by Alexa Martin
“Just give me a second,” he says, his voice thick with want as his eyes travel up my naked body.
A second is all I can give him. I can feel the moisture gathering between my legs, and my breasts are heavy with desire. “Maxwell”—my hand drops between my thighs—“I need you.”
He doesn’t make me ask again. He springs up from the ground, tackling me to the bed like it’s his job . . . which I guess it sort of is.
He puts my hand back between my thighs, letting out a groan that causes the bed to vibrate beneath me. “Don’t stop, Boss,” he says. His eyes don’t move from the show I’m putting on for him even as he stands up and walks to the bedside table, pulling out a foil-wrapped condom. He walks back to the foot of his bed, placing the condom wrapper on the mattress before his hands go to his briefs and he finally—finally!—pulls them off.
Oh.
My.
God.
I mean, I assumed.
It was making itself known all night.
But I still had no idea.
I mean . . . can a penis be pretty? Is that a thing? Because this . . . Maxwell . . . what he’s working with . . . it’s fucking fantastic. It’s thick and long and honestly maybe a little scary.
But hell, if there’s one fear I’m willing to overcome, this sure as hell is it.
“Boss,” Maxwell says, amusement cutting through the need. “You’re staring.”
“I know,” I say . . . still staring. “Will it fit?”
“You already got me where you want me, you don’t need to keep buttering me up,” he jokes, his hand rolling on the condom. And I change my mind. This . . . this is the moment I want burned behind my eyelids.
“You’re right,” I say, my voice quavering. “You might need to butter me up.”
“I think . . .” He climbs onto the bed and over my body, dropping a finger between my thighs and pushing it inside of me. “You already are.”
Listen.
I’m no virgin.
Not even close.
So I don’t expect a single finger to send me sailing to another planet, but it does. And I know, without an inkling of doubt, that Maxwell is the only person on this earth who could do it to me. It’s everything about him. The way his gaze travels over my body like I’m the most beautiful woman who has ever graced his presence. The rough touch of his calloused hands that are so contradictory to the gentle way they caress my body. It’s how outside of these walls, he’s shy and sweet, and right now he’s letting me—only me—get a taste of the wonderfully wicked way his mind works.
His hard to my soft, the dark to my light, everything about him causes something inside of me to unravel. He shoves me outside of myself and makes it impossible for me to keep hiding . . . to hold back.
He nips at my ear, whispering words I can’t hear, finding a spot with his finger that draws out every last bit of my orgasm, and as soon as I start to come down, his hand is gone and he is inside of me. Filling me so completely that I forget how to breathe.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, my back damn near hovering off the bed.
My body moves of its own accord, my legs and arms wrapping around him, pulling him in closer . . . and deeper. He doesn’t move. He peppers my face with kisses, his soft lips offering a distraction while my body gets used to his size.
It’s like a switch is flipped inside of me.
One second I’m not sure I was ready, the next I don’t think I ever want him to stop.
My arms and legs loosen around him and it’s all the encouragement he needs.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his movements slow and measured. His arms are shaking, and beads of sweat are starting to fall from his hairline.
“Yeah,” I try to say, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything else. “Move, Maxwell, I need you to move.”
I knew he was holding back, but not until I whisper those words do I know how much.
He grabs my legs from around his waist and pulls them together, holding them with one hand while his free hand grabs onto my hip for leverage as he thrusts inside of me, keeping a steady pace of fast and hard.
Never in my life have I appreciated the body of an athlete more.
Each time he slams back inside of me, the coils of my core bunch tighter and tighter. “Please don’t stop!” I cry out between thrusts. I’m clinging to his arms so tightly, I’m sure my nails are going to draw blood.
“Never going to stop,” he says, like it’s an impossible promise only he can fulfill.
Every part of my body tenses up, from my fingers to my toes. His movements slow just a bit, but I know it’s not because he’s tired. “Come for me.” He drops a hand to where our bodies are joined.
The one added sensation on top of a mountain of sensations causes an avalanche. I let out a silent scream, my hands gripping the sheets and tethering me to the ground. I come so hard that even though the room is lit, my world goes black.
I’m holding on for dear life and tremors are rocking my system when Maxwell lets out a deep groan and his body stills before his weight falls on top of me.
Neither of us makes a move or says a word. We lie there, our sweat-covered bodies melded together for what could be hours . . . but is likely only moments.
“Holy shit.” I break the silence as flashbacks from our night start to filter through my mind, each moment hotter than the next. “That was . . . it was—” I start, but I can’t come up with a word that does justice to what we experienced.
“It was the best,” Maxwell finishes for me.
It’s such a simple description, but it’s right. What we did was the best and just like I knew he would, Maxwell has left me completely and utterly ruined.
I can’t go back to average after him.
I can’t be satisfied by anything other than the best.
Twenty-six
“Max gave you that D,” Vonnie announces to anyone within a three-mile radius as soon as she sits on her barstool.
I feel my face heat as my jaw falls to the ground and I try to remember if I had “Fucked by Maxwell Lewis” stamped on my forehead the last time I looked in the mirror.
