Maxime’s fumbles with the zipper at the back of my skirt. I pull his shirt from his pants and sigh into his mouth as I run my palms over the hard contours of his abs and the familiar destruction of his chest. Sucking in a sharp breath, he breaks the kiss and goes still. I love how sensitive he is to my touch. It’s the one thing he’s always been honest about.
I drag my hands over the flat disks of his nipples and back down his stomach to trace the deep line of the V that cuts to his hips. I slide my fingers over the metal and leather of his belt. Pressing my face to his neck, I inhale his spicy winter cologne. He hisses when I cup his erection. When I look back at his face, I catch him watching me with a molten gaze the color of melted steel as I outline the broad head with a finger through the fabric of his pants.
Unable to wait any longer, I unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock is hard and hot in my palm, the velvet skin pulled tightly around his flesh. I squeeze, then stroke. He studies me with the intense attention of a predator as he lets me fondle him.
“You make me wild,” he says, gripping my skirt and bunching it up in his fists. “Be a good girl. Take off your panties for me.”
His wish is my command. In this, I don’t have a choice. I can only follow my body’s lead as it dictates my actions with a selfish need for fulfillment. Letting him go, I grip my thong and pull it down my legs while he looks on with savage hunger. When the underwear pools around my feet, he locks his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the bed.
Our urgency is too pressing for taking time to undress. My fingers fold around his thick, hard length, guiding him to my entrance. With his hands planted on the mattress next to my face, he parts me gently and slides home. The burn is familiar. So is the pleasure erupting in sensitive nerve endings. The rocking of his hips is a welcome rhythm, the only tune my body knows. There’s been no one but him. Like the words he vowed earlier, there will never be another. He’s all I have. Our union is broken and built on a shaky foundation, but it can’t hurt if I don’t pour my heart into it. It can only bring me closer to where I need to be, closer to coming.
“Zoe.” Framing my face between his hands, he stares into my eyes.
Everything I feel is summarized in the way he utters my name. It’s a need for something I can’t name. Locking my ankles around his ass, I lift my hips to take him deeper.
“Fuck, Zoe.” He groans. “You have to go slowly.”
Slowly is not what I want. I want to burn and go down in flames. I want him to catch me, mend me, and pretend we’re okay. A growl sounds in his chest when I wiggle out from under him. His fingers spear through my hair. For a moment, he holds me in place, but then he releases one finger at a time, setting me free. The effort it takes shows on his strained face.
“Don’t you want this?” he asks with that deep frown running between his eyebrows.
I trace the crease with a finger, dragging the tip over the bump of his nose and along the crooked line. Turning over, I give him my answer. The sharp intake of his breath is always a sweet reward. In a flash, he drags me to the edge of the bed so I’m kneeling on the floor.
I press my cheek on the mattress and look back at him. He pushes to his feet, his face an inferno of lust as he studies me. The way I’m presented with my skirt bunched up over my hips and my ass in the air is dirty. There’s something perverse about kneeling half-dressed and knowing what is coming is going to feel as good as it’s going to hurt.
Kneeling behind me, he digs his fingers into the flesh of my globes and parts me. My lower body tightens in anticipation as an ache to be touched flowers between my legs. He brings his lips closer to my sex and plants a tender kiss on the apex. The hot glide of his tongue over my folds makes me shiver. A tremor runs all the way up my spine as he trails his tongue along the crease leading to my dark entrance. I bite my tongue not to moan when he traces the tight ring of muscle before softly nipping the fleshy part of my glute.
He can easily drag an orgasm from me with his tongue. I’ll come quickly for him, but he only plays with the tip over my clit, making me squirm and clench my thighs in need. Denying me isn’t because he’s cruel. It’s because he’s kind. If I come now, I’ll be too sensitive to let him take me how I want.
He sucks a thumb into his mouth and presses the tip on my dark entrance. Rubbing the fingers of his free hand in a circular motion over my clit, he gently applies pressure until the muscles give and my body allows his entry. He gives me a moment to adjust before plunging two fingers into my pussy. I’m on the verge of exploding when he starts moving, but he keeps the pace too slow.
Perspiration beads on my forehead when the stretch in my ass increases.
“Just do it,” I plead. I don’t know for how much longer I can stand the torment.
“Shh, my little flower. I have to prepare your body.”
His patience is commendable. I know he wants this as much as I do. It’s evident in how hard he is,
