by Leisa Rayven
He moves closer, so we’re almost nose to nose. “I’ve had a lot of perfect relationships, but none of them have been real. This whole thing will be one big learning curve for me, too.”
Swallowing my rising panic, I graze my fingers from his temple to his chin. Being so affectionate with him is all new to me, and I’m nervous I’m not doing it right. “I have trust issues. I’m impatient and judgmental. And I’ve never admitted this before, but I never refill ice cube trays when they’re empty. I leave them for Asha, every single time.”
He slides his hand from my shoulder, down over my butt, to the back of my knee, and he pulls my leg up to his hip, so he can slide his thigh between my legs. He keeps looking me in the eyes as he rocks a little, pressing his erection against where I’m aching the most.
“I hate myself on so many levels,” he says, his voice becoming breathy, “I should probably be in therapy. And when I used to share a bathroom with my brother, I’d leave a single square of toilet paper, so he’d have to change the roll.”
I circle my hips and press down on his thigh while gripping his back to give myself better leverage.
“So,” I say, “we both agree we’re terrible people and that falling for each other is probably a bad idea.”
“Absolutely.” He climbs on top of me, so he’s fully between my legs, and I spread my thighs. “One of the worst ideas ever.” He grinds against me, his hardness feeling incredible against my softness. “But I don’t care. Even if this whole thing goes down in flames, you’re already the best bad decision I’ve ever made.”
I pull him closer. Our noses are touching now. “Last chance to change your mind.”
He searches my eyes. “Never going to happen. Ever.”
For a moment, we both stop and stare at each other, and there’s a whole other conversation that happens in the silence. One in which an imaginary doctor shakes his head in sympathy as he says, “I’m sorry. They’re too far gone. There’s nothing I can do.”
I hold my breath as Max leans down and kisses me gently, and I don’t want to move in case I ruin the moment. His lips are so soft and warm, I could live in this moment forever and be a happy woman. He adds a little suction before pulling back, and then he angles his head and kisses me again, a little more pressure this time, my top lip caught between his. Though his body is tense and hard, this – the gentle press and suck of his lips and the delicate way he moves his mouth over mine – it demonstrates supreme restraint. The need to discover me for the first time instead of just giving into the hormones that are demanding we get naked as soon as possible.
His kisses slowly become more passionate, and when our tongues touch, we both make noises that speak of the slow, sweet torture of taking our time. I give up trying to think and just feel, letting my muscles melt into the mattress as he adjusts his position to wrap his arms more firmly around me.
He once told me that you could live and die within the lifetime of a good kiss, and that’s what this feels like. As if I’ve always known the shape of his mouth but never experienced it before. Like all of our interlocking parts have been biding their time, watching people come and go from our lives, until we found each other.
The longer and deeper he kisses me, the more the air catches in my chest. My blood rushes, my limbs tremble, and I feel like I’m falling in slow motion, but every second, I speed up a little. His tongue is more insistent. He grips me harder. I go from caressing him to gripping him. Pulling at him. Walking the line from civilized to feral and back again.
“Max?”
“Hmmmm.” He kisses around my words.
“You once told me that a kiss is most effective when it doesn’t lead to sex.”
“Yes.” His hand is wrapped around my hip now, squeezing and releasing in time with his pelvis pressing against me.
“This kiss is beyond spectacular, but I just wanted to make sure that you’re planning on having sex with me, right?”
He pushes his hand under my shirt and brushes it up against my ribcage, then the curve of my breast.
“No. No sex this morning.” He looks down at me as his giant hand closes around my breast, the rough pad of his thumb teasing my nipple. “I’m going to fuck you now, then later when my body isn’t calling all the shots, we’ll get around to various forms of making love. But definitely no plain, boring sex will be happening. Not with you. Not ever.”
He kisses me again, and this time he starts grinding against me in time with the sweep of his tongue. I groan and press up to meet him, and within seconds, my need for him transforms from hazy and delicate to raw and brutal as we both let the lusty beasts that have been grazing on our suppressed passion for the past few weeks, well and truly out of their cages.