I didn’t.
So how Vonnie makes such a confident declaration is a mystery I don’t even want to attempt to solve.
“What are you talking about?” I try to get a grasp on those acting classes Naomi, an ex-Mustangs wife, gave me a few years ago.
Vonnie actually repositions herself so she can give me the side-eye. “He did,” she says casually. “You have a glow that one only gets from a night of no sleep and great sex.”
“He didn’t!” I screech. Which I realize, after the high-pitched sound leaves my mouth, makes me look even more guilty. “Dammit, come here,” I mutter, heading to my office without checking that she’s following.
I know she is.
When your friend has hot sex with a hot guy, you are required to get all of the details. It’s a real rule. I know this because it’s been written on more than one sticky note stuck to the bathroom walls.
Plus, Vonnie is married. And yes, they’re happy and blah blah blah. That doesn’t mean you don’t want to hear the exciting beginnings of a new relationship. That’s when all the fun stuff happens.
Or actually? Maybe not. Vonnie and Charli tell me some wild-ass stories about their sex lives. I think that, maybe, there are things you are only comfortable requesting from somebody who is legally bound to you.
“Spill,” Vonnie says before the door to my office can even shut. Her arms are crossed, her hip is out, and her lips are pursed. I know that no amount of acting lessons could get me out of this conversation.
Oh well, it’d be a crime against humanity not to share.
“We consummated our relationship and it was . . .” I look to the ceiling, searching for the right word to describe it. “It was lik
e a religious experience. Like, I know there has to be a god and there’s a good chance Maxwell might be a direct descendant.”
“Ah hell.” Vonnie eyes the door like she’s contemplating her exit. And I realize that brutal honesty might actually be my ticket out of this conversation. “Now I have to go to church and pray for listening to your sacrilegious ass.”
“Do you even go to church?” I’m not even being a smart-ass, I genuinely have no idea.
“I go to Bible study every week.” She scrunches her nose. “Well, almost every week.”
I roll my eyes, but decide not to make a snarky comment considering that’s still way more than what I do. “Well, do you want me to tell you or not?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she locks my office door and plops down on the couch like she’s prepping for a session with her therapist.
“Okay”—she adjusts my martini-print throw pillow behind her head—“now I’m ready. Tea, please.”
And to think I ever complained of loneliness before.
“I lost count of how many times I came. And one of those times, swear to god, was from him kissing me.”
Vonnie’s eyes widen and the carefully positioned pillow is long forgotten as she shoots off the couch. “I knew it!” she yells. “I knew his shy, fine ass was hiding all sorts of treats below the surface.”
“So many treats.” My eyelids feel heavy just thinking about all the activities from last night . . . and this morning. “I honestly don’t know how he doesn’t have a bevy of brokenhearted, sex-with-everyone-else-is-ruined-forever women following him around.”
I’m sure if I googled hard enough, I’d find a fan club or something. I add it to the running to-do list floating around my mind.
“I need more,” Vonnie demands. “How many condoms did you go through? Did you use condoms? Did his kisses travel south? How well endowed is he?”
“Oh my god.” My hands fly to my eyes as my skin burns from a head-to-toe blush.
This.
This is why I didn’t want to talk about it. My friends might have boundaries, but if they do, I haven’t found them yet.
“Oh no.” Vonnie is suddenly in front of me, peeling my hands from my eyes. “You don’t get to wuss out of this. You are the ringleader of getting all the details out of us, and if you don’t start to spill, I’m calling in reinforcements.”
Dammit. I guess I should discover boundaries as well. I curse my adorably curious nature.
“Ugh, fine!” I throw my hands up in the air before sitting on the now-empty couch. “But if you mutter a single word to Justin about this, I will hunt you down and hurt you.”
Her head jerks back and her lips curl in disgust. “Obviously. We barely discuss our sex life, we are definitely not discussing yours.”
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes, but inside I’m bouncing with glee to brag about the literal best sex of my life. Maybe the best sex in the world. “We went through four condoms. His mouth moved south. He did it so well and so often that my lady bits are still quivering.” At this Vonnie’s smile grows so big, I’m concerned it’s going to damage her facial muscles. “And let’s just say that angels rejoiced when he was created because he is blessed between the legs.”
“Big?” Vonnie asks, clearly in need of more details.
I nod, my eyebrows reaching my hairline. “In every sense of the word.”
“Damn.” She falls onto the couch beside me. “Now the next time he passes me in those tight-ass pants he wears so well, I’m not going to be able to look at anything else.”
“Me either,” I say. Even though this is definitely not a new problem.
The shrill ringing of my office phone breaks up the heavy silence in the room.
I jump off the couch and lunge for the pink rotary phone I paid a stupid amount for. If possible, I don’t like it to ring more than three times, and since I’m sitting by it, I want to get it before the second.
“Thank you for calling HERS, Brynn speaking.” I rattle off my customary greeting.
“Hey, Boss.” Maxwell’s deep voice flows through the phone, causing goose bumps to cover my arms.
