“Getting hurt by you.”
He dropped his hand. “So you believe Nancy Little? You really think I misled those women and then tossed them aside or that I’m responsible for her sister’s death.”
I didn’t know what to believe, but it was time to answer that question. He needed to know how vulnerable I felt around him.
“I kicked you out of my hotel room because I knew the moment you touched me, I wanted more. And I don’t want to fall in love with someone who can never love me back.”
He nodded. “You really believe I couldn’t possibly be interested in you?”
“Not a man like you with the world’s Adelines throwing themselves at your feet.”
He shook his head. Then something snapped, and that side of Maxwell Cole, the side with a temper, showed itself.
“Fucking hell, Lily. You really are fucked up.” He grabbed my wrist and yanked me along.
“What are you doing?” I said, digging my heels into the blond hardwood floor, my tennis shoes squeaking as he dragged me.
“I’m taking you upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend fucking some sense into you.” He whipped me over his shoulder, and I grunted with the impact. “Max, we’re not in the Stone Age.”
He slapped my ass really hard.
“Ouch!” What the hell?
“Shut up. I have had enough of your crap,” he said.
My crap?
He got to the top of the stairs and turned the corner.
“What crap? Put me down.”
“Your constant undermining and self-deprecation. You’re hot, Lily. Really hot. Especially that mouth of yours. And your fucking little attitude especially gets my dick hard.” We got to his immaculate bedroom—at least, I think it was his with the bright white walls, light gray curtains, and minimal decorations—where he slid me down and pushed me back. I landed on my ass on his king-sized bed.
He undid his bow tie and went to work on his shirt. “But obviously your hang-up is getting in your way. So as one fucked-up person to another, I owe you a little therapy of your own.”
He pulled off his shirt and tux jacket in one swoop, revealing the perfection of his chiseled torso—ripped pecs and abs with those black tribal tats on his upper arms.
God, he’s breathtaking.
Obviously, if I’d really been against what he was doing, I would’ve said so. But the fact was, having this man “fuck some sense” into me wasn’t something I wanted to turn away from. I wanted nothing more, and he probably knew it.
He kicked off his shoes, slid down his pants and black boxer briefs and stood before me, naked, rippling, hard.
“Now, tell me, Lily. Does this look like the cock of a man who doesn’t find you attractive?”
I gulped. “No.”
“Good.” He pushed me back on the soft light gray comforter, covering me with his body, and began kissing me. What I couldn’t understand was how two entirely conflicting sets of emotions occupied this one man’s body.
He wanted me and yet he didn’t?
Maybe it’s the same way you want him, but he terrifies the hell out of you.
That thought was an epiphany.
Remember when I said that sometimes there were two sides? Love and Lust. Rational and irrational. The two sides sometimes existed together, but in a state of tug-o-war until one side won or dominated. So just like I could want him, despite my fears, he could want me despite his own. His desire superseded his fear—no different than me.
He pulled up my tank and slid it over my head, diving straight for my breasts with that sensual mouth of his. The tip of his tongue swirled over my nipple, the suction tugging those erotic pulses right out of me, making me moan. Meanwhile, his other hand massaged and cupped and caressed the other breast. “I’m going to fuck those beautiful breasts of yours one day, Lily. But not today.”
He then ran his tongue over every inch of my breast until I was slick with his kisses. He then began trailing his mouth down my stomach until he reached the waistband of my yoga pants. He gave them a tug, and I lifted my hips, watching as his powerful arms peeled away the last remaining barrier between us.
“You haven’t been with anyone else, have you?” He looked up at me from between my thighs.
“God no. Have you?”
“No. And I’m always careful. Do you want me to use a condom?”
He hadn’t asked the first time. I guessed he realized that was not the smartest move.
“I’m still on the pill,” I replied to put the question behind us.
“Good.” He pulled apart my thighs and stared at the sensitive flesh between my legs. “God, I’ve been fantasizing about this for over a month.” He lightly floated his hand over my throbbing, aching bud. “I can’t believe no one’s ever touched you before, Lily.”
Panting with hard anticipation, I threw back my head and grabbed fistfuls of sheets. “Just you, Mr. Cole.”
He chuckled, and I felt his breath on my entrance. “I’ve got my face two inches from your pussy. Can’t you call me Max?”
“Sorry. Old habits, Mr. Co—”
He thrust his finger inside me, and I reacted with a wince. I still wasn’t used to anything going inside me, but it felt so, so good.
“Max.” He pulled his finger out and thrust it in again, causing me to moan. “You’ll call me Max.” He thrust another finger into my slick entrance.
“Even when we’re at work?” The sensation of his sensual strokes was making me lose my mind.
“Yes.” He placed his mouth over my c-spot and slid his tongue over the tip. “Especially at work.”
Oh, God. He’d barely touched me, and I was already so close.
“Max…” I panted. “I really want…”
“Yes?” He pumped his hand and fingers between my legs, igniting every nerve. “Tell me what you want.”
“You…I want you…” Forever. Like this. Him and me, our bodies touching, and no one else.
He moved over me and settled between my legs, every inch of bare naked skin-to-skin contact igniting every inch of desire contained inside my body.
And then he kissed me.
It wasn’t like any of the other times—those rough hot kisses in Milan that only touched my lips for passing moments before vacating to my neck or breasts, or how he kissed me softly earlier in his study. This was the kind of kiss I’d dreamed of my entire life—filled with the sort of passion that only exists when two people pour themselves into one another. It was the open, sensual expression of a desire that could never be articulated with words. There was no premeditation or thinking involved—just feeling and giving and absorbing and wanting. It was everything, fulfilling and euphoric at the cellular level, and nothing all at once, because it left me with a hollowness, knowing it couldn’t last forever. The best I could do was try to remember it, and hope I wouldn’t go insane once it left me.
For the moment, however, that kiss was my world—free of negative emotions or impending scandals. And when he thrust his cock deep inside me, I fought hard not to come instantly from the overwhelming sensations and emotions. His lips were the emotional connection, his cock the physical one. As he pumped, I moaned into his mouth, holding his lips to mine with my hands on his cheeks. I didn’t want one side to win—emotion versus physical. I wanted them both. I wanted all of him.
He fucked me hard, and I kissed him harder. Our bodies writhed in a sexual dance while our hearts pounded in unison.
His hands slid under my body, cupping my ass to increase the thrusting power. My hips slammed into him, my lips sucked and kissed and pushed to his.
The friction of his large cock sliding in and out, filling me over and over again, felt so different this time. There was only the intimate sensation of him deep inside my body and the delicious pressure I didn’t want to end. I just wanted to get him deeper.