He lowers his full weight onto me, and when I grab his ass with both hands and squeeze, he growls against my mouth and pushes his hand between us, using strong pianist’s fingers to make me arch even more. The rush of sensation is so fast and powerful, the room spins around me. Low grunts and long moans fill the air as we work our way around each other’s bodies, exploring all of the places we’ve been dreaming about.
As he grinds against me, his muscles ripple beneath my hands, and I can feel the shape of him beneath his underwear sliding hard against me. He’s a big guy, and his weight makes me struggle for breath, but I love the feeling. He circles his pelvis. and I wrap my legs around his hips to urge him closer. He’s so hard that every pass of him over my clit makes me gasp and plead for more.
“Eden.” There’s a world of need in his voice as he pulls off my T-shirt and starts on my bra. “Put your hands on me. Now.”
I reach between us and slide my hand into his underwear. He stops dead the moment I palm him and curl my fingers around his erection. “Like this?”
He holds himself off the bed, and as I stroke him and revel in the feel of him, the expression on his face screams of pleasure so extreme, it’s almost painful to experience. “Exactly like that.” He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses out a breath. “This is you first warning that I’m going to need to be inside of you soon, or I’m going to lose my mind.”
“That works for me.”
He makes a dark noise before yanking off my panties. And then when I’m totally naked and exposed to him more than I’ve ever been to any man, he kneels above me and looks down in such wonder, it makes my heart ache.
“You are ... God, Eden. I don’t have the words. And I’ve been fantasizing about doing this for way too long.”
Without giving me any time to respond, he pushes my knees open and sinks his head down between my legs. Then there’s no way I can stay lucid, because his mouth is on me, and all I can do is throw my head back and groan as he gives me pleasure like I’ve never known.
Some men treat going down on a woman like it’s a chore. They’ll do it if they have to, but it’s not the first choice in their sexual toolkit. However, the way Max is moving his mouth across me? It’s like he’s starving to death, and I’m the first decent meal he’s had in years. Every time I don’t think he can make more pleasure jolt through to my spine, he does.
I reach behind me and curl my fingers around the cast iron headboard as I stare up at the ceiling. And when it’s all too much for even that, I squeeze my eyes shut as he closes his hands over my hips and pulls me more firmly onto his face.
Oh, sweet holy Hercules.
I can’t. I can’t deal with anymore. I think I start pleading with him, but whatever I’m saying is a blur.
My rambling seems to spur him on, and when he groans against me, the first tendrils of my orgasm curl and twist low and deep. I squeeze my eyes shut as the pulses come faster, gaining power as they go.
“Jesus ... Max.”
I’m flying so close to the edge, it would be easy to fall apart on his mouth, but I don’t want that. This is the first time I’ve ever slept with someone I love, and I want him to be a part of me when he makes me come for the first time.
“Max ...” When the pleading tone
in my voice doesn’t stop him, I reach down and slide my fingers into his hair before pulling his head up until he looks at me. “I need you inside. Please.”
He climbs back up the bed, and I push him onto his back, so I can pull off his underwear. After I tug them down and throw them onto the floor, I see him for the first time, and dear God ... he’s beautiful. I touch the silken skin, tracing the long, thick shape of him. He makes tight noises in his throat but doesn’t stop me.
This isn’t something I do. I barely look at the men I sleep with, because they’re a means to an end. I don’t really care what they look like or whether they’re hung like a horse or not. But with Max, everything matters, because every part of him turns me on. Yes, his cock is beautiful, but so is his heart and mind. Who he is matters to me more than what he looks like, and that’s why he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever known. His incredible body is just a bonus.
I want to taste every sweet inch of him. I want to discover which parts will make him groan and which will make him swear when I suck on them. I want to taste his pecs and abs, and sink my teeth into tight bands of muscles around his arms.
