Taking You Home

by Cooper Davis

  I’m no longer staring at the debonair guy who held court down in the hotel bar, wooing me with fine cigars and champagne; the one who managed to both seduce me and remain discreet in his attentions all at once.

  That man’s vanished, replaced instead by this Armani-clad and stormy eyed version of Maxwell Daniels; my pure fantasy come true tonight.

  The champagne bottle’s been discarded on the bed, and in the frenzy of kissing and touching that immediately ensued, I think I’ve lost half of my tuxedo. I’m stripped down to my undershirt and dress pants now. Well, and the silky little boxers Maxwell’s about to discover underneath.

  I’ve endured this day, just staring at him like some infatuated teenager. Hell, I am desperately infatuated, there’s no kidding about that. Trouble is, I never should have let him grace the doors of Armani, because that tux nearly cost me my composure long before our limo ever hit New York City. Especially with the romantic scene my lover created for the two of us in that back seat.

  Then again, I’m pretty damn thankful to Mr. Armani right about now, because I’ve hit payday, here in this thousand-dollar-a-night bridal suite of ours.

  I’ve got my baby right where I want him. He’s pressed back against the glass windows overlooking Broadway and Times Square, the neon flashing behind him like heat lightning, and my hands are splayed against the glass.

  Yes, I definitely have Maxwell right where I want him tonight. A little helpless and a whole lot aroused. Only problem is that I can’t seem to strip him out of the freaking tuxedo.

  “Need you,” I finally growl in frustration, giving his shirt hem an urgent tug of explanation. “Out of this.”

  But he doesn’t stop working at my own clothes. In fact, he’s just no help at all, as I pull and jerk at the buttons of his crisp white shirt. “Baby, please help.” I whine plaintively and he shivers with pure pleasure.

  “Oh, I love it when you beg.”

  “I can’t take this,” I complain, taking a step apart from him.

  He leans against the glass, lolling his head back with a lazy gesture as he studies me. “No, Hunter? Not take me in this tux? Or not take what I’m doing to you?”

  When did he get so damned proud of himself, I wonder, feeling a little frustrated with how gorgeous he is, just leaning there against the floor-length window in his dress pants and disheveled shirt. The bow tie hangs askew and his lips are swollen, ripe from my needy kisses.

  “Take it off,” I command throatily.

  This earns me a coquettish smile. “No, baby.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze into something threatening, primitive.

  “Take it off, or there’s hell to pay.”

  He shrugs, running his fingers through his hair as he watches me, his lips parted to kissable perfection. It’s a goddamned feminine gesture that makes me quake with desire. “I’ll pay it,” he promises softly, and for a moment I wonder if Maxine’s joining us, too.

  “That’s it, Daniels,” I say, and then I’m all over him, pinning him against the broad expanse of windows. He staggers slightly, as I push against him hard, taking his mouth in a crushing kiss. A soft sound escapes his lips, a half-cry coupled with a groan of pleasure. No, Maxine’s nowhere in sight; he’s pure male tonight.

  And then he starts with his hands again, working them between where our hips are pressed so tight together. With his palm, he spreads me wide, urging my legs apart and I can’t resist.

  It’s all a blur, but suddenly he’s spun me around until I face the window. I’m just standing there, legs open wide, hands splayed desperately against the cool glass. My unfocused gaze takes in taxis, lights, throngs of people, but I’ve never been more unmoved by such an impressive sight.

  Because my only center is Max, who’s working my pants off my hips, tugging at them until I hear a soft gasp when he discovers my satin boxers. My fingers curl in pleasure when I feel the first caress of his hand over my cock. My whole body arches and tenses when he uses that silken material to begin pleasuring me, bunching it over my erection until I’m writhing in ecstasy.

  There’s a muffled sound, like maybe he’s undressing, and that’s the moment when he presses his graceful body right behind mine.

  “Maxwell, wh-what do you want?” I ask, feeling vulnerable, especially because he doesn’t stop with his hands. He keeps at me, rubbing and stroking my swollen length until the aching sensation is about to break me.

