Page 63 of One Pucking Life

In one smooth motion, his hands slide beneath my thighs, and he lifts me effortlessly, setting me on the edge of the hotel counter. The cool surface contrasts deliciously with the heat building between us.

“Max,” I whisper, breathless.

His gaze locks with mine as he slowly runs his hands up the backs of my thighs, pushing his T-shirt up and leaving me open to him. He presses my knees to the side. Every movement is deliberate, reverent, and exquisite.

He kisses the inside of my knee, then trails his mouth higher, letting his lips explore every inch of newly exposed skin. A gasp escapes me when he kisses just beneath the hem of my underwear, his stubble brushing against me in the most delicious way. He spreads my legs wider, his thumbs brushing tenderly along my inner thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he lifts me slightly and slides my underwear down.

Peppering kisses along my skin, he kisses from my toes, up my calf, over my knee, and across the inside of my thigh until his mouth hovers a breath away from the bundle of nerves aching for him.

My head falls back, and a guttural moan escapes me at the first swipe of his tongue.

“Max,” I cry out. Every other desire—coffee, sleep, reason—evaporates. All I want is this. All I want is him.

He slips one finger, then a second, inside me as he licks and sucks my clit. Seconds later, my legs start to tremble, and pleasure rushes through me like a current, lighting every nerveending from my scalp to my toes. I cry out again and again, lost in the intensity of my release.

As the waves of my orgasm continue, Max enters me in one fluid motion, thrusting hard and fast. His hands grip my thighs, his fingers digging into my skin as he pounds into me. I immediately sync with his rhythm, chasing a second climax, this time with him. I grip the counter for balance, spreading wider, taking him deeper.

He holds my gaze—mouth parted, breathing ragged, eyes heavy with desire—and the sight of him, all primal and beautiful, tips me over the edge again. I come with a cry, gripping him as he slams into me one last time and groans my name, spilling inside me.

We remain pressed together, chests heaving, still connected. I wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek against his sweat-slicked chest. Splaying my hands across his strong back, I hold him close, listening as his erratic heartbeat begins to slow.

Everything he said last night is true. Not only do I love him—I'm so deeply in love that the thought of losing him would destroy me.

He kisses the top of my head, then pulls out slowly. His mouth drops open as he stares between my legs.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring in awe. His fingers find my entrance, and he drags a bit of himself up over my still sensitive clit. I whimper.

“This might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I half laugh, half moan as he toys with me. “Do you have a bit of a breeding kink, Max?”

“What is that?” he asks, brows raised.

The question makes me grin. “Read a couple of romance novels, and you’ll figure it out real fast.”

The way he’s touching me makes me want him again—instantly. But we’ve already been lucky with the time we’ve had. I take his wrist and gently pull his hand away.

“As much as I’d love to stay naked with you all day, I have to jump in the shower before our princess wakes up.”

“True,” he murmurs, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “I’ll join you.”

I narrow my eyes. “I actually need to shower.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, me too.” He slides his hands under my butt and lifts me from the counter. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck as he carries us to the bathroom. “In fact,” he says, “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Fine.” I laugh, kissing him again. “But we have to be quick. We’re already on borrowed time.”

“Oh, I can definitely be quick,” he teases, slapping my ass and making me giggle.

I’m floating in a bubble of bliss, clinging to the overwhelming love I feel for this man—and doing my best to quiet the fear that’s always lingered inside me. The fear that bloomed long ago, watching my mother cry over my father. But Max isn’t him. He’s nothing like my father. Still, the fear clings tight.

Yet I’m choosing not to let it win. Because I want this. I want Max. More than anything, I want to believe that maybe—just maybe—we’ll get to keep this forever.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

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