Chapter Forty-Nine Max
Chapter Forty-Nine
Max
The drive back to her place passes in a blur. I count down the minutes until she’s falling apart beneath me.
The whole evening was perfect—Gemma, the wine, the food, the soul-nourishing conversation—everything.
I told Gemma she could have something in return for dinner, and at this rate, I’ll give her whatever the hell she wants.
When we finally arrive at her flat, she flings her clutch across the room and kicks off her heels, groaning as she stretches her toes.
My eyes are drawn to a large purple object on the floor.
“Is that a tentacle dildo?” I ask.
She follows my eyes. “Yes.”
She doesn’t bother to elaborate.
“Come, sit. I want to do your cards,” she says, patting the spot on the sofa next to her.
“I don’t know if I want to risk it after what might have happened to your neighbor.” I smirk, enjoying the way her eyes narrow.
“Just sit, will you?”
I join her and watch as she shuffles the cards, cutting the deck in half and shuffling them again. Pulling three cards, she places them on the coffee table face up.
The first one reads Death.
“What does that mean?” I ask, skeptical. I’m not a superstitious man, but she seems to be enjoying herself.
“It’s not as ominous as it sounds,” she replies calmly. “It doesn’t have to mean literal death in tarot. It’s about transformation, endings that make way for new beginnings—letting go of what no longer serves you.”
Okay. I guess that resonates.
“Do you do this a lot?” I ask.
She hums. “Every day. I find it’s just another form of reflection. I think you can find meaning in any of the cards.” She shrugs. “Sometimes when I feel a little stuck, they help me look at things from another perspective.”
She points to the middle card. “The Lovers. This doesn’t only represent love, but a decision. Usually between heart and head. It asks you to be honest about what you want.”
I lean closer, breathing in her jasmine perfume. “And the last card?”
Gemma’s knee brushes mine. Her eyes flick up and hold my gaze as she says, “The Tower.”
I press my lips to her neck as she explains, feeling her pulse accelerate beneath my mouth. Her breathing becomes labored.
“It represents…” She tilts her head to give me better access. “Sudden upheaval. It’s about”—she inhales sharply when my teeth graze her silky skin—“truths that can’t be ignored.”
I hum, running my hand up the inside of her leg, cupping her bare pussy.
“I want this,” I growl.
She parts her knees without hesitation, allowing me better access. “You got your dinner. Now give me what I want,” she says.
I don’t waste a second. Lunging forward, I shove the coffee table away and settle between her legs, flipping up the fabric of her dress.
I hold her pussy open and my mouth waters.
“Fuck, Gemma…” I drag my thumb through her wet seam, circling her clit. Her hips arch. “I’ve been wanting to taste this all night. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”
“You,” she breathes.
I dive in.
My tongue flattens as I lick a firm stripe up her center, gathering her taste on my tongue. Sweet and musky and addictive. Her legs clamp together, locking me in place, and I moan against her, devouring her.
She cries out, reaching forward to tug on my hair, pushing her perfect pussy into my face.
I worship her, licking and stroking and sucking until she’s a whimpering mess underneath me.
Sliding two digits inside her, I curl them just right, rubbing her sweet spot as I circle my tongue around her clit.
“Yes! Just like that!” she cries.
I obey, rubbing and pumping in and out of her sopping core until she’s bucking. Pulling out, I drag her juices lower—down between her cheeks, spreading it over her tight little hole until she’s glistening for me there too.
“Fuck, baby,” I rasp, smearing her arousal over her arse, getting it nice and ready.
“More,” she begs, rocking her hips.
I press a finger against her arse, slowly easing it in. She gasps as I latch my mouth onto her pussy, jamming my tongue into her, fucking her with it while I loosen her arsehole.
She’s losing her mind. Crying out and clenching around me like she’s unable to stop. And then she explodes, my name tearing from her throat like it’s the only word she remembers.
I don’t stop—I can’t. I tongue her deeper, reveling in the feel of every flutter and squeeze of her hot channel as she falls apart around me. We’re both making the filthiest, sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard.
Her voice cracks as she rides out her release before her body tremors and jolts, overwhelmed with sensation. I pull back just enough to see her beautiful face—cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, lips swollen, as if she’s been biting them.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life. And when she slides down my body and gives it back to me with just as much hunger, I’m done for.
Speechless.
After the delicious worshipping of each other’s bodies and the raw honesty we’ve shared today, I can’t imagine surrendering to another’s touch again. I don’t want to.
“Have breakfast with me tomorrow,” I say, knowing that just having her tonight isn’t going to be enough. I surprise myself with how much I need her to say yes.
“Breakfast? That would require you to sleep over. We have work tomorrow,” she says, and I can hear the caution in her voice.
“I know. I’ll work from home. No one will know.” Her skin pebbles as I stroke her back, keeping my touch light.
“You know how I feel about sleepovers,” she whispers, her wariness now gone.
“Would you change your mind if I told you we didn’t need to sleep?” I ask, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
“And what exactly would you suggest we do instead?”
I smile against her skin, rolling her onto her back and kissing my way down her body. “I have a few ideas.”
She lifts her arm, pretending to check an imaginary watch. “Hmm. I’ve got someone else coming over in ten minutes. You should probably go.” Her mouth curves into a beaming smile.
I tickle her sides until she bursts out laughing, squirming beneath me. “Take that back.”
“Never!” she squeals between giggles.
When I finally release her, we both go still, studying each other. Our laughter fades.
“Fine,” she whispers.
I arch an eyebrow in question.
“You can stay.”
When she parts her legs for me, I show her just how grateful I am.
Hours later, I lie there watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her lashes rest gently against her cheeks as she drifts off. A blond curtain of hair spills across my chest, and her leg is slung over my hip.
This woman has marked me in ways I can’t explain. And as I listen to her soft breathing in the darkness, I know that I only ever want to be hers.