But right now, I’m savoring the hard shape of him inside my mouth, the taste of him on the back of my tongue, the sweet, tortured sounds he makes as I take him as deep as I can, time and again.
“Fuck ... Eden.” I add my hand, twisting in tandem with my mouth. He fists his fingers in my hair, forcing me to slow down. “Wait. Please ... just ... Dammit. Get up here.”
With a low growl, he pulls me up until I’m straddling him, and he kisses me deeply before reaching into the nightstand for a condom. I take it from him, and he caresses my thighs as I make quick work of rolling it on.
When I’m done, I kiss him and reach down to align us.
He takes hold of my hips as I press against him, waiting for me to be ready. Letting me take the lead despite how much I can feel him wanting to take control.
“This is new for me,” he says, reaching up to cup my breasts. “Every single thing I’ve done with you over the past few days has been new. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Me, neither.”
I hover above him for a few seconds as I realize there’s no going back from this. Once we’ve taken this final step, I’ll be ruined for all other men. He knows it, too, and he gazes up at me with raw adoration.
“I won’t hurt you, Eden. I promise. I want this more than you can possibly know.”
Even if I had second thoughts, that would haven banished them. I watch his face when I slowly sink down, taking inch by delicious inch. The pressure of him filling me is so exquisite, it makes my mouth drop open. His jaw drops too, but his eyes stay locked onto mine. And then, as I settle onto his hips and fully surround him, a look of immense awe blooms on his face. I have no idea what my expression is, because I can’t make sense of what I’m feeling; relief, arousal, gratitude, wonder–all of it twists inside of me as I pull up and then sink down again.
Dear God. Yes.
This is a feeling I never knew existed. The pleasure is amplified and powered by something deeper. Something that infuses my soul as well as my body.
Max pushes his head back into the pillow and holds onto my hips while I ride him, and I’ve never seen a more glorious man in all my life. I pick up speed, following the rhythm of my pounding blood, and as Max winds tighter and tighter, his face changes. All of a sudden, he’s looking at me with raw hunger, and lightning fast, he flips me onto my back and takes over.
“You feel goddamn incredible,” he says, thrusting deep and hard, exactly how I need it right now. “Christ, Eden ... how can you feel this good?”
He kisses me, and we moan into each other’s mouths as he increases the pace. When I feel myself building, winding tighter with each thrust, I reach between us and circle my fingers. Max stares down at me, unfiltered emotion on his face.
“I love you,” he says and grips the back of my neck before increasing his pace. “I’ve loved you from the start. I couldn’t help it. Everything would have been so much simpler if you hadn’t made me fall in love with you.”
I circle my fingers faster, unable to breathe when the first flashes of my orgasm begin to spark.
“Max ...” It’s barely audible. I have no air. Everything is contracting, tighter and tighter, and he looks down at me like I’m a supernova exploding in front of him.
“Yes, Eden ... fuck, yes ...”
And then I come, and I try to keep my eyes open because this is the first orgasm with the man I love, but I can’t. Wave after wave hits me, and all I can do is moan Max’s name as he keeps thrusting, prolonging the experience for as long as he can.
Then, with a tortured cry, he wraps around me and squeezes. Every muscle goes tight, and my name spills from his mouth over and over again. He presses fully into me one, twice, three times, each accompanied by a sound of debilitating pleasure, and then he collapses onto me, thick arms and legs tangling with mine, melting into relaxation, and we sink into the mattress.
As we lie there, panting and boneless, chests pressed together and hearts beating in shocked, staccato time, I have no clue where he ends and I begin, and against all odds and a lifetime being terrified of this exact feeling, I think I’m okay with that.
TWENTY-ONE
Afterglow
It took a heartbroken mother, an asshole father, and over a decade of conscientious numbing to build a fortress around my heart. And it takes Max one day to demolish it.
