Page 49 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
I murmur in agreement, too intent on my task to form a coherent reply. But the more of him I inspect, the more doubt starts to sneak in. Could someone like him enjoy sex without control?
Once my hand travels downward, I discover my answer—ohyes. Hard, straining muscle pulses beneath the fabric of his slacks, conveying anything but discomfort. My breaths quicken as I press another kiss to an old wound on his chest. Another. I feel as though I’m marking them mentally for more detailed exploration in the future.
I can learn their secrets later.
Learn more of him later.
Right now, he’s presenting me with a rare gift I know better than to waste. Patience. Time. Control.
True to our agreement, he doesn’t command where I can touch him or how. He merely leans back against the cushions, at my mercy for once.
And I never knew what it could fucking feel like. Havingthiskind of power over someone. Studying them like an open book—far different from being a receptacle for their cock. I can’t stop touching him. Kissing various parts of him. Learning his taste. The touch he likes—not what he demands, but trulylikes. He jumps when I feather kisses over his pecs. Growls when I slide my fingers over his nipples. Inhales, the lower I go.
Lower.
Lower…
A guttural hum revs in his throat when I open the fly of his slacks, finally freeing his cock. This close, I can sense the sheer force of will it takes for him to keep from grabbing me. Forcing me. Controlling the act.
Were this to go his way, I’d never be able to caress him with soft, featherlight strokes. I’d never test the limits of his body, bringing him to the edge. Heavy-lidded, his eyes find mine, conveying the words he isn’t capable of uttering out loud.Witch,I imagine him hissing.What are you doing to me?
I’m savoring him in every conceivable way. Like his taste when mingled with the hint of sea salt and the unbearable heat. His size. How thick he can be when barely aroused—and how intimidating he can become once engorged, his body throbbing for release.
A gasp rips from his throat when I finally part my lips and take him in. It’s fucking music, so beautiful. Noise I never knew him capable of making. This new, restrained Maxim comes complete with his own soundtrack—fabric hisses as he fists his hands in the material beneath us, nearly ripping it.
My brain buzzes, drugged on the atmosphere of lust, and the heady flavor of him. What would seem debasing in any other context is indescribable now. I take him deep, moaning at his taste. His feel. Everything. I don’t care if I’m forced onto my knees, my ass in the air, my hair fanning out around me like some whore. He doesn’t demand a single fucking thing from me.
Not even when he’s pulsing against my tongue, practically writhing beneath his skin. I look up, meeting his gaze. Sweat slicks his forehead, his eyes unfocused, his lips parted. God, he’s unrivaled like this.
But even now, doubt still sneaks in.
“Is this okay?” I blurt in a clumsy rush.
“I…” His throat cords around a thickened swallow. “I need to be inside of you.”
That’s all it takes to melt my brain entirely. A simple plea.
And I nearly come before I can even lurch against his chest and part my legs. He groans once he’s seated to the hilt, his eyes closing in relief, teeth clenched. His hands find my waist, but he doesn’t set the pace. I’m left to ride him of my own volition with no outside influence.
Slowly.
Harder.
Distant laugher and the roar of the ocean create an odd, unsettling backdrop that feeds the pleasure thrumming beneath my skin. This is insane. Fucking him beneath the sun in broad daylight is insane. Kissing him in between every thrust is maddeninglyinsane.
My orgasm hits me before I even register the depth of pleasure. He follows me, hissing partly in satisfaction, partly in agony.
“Fuck!” His hair frames him like a halo as he falls back against the headboard of the lounger. Utterly spent, I land against him, and his hand finds my hip, delivering a reverent stroke. “Idefinitelythink I may come to enjoy vanilla…”
