Taking that as permission enough, Maxwell reached for her hand and slid his fingers through hers. He led her away from the impromptu dance and out of the door into another, smaller room. An oft-neglected parlor.
“This will do,” he said, turning her and pressing her against the wall as he crashed his mouth against hers.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she had been for his kisses until now, when finally, the drought had ended. He was her cool drink of water, a necessary refreshment for her body’s needs.
His mouth was hot, demanding, his tongue flicking across her lower lip in a silent request.
She obeyed, opening her mouth so he might have better access.
He groaned, shifting, already hot and hard between her legs. The feeling of it thrilled and terrified her all at once, as though this desire they shared was larger than either of them could easily handle.
“I have been wanting to do this all day,” he said against her neck as she breathed raggedly, staring at the ceiling. “Even in that damn church.”
“I doubt the bishop would have approved.”
“We are married now. There is very little we can do that he will disapprove of.”
“So long as it is conducted in a private space.”
His hand coasted over her breast, brushing against the sensitive bud of her nipple, and everything inside her contracted. She had been empty for so long.
“This is a private space,” he said, kissing her other neck.
“We have guests.”
“Then I suppose you will have to be quiet.” He uttered the words as a command, a certainty, and although she knew she ought to be horrified, another thrill ran through her at the thought of trying to hold back as Maxwell did everything in his power to compel sound from her.
A competition.
She had always loved a challenge.
She arched her back against the wall as his hand found her hip, guiding her to grind against him. One leg slid between hers, his hard, muscled thigh pressing against her most precious area, and she huffed a sharp sound of shock.
“Quiet,” he reminded her, cupping both her breasts in his big hands now. “It would be a shame if someone heard you.”
They were alone, but this was not the house party she had gone to, where such things were accepted behavior. If someone from the other room discovered them, they would be shocked. Horrified.
And yet Thalia didn’t want to stop. So long as she kept quiet, no one would know a thing, and no one would walk through the house uninvited.
She hoped.
Maxwell pressed harder, and her head fell back against the wall as she bit her lip, holding back a gasp.
“That’s right,” he growled in her ear. “Move against me. Chase your pleasure, sweetheart.”
Her mind was a tangle of pleasure-filled thoughts and an edge of nervousness that someone would find them, after all. That apprehension merely made the pleasure more acute. She felt as though the thrill of being caught would make everything happen faster and more intensely. With his hand on her hip, guiding her, she ground against his thigh, positioned in such a way that she could roll against him, every motion bringing that flare of climax closer.
This was not her first time with him; she knew, at least a little, about what to expect. He wasn’t using his tongue, but he knew her body better than she did. At the end of it, she knew she would have her climax, and it would be one of the best things she had ever experienced.
That’s how things were with Maxwell.
A moan slipped free from her mouth, and he met her gaze as he pressed his palm against her lips. At first, the pressure was light, and she knew he was waiting for her to shake her head and push him away.
But she didn’t.
She craved his command. For it to be a battle hard won, and for him to always respect her submission as much as she respected his domination.
An act of respect; that’s what it was.
