Page 57 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
Finally, he reaches behind me, unclasping the bra with expert ease. The straps fall down my arms before he slips it free, dropping it carelessly aside. Cool air kisses my exposed skin, making my nipples harden, but the real heat comes from his gaze—devouring me, stripping me bare long before his hands do.
“Lie back,” he orders, softer this time, but no less commanding.
I obey, sliding across the sheets until I’m fully stretched out before him. He stands at the foot of the bed, tall, broad, carved in shadow and light. His chest is all lean muscle and sculpted strength, the kind of body born of discipline rather than vanity—shoulders wide, arms roped with power that looks capable of both tenderness and devastating control.
His jeans hang low on his hips, clinging to the deep lines that disappear beneath the waistband. With excruciating slowness, he pushes them lower. Denim slides down over strong thighs, revealing black briefs stretched tight across the thick outline of him. The sight alone makes my pulse trip into a frenzy.
He doesn’t free himself right away. No—he prowls in his restraint, fingers lingering at the band, deliberately giving me time to take in every ridge of muscle, every shadowed line of masculinity. My breath hitches, anticipation spiraling tighter.
Only when my hips lift unconsciously toward him—silent begging—does he slide his briefs down, releasing himself fully. The sight steals my air. Hard, heavy, proud, he stands in the low light like temptation given form. Heat rushes through me so fast I’m dizzy, my thighs pressing together instinctively.
A small, satisfied smile flickers across his face, as though my reaction is the prize he’s been waiting for. He climbs onto the bed, moving over me with a predatory grace. Every shift of muscle is deliberate, a reminder of his strength, of the weight I’m about to feel pinning me down.
He pauses at my hips, fingers slipping beneath the lace of my panties. Instead of rushing, he lowers his head, inhaling deeply against me. The intimate sound of his breath nearly undoes me, a raw, possessive note that leaves my skin tingling. Only then does he peel the fabric away slowly, leaving me bare beneath his gaze.
When he finally lowers his weight over me, the heat of his body sears against mine, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, his hardness pressed heavy between my legs. Not inside me—yet—but so close I can feel the steady throb of him. A promise. A torment. My body arches instinctively, begging for more, but he holds me pinned, dictating the pace.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against my throat, his teeth grazing the delicate skin there, just enough pressure to make me shiver.
“You,” I manage, though my voice cracks with need. “Please.”
“More specific.” His hand drifts down, knuckles grazing my stomach, skimming the edge of my core without granting me the relief I crave. His restraint is unbearable. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
The command slices through the last shreds of inhibition. My pulse hammers, shame drowned by the sheer force of desire. “Touch me,” I whisper, raw. “Inside. I need you inside me.”
Approval flashes in his dark eyes, a flicker of satisfaction that makes my insides twist. “Good girl.”
His fingers finally part me, sliding into slick heat with maddening precision. He doesn’t rush—he maps me, learns me, finds the places that make my breath stutter and my hips buck helplessly against his hand. When one long finger pushes inside, I cry out, my body clutching around him as if even that isn’t enough.
“So tight,” he growls, adding a second finger, stretching me until the ache turns delicious. His thumb circles my clit with devastating accuracy, and when his fingers curl just right—oh God—I see stars, my back bowing off the bed.
“Max,” I gasp, hands clutching the sheets, the tension inside me a coiled spring about to snap.
His mouth finds my ear, voice a dark caress. “Not yet.”
He pulls back just as I teeter on the edge, leaving me trembling, wrecked, desperate. His restraint is ruthless, his control absolute.
“Not until I decide,” he says, his lips brushing my jaw in a tormenting kiss. “Because when I let you fall, Lily—you’re going to shatter for me.”
The words curl through me like fire, leaving me trembling. I whimper at the loss when his hand leaves me, but he silences me with a kiss that steals the sound from my throat—deep, possessive, claiming. His hand tangles in my hair, tugging gently to expose my throat to his mouth. He works his way down my body, his lips and tongue and teeth leaving a trail of fire across my skin.
When he reaches my breasts, his mouth lingers, teasing until I’m writhing beneath him, shameless in my need. He lavishes attention on each tight peak, suckling until my back bows and desperate sounds tumble from me. His restraint is unbearable, his mastery infuriatingly perfect.
Lower, his mouth trails across my stomach, each kiss lower, closer, until his breath ghosts over the ache between my thighs. His hands grip my hips, holding me pinned when I lift toward him, begging without words.
“Please,” I whisper, broken, beyond pride now.
"Since you asked so nicely." His smile is wicked, dark, but there’s reverence in it, too.
When his mouth closes over me, I shatter into gasps, clutching at his hair as his tongue works me with the same devastating precision as his fingers. He teases, tastes, and learns me all over again, drawing me higher and higher—until he pulls away, leaving me teetering on the brink, my body a desperate, quaking mess.
“Not yet.” His voice is both tender and unyielding. “Not until I claim every part of you.” He pulls away again, his expression both tender and unyielding. "Not until I'm inside you."
He rises, reaches for protection from his discarded jeans. And then he’s back, looming over me, sliding between my legs, eyes locked on mine with searing intensity.
The first press of him is deliberate—slow, inexorable. My breath catches as he pushes deeper, stretching me, filling meinch by exquisite inch. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve alight, my body molding around his.
My breath catches at the sensation of fullness, of rightness that defies rational explanation.