  “You. That’s what I want,” he insists, his voice deep and sexy.

  “Oh, oh okay,” I whisper, swallowing hard. It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s all I can manage at the moment. Slowly, he trails his fingers over my hips, over those satin boxers, so appreciative.

  “Love the boxers,” he purrs against my shoulder, tugging the undershirt over my head. I crane my neck, needing to see him, but he just nuzzles my nape with his mouth, his soft chest brushing against my bare back. “Don’t look, Hunter. Just feel me.”

  I nod wordlessly, as the strong hands strip the boxers off my hips, and I feel him drop to the ground behind me. Then sweet lips begin to kiss me in the small of my back, the place I’ve always adored on his body. My hands slap against the glass pane, seeking some kind of security that I just don’t feel, not with him tantalizing me this way.

  “Don’t fight it,” he urges. “Let me do this for you, Hunter.”

  “Do…what?” I manage, aching for him until I’m blind with it.

  “This,” he whispers, and that’s when his tongue dips lower, right as his hand takes me from the front. But that’s not all, because then there’s the cool sensation of his fingers working into me from behind with his other hand, so slippery and wild that I begin to shake uncontrollably.

  He’s destroying me, and seizing me all at once. I’m being branded by him tonight, and I understand it when suddenly I feel him rise to his feet again, urging my legs even further apart.

  “I’m going to take you,” he breathes against my ear. “Have all of me, Hunter. Relax, and have it all, love.”

  With those words, and my stumbling murmurs of ascent, he thrusts into me so hard I can’t even breathe. There’s not a damn tender thing about it, and I know he’s forceful on purpose, especially since he’s the gentlest lover I’ve ever been with.

  He’s taking me completely, even as he’s giving his body completely in pledge.

  With his furious thrusting and our mingled howls of painful pleasure, he’s sealing our marriage.

  When Maxwell finishes, I collapse against the window, feeling the cool pane press against my cheek. For what seems forever, he leans against me, kissing my shoulders, suddenly as soft as a whisper in the way that he touches me. He’s so attentive and loving, and doesn’t know that tears burn my eyes from the intensity of what he just did to me.

  “You worn out?” he laughs, kissing my jaw. He gives it a sweet little lick that makes me smile.

  “Kind of,” I agree with a groan, closing my eyes, as he slips out of me. I’m aching deep inside, and can’t help but wonder how I can possibly take more, not with the burning sensation he’s left all within me.

  “What if we, well, part ways for a few minutes,” he asks, stroking the planes of my back with his fingertips. “I want to shower, and then, well we could meet up again.”

  All right, I know this boy. He’s got something serious in mind. I know it like I know my own heartbeat, like I know the erection threatening to form again just from imagining what he might have planned.

  “What are you up to?” I ask, slowly turning, until our chests push close together. I wrap him in my arms, holding him tight against me, and that’s when I see how flushed his face has become from our exertions. “Look at you,” I tease softly, lifting my hand to touch his warm cheek. “You’re all hot and bothered.”

  “I just want a shower,” he says again, but he’s beaming and giddy.
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  “Yeah, right, Daniels. You go take that shower, and I’ll be waiting when you get back out.”

  He nods, pleased, then says in a shy, quiet voice, “Just, uh, turn around for a moment, will you?”

  I lift my eyebrow in serious question, as he kind of urges me to look away. I turn, focusing on Broadway and Seventh, on the Panasonic sign down in the middle of Times Square. But my heart is fixed squarely on him.

  “There’s something I need to get,” he explains and I hear how he’s grinning as he says it. Yeah, baby, you’re up to something good.

  “Uh, huh. Something for that shower.”

  “Exactly,” comes his soft-voiced answer, as I hear him unzipping the suitcase. I wonder what he’s got in mind?

  He’s going to be damned lucky if I don’t go join him in that shower. Funny, but secrets are a fucking turn on sometimes; at least when they’re the good kind that he’s obviously keeping.