“Hey,” I say. A goofy-ass grin spreads across my face, and I see Vonnie’s face brighten out of the corner of my eyes.
“I know it’s late notice, but I wanted to see if you could get off early tonight and I could take you out?”
It takes every single ounce of discipline in my body not to crack a joke about getting off with him, but thankfully, I manage. “I’m sure I could figure something out. What time were you thinking?”
“I was hoping to get you at around six. Does that work?”
I wish I could say I’m being a responsible business owner and thinking about all of the emails I have yet to send or promotions I have yet to make before agreeing, but I don’t. Instead, the opportunity to go on a date with Maxwell—my orgasm-inducing boyfriend—eclipses all of my responsibilities. “Yes,” I damn near shout into the phone. I flip off Vonnie as she dissolves into a fit of laughter across the room. “Six is perfect. From my place or HERS?”
“Dress code for tonight is no jeans,” he says. “So I’m thinking your place?”
“My place,” I agree, looking down at my denim-covered legs.
“Thought so.” I can hear the laughter in his voice, but it doesn’t bother me. Instead, my heart warms at how well he knows me already.
“Then I’ll see you—” I start my farewell, but Maxwell cuts me off.
“Just so you know, there should be a delivery for you soon. So keep an eye out.”
“Really?” My smile widens and I start to bounce on my toes, childlike excitement taking over. “I love deliveries!”
I may have never been in a serious relationship before, but tons of my friends have. So when they started talking love languages and all that crap, I didn’t want to feel left out and took the quiz too. Gifts are so my love language. Next is quality time, then physical touch . . . a checklist Maxwell is thoroughly marking off.
His laughter flows through the phone. “You don’t even know what it is.”
“Doesn’t matter. The UPS man is my fave—er . . . second favorite man. I mean, you know what I mean.” Smooth, Brynn. Real fucking smooth. I squeeze my eyes closed, cringing at the way only I could turn this conversation unbearably awkward.
“I know what you mean,” he says. But I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s just saying it because he’s nice and doesn’t want me to feel like a complete idiot.
“Okay, then I’m going to hang up before I make a bigger ass out of myself. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Tonight,” he promises with a smile in his voice.
I put the phone back on the receiver, not trusting myself to say anything else.
“Girl,” Vonnie says, wiping away her tears of laughter. “You have no fucking game.”
“I hate you,” I say.
“You fucking love me and it’s a good thing, because I’m going to call the girls in so we can give you a crash course in game. It’s really a sin that you are as gorgeous as you are and you have no idea how to talk to men.”
“I can talk to men!” Panic starts to course its way through my veins as I envision the Lady Mustangs gathering in my living room with glitter gavels and a PowerPoint on how to flirt. “I’ve just never been in an actual relationship before.”
It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Never?” she asks, and to my pure and utter mortification, whips out her phone, no doubt assembling an emergency meeting of minds on what to do with me. “How is that possible?”
I open my mouth to answer, but before I can, there’s a knock on my office door.
If I wasn’t so busy sprinting to the door, I would have sagged to the floor in relief for the distraction.
I turn the lock and pull it open.<
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“Sorry,” Paisley says. Her eyes narrow on the maniacal smile that is no doubt on my face. “But there’s a delivery for you and they need your signature.”
“Not a problem, thanks!” I cringe at the amount of pep in my voice as I push past her.
I’m expecting to see a handsome man in a brown-and-yellow uniform waiting for me, so I’m a little taken aback by the gorgeous woman in a pencil skirt and sky-high pumps holding a silver box with a large silver bow.
“You must be Brynn.” She smiles and holds out a hand with a tablet. “If you could just sign here, please.”
I use my finger to scribble my illegible signature on the screen. When I finish, she tucks it into the killer tote hanging on her shoulder and extends the box that I can now see has a Neiman Marcus tag hanging from the ribbon.
“I hope you love it,” she says, genuine excitement in her voice. “Mr. Lewis spent some time making sure he found something you would enjoy.”
I already knew this was from Maxwell, but hearing her say it makes it even more exciting for some reason. I don’t even know what’s in the box, but I already feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman . . . minus the prostitution.
I keep my eyes on the box, afraid that if I blink, somehow this fantasy will disappear. “Thank you.”
I have to bite my lips to try and hide the smile threatening to overtake my entire face. My hands are shaking so hard that I nearly drop the box when she hands it over. She doesn’t say anything else . . . or maybe she does? I don’t actually know. As soon as it’s in my hands, I turn on my heel and dart back into my office without so much as a goodbye.
“Neiman’s?” Vonnie claps her hands together as soon as she sees the box.
Clearly, she’s much more well versed in the gift packaging designs of upscale department stores than I am.
“Yeah.” I put the package on my desk, wanting to both tear the box open and leave it as it is.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Vonnie’s bouncing on her toes, and her hands are curled into fists at her sides, like she can’t trust herself not to open the box for me. Part of me wants to end her misery and open it. The other, evil part of me wants to revel in the one time I have ever seen Vonnie lose her cool exterior.
