Max Dread
F uck me.
“And the whole time you’re touching yourself? I want you to imagine that your hands are mine.”
Had I thought this all the way through?
No.
And was I regretting that?
Also, no.
Her mouth parted with a gasp at my last command. For a split second, a hint of dread glinted in her dark brown eyes.
Dread in her eyes…
I liked that. I wanted her to see me.
And yeah, I had no way of enforcing that one, but I had a feeling she’d do it, anyway. Either way, I would be.
Tucking one of her chocolate curls behind her ears, she swallowed past her nervousness. Resolve steeled her spine, and she wet her lips, those big brown eyes staring me down.
With a soft rasp, she spoke words that would haunt my fantasies from this day forward.
“Yes, Master.”
When she’d said it before, she wanted to be a brat.
It hadn’t come out that way, or stopped my dick from noticing, but she hadn’t intended to unlock my newest kink.
Couldn’t deny she had, though.
She’d become a pro at getting a rise out of me.
My cock twitched in my pants. Just to prove my point.
Quinn closed her eyes, running her hands through her hair. Wrapping one around her throat. Sliding down to tease over the tops of her breasts before she cupped them. And when she brushed her thumbs over her nipples and rolled them between her fingers, she pulled a groan from both of us.
She snapped her eyes to mine.
Soft, panting breaths gave away the effect this had on her. Even as she lifted her chin, setting her stubborn jaw and trailing her hands lower, her eyelids grew heavy.
She stared at me with a challenge in her gaze and slipped her fingers past the line of her thong. Refusing to break eye contact until she reached her sex, she moaned, low and needy, in the back of her throat when she did.
Blood rushed to my dick.
The scent of her arousal called to me. Convincing me I’d hunt to the ends of the earth to claim it. If she left—if she ran—I’d follow. I’d have to find her.
Her head fell back against the couch, eyes drifting shut as she drew slow circles with her fingers.
My fist clenched on the pillow over my lap.
That awareness of her delicate fingers stroking over her clit, even if I couldn’t see it, hardened my cock to the point of being painful.
Poor bastard.
I’d imagined watching her come apart for the first time, and every time I’d pictured it, I’d been an active participant. Forcing myself to sit still now took more willpower than I thought I possessed.
Quinn uncrossed her legs, stretching them out, pointing her toes, and arching her back. Bending her knees, she planted her feet, and I saw exactly what she was doing through the crook in her knee.
She tilted her hips up to meet her hand.
Mine jolted.
Down, boy.
Trapping her lower lip between her teeth, she moved fluidly—beautifully—as if every touch was a dance, and suddenly, I wished I hadn’t refused her at the party.
I didn’t dance on principle, and as a matter of self-preservation. But this?
With her in my arms?
I’d be a fucking idiot to turn her down again.
Her body flushed with heat. Sweat clung to her skin. Her breathing quickened as she followed my commands, riding her fingers to the edge.
I wanted to suck them clean and drag her onto my lap. Straddling my hips so I could sheathe myself inside her. Dripping with desire. Gripping me like a vise as I impaled her tight, wet cunt on my cock, over and over and over again.
A keening, desperate sound left her. And fuck, it took everything I had not to join in. Everything I had not to stroke myself to the gentle thrust of her fingers. To finish with her.
Or better yet, to put her on her knees so she could taste what she did to me.
Her breathy moans rose in pitch. Her back arched higher. Hair slipped off her shoulders as she pressed her head into the couch. Giving me a glimpse of her breasts, those pert dusky-rose buds beneath the mesh and lace begged me to take them in my mouth.
My breathing grew unsteady. I dragged my gaze away so I could see the look on her face, expecting to see her eyes closed in rapture as she shuddered through her release.
But her eyes were on me.
That fire inside her burning her up the same way it fucking consumed me.
“Come for me, Princess.”
Pupils blown with desire, her eyelids grew heavy at the sound of my voice.
“Clench around those fingers for me. Close your eyes. I want you to picture what I’m fantasizing about right when you fall apart.”
She whimpered as she obeyed, the pace of her hand intensifying until her whole body shook.
“That’s me inside you. Filling you up. Stretching you deep. Show me how perfectly you’ll come apart, Princess. Show me how you’ll scream for me.”
She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut. Her whole body tensed. Thighs clenching, hips rising as she rode it out. She opened her mouth and a hoarse cry strangled in her throat.
And then, just as beautifully, everything released.
“Max!”
My name on her lips nearly ripped me apart.
Pleasure shot through the base of my spine, drawing my balls up. I breathed to fight it off, unable to tear my eyes off her as she fell apart. My cock throbbed, weeping at the tip as she sobbed through her climax.
I shuddered. She collapsed back onto the couch, panting heavy breaths. Everything I wanted filled the space between us.
And when she opened her eyes, I was a goner.
She pushed herself up onto shaky legs and ran her heated, sated gaze over me. The corner of her mouth tipped up as she stared at the pillow in my lap. She looked gorgeous.
The slight bow of her head stirred up something feral inside me. Barely hiding that hint of a smirk, she stared me right in the eyes and said, “Good night, Master.”
Then, she walked out of the room like a goddamn Queen.
Opening my eyes to the vision of her in lingerie earlier felt like I’d still been caught in a dream.
I didn’t make a habit of saying slightly poetic shit like that. But I’d make an exception if the situation warranted it.
Everything about her warranted it.
At some point, things had changed. My choice had been made. And pursuing her? Having her? That was the new dream.
Don’t get me wrong. The girl was stubborn as shit. Skeptic to a fault.
She had terrible taste in men.
Present company partially excluded.
Plus, she was damn prideful for her own good. Argumentative as fuck, she’d probably debate the color of the damn sky if her mood called for it. She was infuriating. Fiery.
To me, she was fucking perfect.
The furthest thing from a fairytale princess I could imagine, honestly.
The heroine who rode off into the sunset by herself. Just to prove she could. Right up until her sharp mind sensed danger ahead, at least.
I huffed a laugh and dropped my head back on the couch.
She’d probably march her ass back over, copping an attitude about why her suitor hadn’t followed her.
Except I would follow her.
Even if I didn’t know where. Even if it meant giving up all the things I thought I’d wanted. I’d follow her.
I wanted her.
Hm. Maybe she had a point about my vaguely insulting deliveries. But maybe she also needed the bad guy . The one everyone painted as a villain. A recluse. An asshole. Maybe she needed that darkness, and a prince or a King wouldn’t be enough for her.
Would it be enough for me to choose her? Follow her? Fight for her?
I’d do it, anyway, but maybe…
Maybe, for her, that would be enough.
I would be enough.
And she would choose me, too.