  It seems he really did take a shower, although apparently that was only part of the plan. Someone should have seriously warned me about this, because when I get my first look at him, framed in that bathroom doorway, my heart nearly slams its way right out of my chest.

  Truth is, I’ve never seen Max in anything quite like this before. Instead of his usual loose cotton boxers, he’s dressed out in skin-tight boxer briefs. Calvins, I think with an admiring glance, my gaze roving hungrily over the length of him.

  The white cotton material covers him halfway down his thighs, and fits with the clingy perfection of a glove. In fact the underwear is molded so perfectly over his body, that every nuance is emphasized with maddening detail. His hard cock, the bulge of his balls, his rippling thigh muscles.

  Damn, he’s never affected me this strongly before, and I know it’s not just because it’s our wedding night, either. I mean, here I was in my dainty satin boxers, feeling like the shit. When all along he had this moment planned for me? I swear he’s bound tight in something so masculine, it nearly brings me to my knees.

  “Baby,” I moan, as he urges me down onto the bed, onto my back. He’s wearing a tank T-shirt that bunches within my hands, as he mounts me like a quick wildcat. Then I’m just lying beneath him, shaking a little, as I gaze up into his lovely eyes. Moody, quicksilver eyes.

  “Don’t fight it,” he breathes against my cheek, lifting his hips, adjusting so that now I feel the decided ridge of his erection jutting right against my own.

  My hands wander all over his body, but what I can’t fight is my fascination with those damn briefs. Snug is an understatement; they fit him like a second skin, stretched tight over his hard ass, his thighs. They cling to him like he’s some modern day Adonis; solid steel sheathed in velvet softness.

  And to top it all off, the feisty devil worked double time in the weight room these past weeks, I’m sure of it now. I feel the evidence every place that I touch him.

  “Gorgeous.” I can’t say another damn thing, as I stare into his eyes with a helpless sigh. “Mine.” Well, apparently I can.

  He leans up on his elbows, and brushes his thumb across my lower lip. “Yours,” he whispers with a soft smile. “Definitely all yours, Hunter.”

  I’ve gone to bed with a man, of that there is no doubt; Maxwell Daniels is the one with the power in this room tonight. I’m with my husband, my partner. My love.

  “These…these boxers,” I stammer, tugging on his elastic waistband with my fingers.

  “Wedding gift to you from Louisa and Veronica.” I’ll be damned. With studied grace, he moves his hips against mine, so that we’re just nestled together. “You like them?” Somehow, the question is genuine and innocent. Doesn’t he know his own beauty?

  “Oh, yeah.” I nod, swallowing hard, still just caressing his thighs and cupping him from behind. “I never knew you could look this hot.”

  The little hip movement intensifies at my words, and he leans low to kiss me. He’s the one doing all the leading tonight, he’s determined to take me completely.

  “I wanted to turn you on. To look perfect for this night.”

  “Oh,” I manage, a soft little sighing sound. Far more helpless than I meant, and he giggles sweetly in my ear. “You do,” I gulp. “Look perfect, I mean.”

  “So do you,” he promises, slipping one hand beneath my thigh, and drawing it up around him. “And feel perfect, too.” He runs his palm along my bare leg, a strong caress that makes me feel unbelievably masculine and desirable. Especially the way his eyes never leave me as he does it.

  “You have a body that just won’t quit,” he says, palming my chest with a hungry gesture. “Suppose I should thank Universal for that.”

  I laugh, and the sound comes out all gravelly and alpha male when I say, “Swing gang.”

  He narrows his eyes predatorily, and then our talking just ends, as he leans low and suddenly presses his lips to mine with one of his soul-slaying, unraveling kind of kisses. I’m all over, from that moment on. I’m lost thinking of him taking me again, this time in the soft confines of our bed.

  But I need to do a little taking, too, I realize, as I feel him rocking against me with a furious motion. Maybe it’s the rhythm, or maybe the taut material of his underwear, smooth beneath my fingertips, I don’t know for sure.

  But next thing I know, I’ve rolled him right off of me, and I’ve pinned him against the mattress, hard. I need to be back in charge here, I need to be the one with the power. But then I sit up, kneeling there between his legs, and he stares at me, panting softly.

