Page 51 of Dr. Bad Boy

“Very polite. Yes you may.”

“And why would you like to find out what I don’t take well?”

“Because I want to make you cry.”

“Oh my God.” My nipples are so hard they hurt.

“Is that a red oh my God?”

I shake my head. “Very, very green.”

“Good. That gives us both something to look forward to at a future date.”

“Not now?”

He laughs. “No, kitten. Not now.”

Oh. The mindfucking. Now I see the appeal. My mind is whirring a mile a minute and I bet he can hear it.

“May I ask what we’re going to do now?”

He smooths his hand over my bottom, rubbing right across the heated flesh, making my pussy clench. “No, you may not.”

I press my lips together and close my eyes. Big meanie.

He lifts his hand high enough for his palm to pull away from my skin, but his fingertips remain. Slowly and steadily, he traces what I can only imagine is a blurry handprint on my ass, then he trails down the fleshy curve, nudging open my legs.

I bit my lip harder, but I can’t keep my body from arching as if hit by a live current when he slides between my wet folds. Oh, yes. That. The simple erotic touch, so familiar and yet nothing like I’ve had before. His gentle caress now carries with it the memory of the pain he dealt out so easily, so freely, and the promise of much, much more.

He strokes me until my legs start to shake in their effort not to squirm, then he flips me over and lifts me easily in his arms. “Bedroom.”

I gesture behind me and he carries me as if I’m a feather, his arms strong and sure around me. He sets me in the middle of the bed and points at me. “Stay.”

Fuck, that’s stupidly hot. I hold my breath as he strips, tossing a condom on the bed when he takes off his jeans. It’s not like I’d forgotten how good-looking he is—that could never happen. But there’s something different about Max in my bedroom versus a hotel room. Max peeling off casual clothes and putting them on my chair instead of a suit in an anonymous space.

This is real.

This isn’t a magical one night thing that’s too good to be true. This is going to happen again and again, because Max is a real guy who really wants me.

That’s kind of hard to process. I should pinch myself, but I don’t want to wake up.

If I’m dreaming, so be it. I gobble up the sight of him, those lean hips and long, powerful legs. That heavy cock I’ve dreamed about driving into me, now right in front of me again.

My mouth waters, but he doesn’t order me to take him into my mouth. He doesn’t order me around at all. In two steps, he’s on the bed and on top of me. His mouth crashes onto mine as his hands pin my arms down and his legs press my thighs open. He kisses me until I’m breathless, then rears up just long enough to put the condom on.

When he presses into me again, it’s all of him. His cock slides through my wetness and notches easily against my pussy, into it, and he doesn’t stop. He takes me hard, driving his erection right to where I want it, even though I’m still stretching around him and oh my God, he’s so big.

He doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath, his hips jerking back and slamming forward again, rubbing along all the nerve endings that remember him, that have dreamt of him and this, and are oh so greedily happy he’s back.

Max.

Fucking me.

Definitely dreaming.

He shifts on top of me, his legs spreading mine wider still, then he pumps into me, through me, a wave of sex that rolls back and comes forward again as if he’s a perpetual motion machine. A sex machine, intent on driving me out of my mind, because it feels so good. All of it. The stretching, the thrusting, the heavy nudge when he bottoms out inside me, then drags back.

He slips his hand between our bodies and his clever fingers on my clit push me higher.

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