here wearing the equivalent of dental floss.”
“You didn’t seem to mind my dental floss an hour ago.”
“Believe me, I love your dental floss. But throw something comfortable on, something warm. I promise, you can put your floss back on later.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Fine. But not because I want to. I’m only accepting your offer because I don’t feel like having lace wedged up my crack right now.”
“Are you always so alluring?” I ask, pouring another two glasses of wine.
She flashes a smile and winks. “Only for you.”
I hand her the wine and lead her to my bedroom, pulling open a drawer. “Take your pick.”
She rummages through my jumpers, eventually selecting a well-worn NYU jumper. “NYU? How predictably elite of you.”
“I got restless and wanted to get out of London,” I say, my voice casual.
I hold her wine and watch her sultry hips sway as she disappears into the bathroom. “Really? Why? London isn’t that bad,” she calls from behind the closed door.
I lean, one hand braced against the top of the doorframe. “Our upbringing, I suppose. I got so used to moving from city to city for Dad’s work when I was a kid, well before Anna came along. It felt constricting staying in one place for so long. I got itchy feet.”
I hear the toilet flush followed by the pitter-patter of footsteps against tiles, then she swings the door open, freezing.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Max. Yes, you’ve got a body that belongs on the cover of Men’s Health and a dick that deserves its own Instagram, but could you please put some trousers on?”
I’m rooted on the spot. Her half compliment goes way over my head, because there’s something about the way she looks in my clothes that sets off an inherent need to claim her all over again.
It’s primal.
The long sleeves fall past her dainty fingertips, the hem reaching just above her knees. Her hair is mussed, makeup slightly smudged, and she smells like sex.
She looks more breathtaking now than when she arrived in that emerald number.
“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious as I regard her.
“Nothing,” I say, stepping back to put some much-needed distance between us. I finally reach for my joggers, pulling them on. “Better? Or should I find a turtleneck too?”