Pushing all rational thought and sense from her mind however, Bo leaned up, kissing Max on those gorgeously full lips of his. “I want you,” she told him. “I need you. Please, Max. Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me,” she replied obediently. “Please.”
Max’s hands left her body, and he straightened. Bo made a noise of protest, but he leaned over her, kissing the noise away. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t move.”
With that, he left the room.
What the actual fuck,Bo fumed.He’s going to turn you on like this, get you worked up like this, and then just . . . just leave?And you’re going to lie here and not move, just because he told you to?
Without Max there in the room with her, Bo felt faintly ridiculous. She was lying naked on the kitchen table — Geoffrey’s expensive, bespoke kitchen table — with her hair drying in errant curls around her and her towel in a crumpled heap somewhere on the floor. There was an ache between her legs which had gone unanswered and the desire which warmed her skin had diminished somewhat, so that the cold evening air nipped at her body. Part of her wanted to get up, tie her robe and slink back to her summer house. Part of her wanted to put thiswhole thing behind her before she made a mistake, one she knew she couldn’t undo.
But then, Max had told her not to move. He’d told her to stay.
When Max reappeared, it was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that maybe this was a bad idea. That while professional boundaries were good and happy complications fine, fucking one another on Geoffrey’s solid oak kitchen table — sturdy though it appeared — was not.
“Look at you,” Max breathed out, returning to his earlier position between her legs. He stroked a hand along her inner thigh, and she squirmed breathlessly on the table. “So good. So sweet.”
Any protests Bo had disappeared at that, Max’s seductively spoken words sending an instant throb of need through her body. “Hurry up,” she urged him, but he tsked at her.
“Hurry up and what?”
“You know damn well what,” she spat back, the venom of her words at odds with the moan of pleasure that followed when Max bent down, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth while pinching at the other with his fingers.
He tsked again. “What happened to ‘please’?”
“I already asked. Nicely.”
“Maybe I want to hear it again,” Max returned. “It sounded so pretty the first time.”
Bo sat up on her elbows at that, giving Max a withering look. “Don’t push your luck,” she warned him. “I’ll get up and leave. Don’t think I won’t.”
“You won’t,” Max replied smugly.
“No? You’re so certain of that? Let me tell you, I’m at the stage of not liking you very much again, and this . . . thisgameyou want us to play is driving me crazy, and—”
Max leaned over her again, catching her mouth with his and kissing her deeply. The kiss was soft and sweet, surprisingly gentle, and he nuzzled her nose with his. “It would seem,” he said, in a tone so reasonable Bo wondered if he was about to fuck her or debate politics, “that kissing you really is the only way to shut you up.”
Bo lay back on the table, wrapping her arms around Max’s neck. “So, just keep kissing me then.”
“No. If it’s okay by you, I’d like to do much more than kiss you now.”
Finally,Bo’s heart sang. Not that she would give Max the pleasure of knowing how much she’d been wanting this. She nodded mutely, her head rolling back as Max’s questing fingers moved once more between her legs, rubbing at her slick flesh until she was a whimpering mess on the table. When Max pushed two fingers deep inside her, curling them so that they hit that wonderful spot that made her pulse around him, she cried out, clinging to him.
He kissed her once more, before easing his fingers away and pulling at his shorts. Bo heard a zip release, and then she heard Max opening a condom. It occurred to her fevered mind that the condom was probably why he’d disappeared earlier. It hadn’t been some odd power play dynamics at work; it had simply been a matter of practicalities. Vaguely, she recalled the last time they’d slept together, how Max had been careful about protection then too. She felt a surprising surge of affection for him, affection which multiplied as he slid slowly inside her, his movement agonizingly drawn-out as he buried himself to the hilt inside her.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as the unspeakable feeling of fullness, the joy of an ache satisfied, began to throb from her core.
She looked up at Max, but his eyes were closed, his hands clutching her hips. “You,” he said, thrusting once on the word so that she chewed down on her lip to stop herself from crying out his name. “Are just,” two more thrusts, and she bit down again. “So, so fucking perfect.”
The last time they’d slept together, it had been frantic and fast-paced, with Max wringing out of her all kinds of pleasure in a hard and almost unrelenting kind of way. They’d been short of time then; both knowing they had just a few hours in which to enjoy the other’s body. It was meant to be a one-time thing, after all, a pleasant way to pass the time between 3 a.m. and the first train of the day. Now though, with time a less pressing issue, Max seemed determined to take things at a more leisurely pace. His movements were precise and torturously slow, and Bo made a noise of frustrated impatience.
“Faster,” she begged, but Max shook his head.
“No,” he said bluntly. “If I go faster, I’ll come. I want to make this last.”
Bo’s nerves were sparking and her body felt tight as aches of want and desire built within her. Max had brought her to the edge already, and she wanted nothing more now than to tumble into the waves of pleasure below.
