31. Emma #2
His groan in response was a mix of a laugh and surrender. He kissed me harder and the angle changed – his thigh pushed between mine, and I couldn’t help but rock into it.
“Bossy,” he said against my lips.
“Correct,” I said.
His hand slid down slowly, his fingers gliding over my hip and the curve of my butt, squeezing. Then his hand slid down the back of my thigh and he pulled me closer. His warm palm went up my trousers, tracing up, until his knuckles brushed the waistband.
I swallowed. “Max…”
“Mm?” His breath warmed my jaw as he kissed down my throat again, lingering there like he had all the time in the world.
“Don’t you dare go slowly.”
His laugh was a low, happy sound. “Baby, you told me to pin you against a wall. You didn’t say anything about speed.”
He slipped his hand higher, his fingers sliding under the waistband, brushing against bare skin with rough fingertips. The lace brushed against my skin and I let my head tip back. My eyes fluttered shut. I might have cursed. Softly. Britishly.
“Language,” he teased, and then his mouth was on my pulse again, kissing me too softly for how mad he was making me.
He played with the edge of the lace, making me push against his hand without meaning to.
“You’re excruciating,” I whispered, which earned me a satisfied hum and an even slower sweep of his thumb.
His mouth turned into a wicked grin. “Baby, this is me taking my time.”
The bastard.
He moved the lace out of the way and, oh my God, slid a finger inside me. Slow. Intentional. As if he was tasting every reaction.
My head hit the wall with a soft thud, and my nails dug into his shoulders because I needed something, anything, to hold on to. The stretch was sharp in the best way, my body gripping him tight.
“Max…”
He didn’t stop. He pressed closer, his hot mouth on my neck, and gave me more. Another finger. Curling deep. Steady. Unrelenting. He wasn’t just moving; he was exploring, tracing every way I unravelled for him.
“Look at me,” he told me, his other hand gripping my chin, turning my face back towards his. His eyes were feral, devouring every stutter of my breath as his thumb circled harder and his fingers thrust deeper.
“Max, please,” I said. I hated how my voice broke and how desperate I sounded.
“Please what?” he whispered, his breath brushing my lips. He didn’t wait for an answer. He pressed harder and deeper, and his mouth twisted into a smug half-grin. I was shaking in his grip.
The pressure snapped. My whole body locked up and then shattered. My cry was muffled by his mouth as he kissed me through it. I shook in his hands, clenching hard around his fingers. Everything dissolved into white heat while he held me steady, relentless until I fell against the wall, wrecked.
For a long time, all I could do was breathe. In and out. The night came back in bits and pieces: music from far away, a bottle rattling in the wind, and the feeling of his chest rising under my hands.
He rested his forehead against mine and smiled like an idiot. “So… we like walls.”
I laughed shakily. “We like walls.”
“And alleys,” he added, sounding smug.
“Don’t push it.” I ran my hand over his jaw and felt the scratch of stubble. “You’re very pleased with yourself.”
“Sorry for giving you a five-star service.” He kissed the tip of my nose just to mess with me. “Also, for the record, you’re the one who said ‘pin me’.”
“Semantics.” I pushed him back a little so I could fix my trousers and try to regain my dignity. “We should leave before someone comes down here and you have to explain why you glued your date to the wall.”
“Just so you know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I’m still not making any promises.”
I swallowed, feeling warm and reckless. “Fine. But you can make one small promise.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Promise me you’ll pin me again next time. It doesn’t have to be a wall.”
His eyes warmed. “That one I can do.”
“Good,” I said, pulling him back towards the street. My heart was still racing. “And maybe next time, don’t be so… painfully slow.”
He laughed, low and happy, and kissed my temple as we stepped out into the light of the main road. “Not a chance.”
“Arse.”
He squeezed my hand. “Your arse, Em.”
We walked for a while, not saying much. Every breath came out in a little cloud. My heart still thudded from the alley, but underneath all that adrenaline, something else had started to creep in. Softer. Harder to name.
Max gave our joined hands a gentle swing, like he was making sure I hadn’t slipped away. “Em?” he said, the smile fading a little from his face.
I just hummed. Not sure what might come out if I tried to talk.
He stared at the pavement. “Back at the bar, when you said all that stuff. About leaving–”
My stomach went tight. There it was. The thing that had been sitting between my ribs all night.
“I’m not going to act like it didn’t get to me,” he went on. “Or that it doesn’t scare me. But…” He let out a breath, white in the cold air. “I’m still choosing you.”
Those words hit me harder than anything he’d done in that alley. There was no pressure. No plea. Just the truth, impossible to ignore.
“Max,” I said, but my voice snagged on everything I hadn’t said yet.
He looked at me then, and the heat from earlier was gone. This was softer, almost careful. “You don’t have to make up your mind tonight. I’m not asking for that. Just – don’t run before we even get started. Let me try with you.”
Something twisted in my chest – warm, sharp, a mess of fear and wanting so tangled up I couldn’t pull them apart. “I’ll try,” I whispered. And honestly, that felt like the riskiest thing I’d promised all night.