  “These are coming off,” I growl, and I tear at the boxers, rolling them low down his hips. Damn, they don’t even want to give an inch, and so my tugging gets really intense for a moment. His eyes drift shut, and he leans back into the pillow, and then I just peel them off of him.

  Now he’s staring at me again, through thick lashes, with wild, smoldering eyes. His smooth chest rises and falls with quick breaths, and I caress it with my palms. There’s not a hair on that chest, and I realize that he waxed it just for me. And with that thought, I’ve just got to have my sweet little vixen.

  I drape my body over his and we begin rocking frantically, our hard cocks pushing and warring against one another. I slip between his legs, and thrust hard.

  Where’s the goddamned lubricant? I don’t even have time to think about it, I want him that bad. We can’t stop moving, can’t stop this fevered bucking, and for only a brief moment, I manage to break the kissing. I look around for the tube, but when I don’t see it there on the bedside, I begin working at him again.

  “Get me off,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Wh-what?” I ask, surprised as hell.

  “Get me off and use that.”

  Holy shit, he’s got to be kidding me. “It’s what I want, Hunter.” His voice is intense, focused.

  “Maxwell, that might…hurt or…”

  “It’s what I’ve fantasized about. For tonight.” He cups my face within his palm. “I wanted to take you first. Like I did. But then I wanted you to take me that way. Besides, I’m relaxed enough.”

  I bury my face against his shoulder, nodding, and wind my fingers between our abdomens. I feel the perfect length of him, and while working my hips, I begin to stroke him into a heated desperation.

  Then I ease up, kneeling between his legs, and I can’t deny that he’s lovely, squirming beneath me in pleasure that way.

  His eyes are closed, his mouth open with quiet pleas and words of pleasure. Talking nonstop, my sweet Maxwell. Talking and heading straight to heaven, thanks to my strong fingers.

  His dusky eyes fly open, as his lips part. “Now!” he barks, a harsh sound, and I cover him with both hands.

  “Oh, oh,” he moans. He arches up against me, lifting his hips, and the warmth of him spurts over my fingers.

  I don’t waste a moment, because I know that I can’t, and I slather his warm seed
all over my own erection, coating it completely. The sated, dreamy look in his eyes almost causes me to lose it then and there. Instead, with loving gentleness, I draw the muscled thighs up around my hips and push against his opening. Hard. Because the slippery warmth of him is drying against my skin already, and we don’t have a moment to waste.

  It feels different going in, not so smooth and easy as it normally does. But I’m mad with desire, knowing that it’s his stuff that’s made me wet this way.

  For a moment, I wish I’d feel him harden against me again. But I don’t, because he’s just spent. Now he’s helping me find my own way home right within his warm, tight walls.

  His sweet hands knead my lower back, then cup me from behind, urging me onward as I give tender little thrusts. God, I don’t want this to hurt him. Not tonight of all times.

  “Feels…perfect,” he whispers, nodding in encouragement and all my inhibitions vanish as he locks his hard calves around me.

  His lovely eyes flutter open, and for a long moment I grow still within him. We just look at one another, and I stroke the damp hair along his nape.

  It’s one of those strangely hushed moments; I’m wedged tight inside of him, he’s burning beneath me. But somehow, everything just fades other than the knowledge that we’re joined as one.

  I brush his bangs away from his forehead, and press a loving kiss there. Then, as gentle as I can be, I begin rocking against him. He works to meet my thrusts, giving urgent little lifts with his hips.

  My husband, my lover, I think again with a shiver of pleasure. Mine, all mine.

  Then it’s just unstoppable, the tidal wave of release spiraling through my body. I’m shaking and dying a little, because I need him that bad.

  When we’re done, I know the truth. Max Daniels owns me now; he’s seized my heart, my soul, my very body this night.

  Like that minister said, it’s a mystery when two become one this way.

  It’s just a mystery to me that I ever could have fought this. Thank God I finally stopped trying.