For so many years I’ve thought love would weaken me; make me shapeless and weak in a jagged, unforgiving world. But after truly letting Max in and owning up to how I feel about him, it seems the opposite is true. Being with him makes me feel like a goddamn superhero. Every sweet touch and tender look, every time he smiles at me like he can’t believe I’m real, every whispered curse as I pleasure him, fills me with so much adrenaline I could probably outrun a train.
Part of me feels idiotic for being so afraid of this feeling for so long, but there’s still a stubborn thorn of cynicism that needles me, whispering that I’ve stupidly climbed onboard the Love Express, even though I know all too well where it’s going to end up. In these moments my brain gets loud and aggressive, like a drunk squaring up for a knock-down, drag-out bar fight with my heart. In the utopia of Max’s arms, the drunk passes out before doing any real damage. But honestly, I wonder who would end up winning if Max wasn’t with me, constantly reminding me he’s in my heart’s corner.
Maybe it’s this fear that makes me decide to selfishly spend the whole day with him. In between phone calls to the hospital to check on Nan, he cooks for me, showers with me, and keeps me safe and warm. But most of all, he spends a great deal of time entwined with me, showing me time and again how much he loves and needs me.
Apparently, we have lot of sexual frustration to work through, because just when I think we can’t possibly fuck anymore, he’ll give me a look, or kiss me, or walk around half naked, and the smoldering embers of our lust burst into flame again. Yes, I’m getting sore, but the discomfort is nothing compared to how I feel when he’s moving inside me. Connecting that deeply with him is euphoric every time, and a little chafing can’t dampen my passion.
So now, I’m lying in bed staring at him as the early-morning sun peeks over the Manhattan skyline. He’s sprawled on his stomach, his arms wrapped around a pillow; the sheet barely covering the curve of his ass. Too full of thoughts and feelings to sleep, I gently run my fingers over the muscles in his back before pushing some hair away from his forehead. Then I do something I never thought I would with a man: I sigh. As girly and romantic as it is, it’s the only reaction that seems appropriate right now. This beautiful man is mine. How bizarre is that?
My first instinct is to call Asha to download my epic emotions, but right now she’s probably tongue deep in a gorgeous Frenchman, to that’s not an option. However, I still need an outlet, and there’s one sure way for me to purge all of these thoughts that will also help my profe
ssional situation.
I lean over and press a soft kiss against Max’s head before climbing out of bed, pulling on one of his giant tees, and going into the living room to take a seat at his desk. There’s a huge iMac front and center, and when I touch a key, it blinks to life.
I open up a blank document and begin typing. The things I’ve learned from Max need to be known by others, and right now, writing them down seems the best way to do that. As with any writing, the best stuff comes directly from the heart, and that’s what happens as I fill the pages detailing my experiences with Mister Romance. It’s not the story I set out to write, and it’s nothing like what Derek will be expecting, but it’s the truth, and it feels good to speak of something so pure in a world that seems to thrive on mockery and criticism. I write about my pre-conceptions of Max’s motives and how wrong they were, I write about his clients and how I misjudged them, but most of all, I write about Max and how he left behind the person he was raised to be and transformed himself into the man so many people needed him to be.
By the time I finish my final paragraph, the sun is fully over the horizon. When I hear Max yawning in the bedroom, I quickly save the document and put the monitor to sleep. I figure I should discuss what I intend to do with it before he reads it, just in case he gets the wrong idea.
When I get back to the bedroom, Max is mid-stretch, and I don’t miss that the sheet is barely covering his epic morning wood.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice muffled with sleep as I climb under the sheet and curl into his side.
“Morning.” I glance down at his erection. “Seriously? Doesn’t he ever get fatigued?”
He pulls the sheet up a little, but the outline is still clear as day. “Not around you, that’s for damn sure. Believe me, I had no idea he had this kind of stamina until you came along.”
I prop myself up on my elbow and look down on him. “Well, don’t get any ideas. I have to go be with Nan first thing this morning, and if you start putting that thing anywhere near me, we both know I’ll be here for hours.”
