Chapter Thirty-Four Max
Chapter Thirty-Four
Max
My cock twitches as I count down each second from thirty. The sound of conversation and clinking utensils fades as I navigate the hallway. I reach the second door on the left and turn the knob.
Gemma stands in the middle of the modest bedroom, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her legs are pressed together, shifting as if she’s desperate for relief.
Yeah, she wants me. It’s written all over her gorgeous face. Her eyes are wild—pupils wide with desire. The blush that stained her cheeks earlier now trails down her neck and disappears beneath her blouse.
She looks desperate. And completely perfect.
“This is a bad idea,” she says. Her words land, but her body tells a different story.
I take measured steps toward her, eliminating the air between us.
“Then tell me to stop,” I challenge, dropping my voice. “Tell me this isn’t what you’ve needed since I touched you under the table.”
Her eyes flash. “I hate you so much.”
The lie makes me smile. “Show me how much you hate me.”
Her back meets the dresser, leaving her nowhere to go. I cage her in with my hands firmly planted on either side of her hips. Her pulse flutters at the base of her throat. I haven’t even touched her yet, but my heart races with the thoughts of what I want to do with her.
When we have time, I tell myself. Right now, we don’t. Every second counts, and I don’t plan to waste them.
“Someone might come looking for us,” she whispers, making no move to push me away. Her hands find my chest, her fingers splaying as she toys with the expensive fabric.
“Then we’d better make this quick,” I murmur, closing the last inch of space.
Our lips meet with matched hunger. The kiss is desperate, messy, and hot. A groan rumbles low in my chest as she drags me closer. I open for her, and our tongues slide together. She tastes so damn sweet.
My hands move to her arse, squeezing the soft flesh as I grind my cock against her. She whimpers, rocking and rubbing her hips, chasing friction.
I break the kiss to drag my mouth down her neck. One hand slides into her hair, twisting it through my fist and giving it a firm tug, baring her neck to me. I lay a trail of wet kisses along her throat, nipping and sucking as her warm breath stutters against my cheek.
Time falls away, silencing the rest of the world until there’s nothing left but the sensation of her skin against mine.
“Take me out,” I say.
Her hands fall to my belt, dragging my zipper down and exposing my hard cock. Her thumb sweeps over my crown, rubbing the pre-cum over the head. I bite into her neck and soothe the mark with my tongue.
Her delicate hand wraps around my shaft with just the right amount of pressure, pumping me from tip to base.
My balls grow heavy as desire coils around me like smoke.
I release my hold on her hair to hike her skirt up to her waist. She widens her stance ever so slightly, and I accept her unspoken invitation, pushing her pathetic excuse for panties to the side and sliding my fingers through her slit.
I tsk. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already a mess.”
“I need you now, Max,” she grits out.
I squeeze her left arse cheek with my free hand and pull my fingers out.
“Put me in,” I say, my voice rough.
Her gaze drops as I wrap my hand around hers, guiding both our grips down my cock as we drag it through her weeping seam.
“Eyes on me when I’m filling you.”
Her eyes snap to mine as I breach her entrance. Shifting my hold, I hook my hands beneath her knees, lifting her. Her arse hovers just off the dresser as I bury myself deep inside her hot channel.
She tilts her hips, pushing out her tits as I rut into her—deep and relentless.
“You feel so fucking good,” I pant.
“Faster, Max. Please,” she begs.
This isn’t like last night. Last night we took our time, savoring and indulging in each other. This is rough and dirty. Greedy. We’re both taking. This isn’t simply a want—it’s a need.
I snap my hips and the slick sound of our bodies clapping together echoes through the small space.
My grip tightens as I pick up the pace, drawing back before slamming to the hilt, over and over.
“You f-feel so good,” she moans, her voice a string of breathy whimpers that rise into a sweet siren song, drowning out the blood pounding in my ears.
As if compelled, I thrust harder, muscles straining as I fuck her senseless. My eyes are locked on the bounce of her tits and the way her mouth falls open in perfect bliss. My balls tighten, becoming heavy, and my cock swells. I’m desperate to come.
I wring every drop of pleasure from us. Nothing else exists—all the reasons why this is a terrible idea—they all evaporate into nothing. None of it matters. Because what could possibly justify starving ourselves of this? Of something this good? This consuming?
Her body takes every urgent thrust, giving in to me completely. My hands keep her steady and spread wide open as I drive myself into her, hard flesh meeting tender in perfect, reckless rhythm.
A fine sheen of sweat clings to my brow, but I don’t care. I burn for this. For her.
“No one touches you but me, do they?” I ask.
“No one,” she gasps.
“Fuck. You feel incredible, sweetheart.”
We’re both lost in each other’s bodies and I’m finding it difficult to hold back my release.
“I want you to come for me,” I say. “Look at us.”
She joins me, dropping her gaze to where our bodies join—my cock disappearing inside her.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her. “You take me so well.”
Her arm curls around my neck, pulling me in and gripping me tight. Her lips seek mine and I happily oblige. Our tongues tangle as we both edge closer.
She heaves a shallow breath against my mouth. “I’m going to—I’m—”
“Me too, baby,” I groan.
“I want all of it,” she begs.
Her words are the end of me. I dive off the cliff, grinding my molars at the same time she climaxes. Her walls convulse around my rigid shaft, milking me. I bear down, gripping her tight as I expel thick, hot ropes of cum, filling her up.
Every shudder and quiver rushes through me like molten lava as we come down from our high. My thrusts turn lazy, pumping languidly to ensure she gets every last drop.
I press my lips to her forehead as we catch our breaths.
I kneel before her, holding her skirt up and watching in awe as our combined liquid trickles down her inner thigh.
Leaning in, I kiss one knee, then the other, lowering her skirt back into place.
“Feel good?” I ask. My voice comes out rougher than I intended.
“It’ll do for now,” she says, smirking down at me.
Brat.
Reality slowly creeps back, pulling me from our haze. My thoughts race to the other guests. How long have we been gone? Has anyone noticed our absence?
“We should get back out there,” I say, reluctantly pulling away to stand.
Gemma nods, smoothing over her rumpled skirt. “Right. Yes.” She turns to fix her smudged lipstick in the hanging mirror while I straighten my shirt, refolding the sleeves.
“You go first. I’ll wait a minute or two, then follow,” I suggest.
Her jade eyes find mine in the mirror, and something vulnerable flashes across her features.
“As hot as that was, we should probably be more mindful next time,” she says.
Guilt spears through me. And it’s deserved. I did this to her. This was my doing, my impulsivity. Not hers. If someone—especially Anna—caught us, she would be devastated.
This wasn’t the time, and this wasn’t the place.
“Agreed,” I say. This was rash and careless. It felt right, but the aftermath could have ended terribly for both of us.
Gemma steps toward the door and I reach out and clasp her wrist, stopping her. Her gaze drops to where my fingers encircle her and a frown creases her brow.
“I’m so sorry for putting you at risk like that,” I say, my tone earnest. “We shouldn’t have done this at all.”
Hurt flickers across her face. She pulls away and I see her rebuilding her defenses, brick by brick. The moment her guard rises, she tears her hand from my grasp.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Browne,” she says, her voice cold and cutting. “It was nothing. This”—she gestures between us—“is nothing, remember?”
The words land like a bucket of ice water, and I mentally kick myself for screwing up so spectacularly.
“Gemma, wait,” I say, stepping forward.
“No. Don’t bother. I’ll see you on Monday,” she says.
I watch as she swings the door open and walks through it without sparing me a second glance.
Fuck.