He slid his hand through hers and guided them toward the bedroom. He took her purse and set it on the nightstand before sitting on the bed. Pulling her sideways onto his lap, he cupped her cheeks and pressed his lips to her. The kiss was slow and sensual as if he was savoring each moment.
Standing, he set her on the bed. Then he went down on his knees, unzipped her black leather boots, and removed them, followed by her socks. He circled the pad of his thumb over her ankle, eliciting a quiet moan from her.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Apparently. Though it’s new news to me.”
He bit gently on the spot and then soothed it with his tongue. Heat shot up her, pooling between her legs. “Max,” she moaned, unsure what she was asking for.
Standing, he came around. The mattress dipped as he settled behind her. Removing her sweater, he kissed her shoulders before his lips trailed down her spine. At her bra strap, he unhooked it and slid his hand under the lace and over her breast. “Your skin is as soft as lisianthus.”
She jerked away, her stomach clenching. “Who’s that?” The question sliced through the air, razor-sharp. Was he comparing her to another woman? The asshole.
His chuckle rumbled against her skin as he pulled her close again. Warmth and irritation warred within her—how dare he laugh.
“It’s a flower,” he murmured, his breath warm on her neck.
“Oh.” Embarrassment flooded her cheeks where jealousy had roared. She ducked her head, grateful he couldn’t see her face. “That’s really sweet,” she admitted, smiling despite herself.
“And the truth,” he said, his hands gliding down her stomach and between her legs.
She pressed against his palm, twisting around and inhaling his intoxicating scent. “Please, Max. I need you close.”
He rolled to his side, and she met him in the center of the bed, tugging on his sweater. This time, he didn’t deny her and removed it. Followed by his slacks and boxer briefs, then socks. A naked Max was a glorious sight. And not all of it was merely his tight muscles and heated eyes, but this moment of true closeness between them.
Reaching for her purse, she got a condom and put it on him. “Come here,” he said. “I’ve missed your beautiful body against mine.”
She pressed her front against his side, and his arm wrapped around her, bringing her on top of him. That sensation of being home filled her again. Even more so when she looked into his eyes, dilated with lust but also touched with something more.
Too afraid to ask what that something could be, she focused on what she could have and took him inside her. “You’re so fucking perfect for me,” he said.
She blinked back sudden tears and nestled into his neck. Her throat constricted, chest tight with emotions she refused to name. It wasn’t the word ‘perfect’ that got her. All alone, it was trite, but added with, ‘for me’ as if she was perfect for him, that got her.
He rolled them but kept her wrapped in his arms as close as she had been when on top. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who needed skin-to-skin comfort. “Why do you feel this good?” he asked rhetorically, then groaned, “Fucking amazing.”
His thrusts were deep, and the pressure heady as his kisses. “Keep doing that. Don’t stop,” she begged.
“For you, anything,” he said, kissing her and giving her exactly what she needed. Her orgasm coiled, then released. He brought her leg up, hitting a spot that had her seeing heaven.
“Oh, Go—Max,” she gasped.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak. His rough pace and breathing told her he was close. She ran her short nails down his back, giving him a bite of pain he liked. He groaned her name as his body stiffened with his release.
Minutes or hours later, entangled in each other, her heartbeat returned to normal. She lay still, treasuring the warmth of his body pressed against hers, his steady breath tickling her neck. She traced absent patterns on his chest before catching herself and stilling them. These tender moments after sex were more dangerous than the act itself. They made her want to confess things she couldn’t take back, words and feelings pressing against her teeth and heart like prisoners testing their bars.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, disentangling himself and kissing her temple.
She reached for his pillow, then stopped halfway. No. She wouldn’t be that girl who surrounded herself with his scent, who let herself need too much. Instead, she rolled, facing the wall, pulling her arms tight against her chest, letting reality crash over her like the roof of a house with a weak foundation.
The Sterling project was finished. Beautifully, perfectly finished.
There were no more projects to hide behind or excuses to keep this carefully constructed distance. There was nothing to buffer the inevitable moment when he’d want more—want things she wasn’t, want the person he thought she was rather than who she was.
The bathroom water shut off, and she quickly rolled on her side, facing the wall. Soon he’d realize what everyone else had—that she wasn’t worth the effort, that beneath her carefully crafted exterior lay someone too difficult to love.
The mattress dipped as he slid next to her. She kept her breathing steady, feigning sleep. The warmth of his hand hovered over her shoulder. Her fingers twitched to reach for him, but she curled them into her palm instead. After three heartbeats, he withdrew.
