His eyes darken at my confession. “Say it again,” he commands.
“I need you,” I whisper, shocked at my own desperation. I’ve never needed someone the way I need him now, as if there’s a void inside me that only he can fill.
A growl of satisfaction rumbles deep from his chest and his hands pull away from my pussy and bracket my face, my wetness smearing across my cheek. Tilting my head, he exposes my throat. Gooseflesh pebbles my skin as he nips, grazes, and teases me with his tongue and teeth.
My fingers find the fabric of his jacket, peeling it down his shoulders before they get to work unclasping his belt to tug his zipper down.
Releasing my neck, he grips my shirt, ripping it open in one rough tug. I gasp as buttons scatter across the sparkling tiles.
“That was pure silk!”
“I’ll buy you another one.”
I push his trousers down, exposing his hard cock, and I bite my lip.
“Look at what you do to me,” he says.
My fingers wrap around the thick, hot shaft and he groans as I pump him from base to tip, swirling the pre-cum back and forth through his slit.
His eyes are feral and the sounds he’s making are animalistic, savage, shooting straight between my legs.
“Jesus, Gemma,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “You’re going to ruin me.”
Good, I think to myself. I want to ruin him the way he’s ruined me. I want to wreck every woman who came before the way he’s done to me.
“You don’t even know,” he rasps. “You touch me like that, and I forget my name. Forget what I’m doing. Forget I’m supposed to have any damn control.”
“Then don’t,” I say, my grip tightening as I stroke him harder. “I want to see you lose control.”
The words flick a switch inside him, and his hands are suddenly between my legs, pushing my knees wide. I release his cock as he pushes up my skirt, the loose material gathering at my waist. He hooks his forearms under my knees, pulling me forward, my arse hanging off the edge of the smooth bench. I slap my palms against the counter to steady myself.
His eyes drink me in with a fervent hunger—like he’s discovered something holy between my thighs.
“Fucking hell,” he pants, eyes roaming over my core. “I’ll never get enough of seeing you.”
He presses himself flush against me, rubbing his erection through my slick center. My juices coat his velvet skin, and I tip my head back, a moan catching in my throat. My hips tip back and forth, guiding him through me and seeking more.
“Max,” I whimper.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he chokes out. “Say it, Gemma. Say it or I’ll stop.”
“You’re insane,” I gasp, circling my hips. A muscle feathers in his jaw, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes, half-tempted to see what the gesture will earn me.
“Say it,” he demands.
“I’m yours.”
That’s all it takes. He drives into me in one brutal thrust. My back arches and a cry rips from my throat as he fills me.
I’ve just admitted that I’m his. I should feel panic. I should run before I willingly let myself fall. But I can’t.
He leans in and kisses me, wet and hot and deep, full of passion and promise. An overwhelming foreign sensation bubbles inside me and my eyes glaze over, wetness clinging to my lashes as I try to decipher its meaning.
“Baby,” he says against my lips, and my rib cage splinters. Not because I don’t like the endearment, but because Ido.
Time suspends as our eyes remain fastened on each other, and recognition passes between us—like tectonic plates, something between us fundamentally shifts. Realigning into something irreversible.
A lone tear traces a path down my cheek, and he kisses it away.
