Chapter 42 #2
And then, his lips are on mine, crushing my bottom lip hungrily, his stubble rough against my chin.
I taste mint and coffee and something uniquely him—something that makes my knees weak and my pulse race.
His hands slide into my hair, fingertips pressing against my scalp, and I know now that what he's saying is the truth.
The way his breath catches when I press closer, the slight tremor in his strong hands—he wants me.
And, god, I want him so desperately my skin feels electric wherever we touch.
His breath is hot against my ear as he whispers, "Does this feel like I just want any warm body?
" Strong hands grip my waist, lifting me onto the cool, polished marble tabletop.
The stone chills my bare skin as he gently pushes my knees apart.
His fingertips trace delicate patterns up my thighs before his lips follow the same path, his stubble lightly scratching the sensitive skin there.
When he finds that perfect spot where my pulse throbs beneath the surface, I can't help the sound that escapes me.
Heat blooms deep in my belly, radiating outward until even my fingertips tingle with wanting him.
Is this really happening? Does my fake-husband—with his chiseled jawline and those impossibly magnetic eyes that seem to drink me in—really feel this way about me?
I never thought it possible. But, as his warm lips and soft fingertips make their deliberate way up my bare thighs, inch by agonizingly delicious inch, leaving goosebumps in their wake, I find that I don't care if I'm just a warm body or somebody he actually desires.
Because I desire him—the sandalwood scent of his skin, the weight of his body pressing against mine.
Every cell in my body is tingling like an electric wire in the rain, a current of pleasure threatening to short-circuit my thoughts completely.
Now he's kissing me again, his soft thumbs brushing my cheekbones while his fingers thread into my hair at the nape of my neck.
His palms cradle my face with the reverent care of someone holding a bird with a broken wing.
His lips, soft yet demanding, press against mine with an urgency that makes my knees weak.
They taste of Pacific salt and something darker, richer—coffee maybe, or just him.
I breathe in his exhale, cedar and citrus cologne filling my lungs as he draws me against the solid wall of his chest, the expensive cotton of his shirt bunching between my fingers as I grip it, desperate to eliminate even the molecule of air separating us.
His fingers work at my buttons as his lips find mine, his touch whispering across my skin.
The path of his mouth traces from my lips to my throat, then lower still as the fabric falls away.
A sound escapes me—something primal and wanting—and I find myself holding him with my legs, anchoring him to me as though he might dissolve into the night if I let go.
Max's voice is barely above a whisper as he undresses me, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Still think I only want a warm body?" The cool marble countertop presses against my back as his lips trace a path down my neck, across my collarbone, lingering at my breasts until I can barely breathe.
"Would I worship you like this if I wasn't completely yours?
"My skirt pools around my ankles. His hands steady me as my knees weaken, and when his mouth finds its way between my thighs, the world dissolves into sensation.
Each deliberate movement of his tongue sends electricity through my body.
No one has ever paid such careful attention to exactly what makes me respond.
This isn't casual desire—this is devotion.
He shows me just how devoted he is to my pleasure as his long, nimble fingers slide inside me, his soft thumb stroking my sensitive clit while his hot, velvet tongue traces deliberate circles around the swollen bud and my throbbing, honey-slick core.
The cool Carrara marble beneath my feverish skin feels almost like a blessed relief as my body blazes hotter than a January hearth.
His fingers—two, then three—pry me open further, his relentless tongue finding its way deeper inside me as I writhe helplessly, the intolerably beautiful sensation radiating like liquid lightning from my pulsing center to every trembling cell of my body as I scream out his name, the sound echoing through the cool early-December night.
God, what is this overwhelming sensation?
I realize that, before this earth-shattering moment, I'd never actually experienced a true orgasm, not like this all-consuming tidal wave.
It feels like every one of my nerve endings is simultaneously aflame, my entire quivering body transformed into one giant, exquisite goosebump.
Max whispers my name against my lips as his fingers work the buttons of his crisp white shirt, revealing a tanned chest dusted with dark hair.
He captures my mouth again in a kiss that steals my breath—his tongue tracing the seam of my lips before slipping inside, tasting of expensive scotch and desire.
When his teeth graze my lower lip, I gasp.
"If you could see yourself through my eyes," he murmurs, his voice a rough velvet that vibrates against my skin, "you'd never question how I feel. "
His breathing comes in hot, ragged bursts against my neck.
The world beyond this marble countertop—beyond his touch—dissolves into nothing.
There is only the scorching heat where our bodies meet, the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingled with sweat, the masterful rhythm of his fingers exploring me, coaxing me toward the edge while his mouth devours mine hungrily.
My eyelids flutter closed as my head falls back in ecstasy.
I feel the whisper of fabric sliding down his legs, then the unmistakable weight and heat of him pressing against me—impressive, intimidating in its proportions, promising both pleasure and sweet pain as it nudges insistently at my center.
His voice breaks as he whispers my name, his hands trembling while he rolls on protection.
My pulse hammers everywhere—wrists, throat, between my thighs—like my body might shatter from wanting him.
I rake my nails down his back, desperate to pull him closer, to feel the weight of him crushing me.
The anticipation is unbearable; I'm already arching upward, seeking him, my body a live wire.
When his eyes lock with mine, something primal and possessive flashes across his face.
I dig my heels into his lower back, urging him forward, silently begging.
I need him to claim me, to fill the aching emptiness that's consuming me from within.
He stands before me, naked and magnificent, his erection jutting forward like a challenge.
I lick my lips, my body already trembling with need.
He seizes my ass with both hands, his fingers digging into my flesh as he yanks me to the counter's edge.
In one powerful motion, he impales me on his length, the sudden fullness making me cry out.
My vision blurs as he drives deeper than I thought possible, each thrust sending electric shocks through my core.
His grip tightens around my waist, muscles flexing as he lifts me entirely off the marble.
I lock my legs around him, surrendering completely to his strength and rhythm.
My head falls back, exposing my throat, which he claims with his teeth—not quite biting, but marking.
He captures my face between his hands, forcing my gaze to his, and crushes his mouth against mine, his tongue invading with the same relentless intensity as his body.