Page 58 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
“Perfect,” he groans when he’s fully seated, his thumb brushing my cheek with a gentleness that undoes me more than any command. “You’re perfect.”
He stays there, buried deep, holding me still while my body adjusts, his control absolute even as his muscles tremble with restraint. And when he finally begins to move—measured, deliberate thrusts—his rhythm is worship and possession both. He takes me with the kind of patience that feels like torture, every stroke drawing me closer, every shift reminding me who’s in control.
And through it all, his eyes never leave mine, as though he’s determined not just to take my body, but to own my surrender, my trust, my every unspoken need.
He studies every reaction, cataloging every gasp and shiver like he's memorizing a map of my pleasure. When he finds a spot that makes me clutch at his shoulders, he returns to it, adapting to my responses with the same focus he brings to everything else.
His movement speaks of mastery—not just of his own desire, but of mine. He seems to know exactly how to build the tension coiling inside me, alternating between deep, measured strokes and shallow ones that make me arch against him, seeking more. It's as though he's conducting an orchestra where my body is the only instrument, and he's determined to draw out every possible note.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding where we’re joined, pressing against my slick heat in a way that makes my entire body jolt. He strokes with devastating precision, eachtouch synchronized with the thrust of his hips until I’m spiraling upward, climbing too fast, too hard.
“Not yet,” he commands, voice low and rough with restraint. Somehow he knows—feels—the way I’m teetering on the edge. His tone brooks no argument. “Eyes on me.”
It takes everything I have to obey, to wrench my gaze up to meet his. The force of his stare nearly undoes me; it’s dark, consuming, intimate in a way that lays me bare.
“When you come,” he growls, his rhythm never faltering, “it will be knowing exactly who you belong to in this moment.”
The possessiveness in his words burns hotter than the fire in my veins. My body arches, straining toward him, desperate. He claims my mouth in a kiss that’s all heat and teeth and hunger, stealing what little breath I have left.
His lips break away, dragging down my throat, finding the hollow of my neck. His teeth graze the tender skin there, not quite biting, but enough to make me cry out, enough to promise he could mark me if he chose. I tip my head back, offering myself up without even realizing it.
His mouth trails lower—over my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts. He doesn’t rush. His tongue circles one peaked nipple, then the other, lavishing each with attention until my cries fill the air. My fingers twist in his hair, holding him there, begging for more, though I no longer have words for what I need.
Then his eyes lift to mine, molten, unreadable, and his hand slides lower between us again. The calloused pad of his thumb finds my center, stroking firmly, ruthlessly, in perfect counterpoint to the deep, relentless thrust of his hips. My world narrows to the exquisite torment of his body and his will.
“Now,” he commands at last, voice like gravel, like fire. “Come for me. Now, Lily.”
The permission detonates inside me. My body shatters around him, muscles clenching, pleasure tearing through me in violent waves that border on agony. I scream his name, not caring who hears, not caring about anything except the way he owns me in this moment.
And through it all—my climax, my surrender—his gaze never leaves mine, holding me fast as though he’s claimed something deeper than my body, something I can’t take back even if I wanted to.
The second my body convulses around him, his control fractures. A raw sound tears from his throat as he drives deeper, harder, no longer measured or restrained but taking, claiming, chasing his own release with ruthless hunger.
His face buries in my neck, his breath ragged against my skin, and his arms lock around me with a strength that steals my breath. The careful rhythm is gone, replaced by a primal need, each thrust desperate, consuming, as though he’s waited too long to finally let himself have me.
I cling to him, still trembling from my own unraveling, every nerve alive as he pounds into me with a force that borders on brutal—but never careless. His need pours into every movement, raw and unrestrained, and I can feel him giving over to it, surrendering to me as completely as he demanded my surrender.
He shudders violently, his release crashing through him as he holds me pinned beneath the weight of his body. His groan vibrates against my throat, a sound of possession and relief, as though in this moment he’s emptied everything into me—every ounce of restraint, every ounce of need.
And when he collapses against me, still holding me so tightly I can barely breathe, it doesn’t feel like too much. It feels like everything.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, heartbeats gradually slowing. His fingers trace idle patterns on my bare shoulder, while I rest my head on his chest—the steady drum of his heart pounds beneath my ear. Neither of us speaks, unwilling to break the spell with words that might prove inadequate.
Eventually, Max pulls the quilt over us against the night's chill, tucking me more securely against his side. The simple domesticity of the gesture creates a lump in my throat. This feels nothing like the calculated encounters with Eric, where intimacy was currency rather than connection.
This feels like...home.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it settles inside my chest with surprising comfort. Max presses a kiss to my forehead, arm tightening around me protectively.
"Stay," I murmur, already half-dreaming.
"As long as you'll have me," he whispers in reply.
Morning arrives with soft golden light filtering through the curtains I forgot to close. I wake slowly, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight of an arm around my waist, the steady breathing against my neck.
Max.
The events of last night return in vivid detail, bringing a flush to my cheeks even as contentment spreads through me. I turn carefully in his embrace, not wanting to wake him yet.
