Page 111 of Moonlit Nights & Northern Lights
The first touch of his tongue—right where I wanted it, right over my tip, where precum trickled out—had my eyes closing, as I let myself sink into the sensation. I quickly forced them open again, because I wanted to savour every bit of this with every single one of my senses.
I was just in time to catch Maxwell’s mouth widening, his lips stretching around me as he took me in. The most exquisite silky heat enveloped me, making my breath hitch and my fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders.
He didn’t hesitate. His enthusiasm left no space for doubt as he worked me with surprising skill, taking me deeper with each bob of his head. The way he moved—like he was savouring the finest delicacy and wouldn’t allow anyone to interrupt his feast—had me making noises I’d definitely deny later.
All my previous concerns evaporated like smoke. Because there was no way Maxwell wasn’t into this. Not when his eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, dark and intent. Not when he was gripping my thighs with those gloriously large hands, fingers pressing insistently into my skin as though he’d arrest me if I dared move away.
My fingers once again found purchase in his coils, their texture familiar now. I thrust forward slightly, unable to help myself. Maxwell chuckled, the vibration rippling through me and dragging a broken moan from my throat. He settled into a rhythm, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked, the pressure making my toes curl against the kitchen tiles.
My knees started to shake, threatening to buckle entirely. Thank god for Maxwell’s firm grip on my hips, his strong hands holding me steady while he continued his glorious assault.
One of his hands began to wander, sliding from my hip around to the curve of my ass. He hesitated there, his touch questioning.
Yes, please. Please, please, please, please.
Maxwell’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, confirmation sparking in their depths. His fingers traced the cleft of my ass, and then—oh, fuck—he pressed just slightly against my hole, the barest hint of pressure.
I gasped, my back arching involuntarily. It was too much, too good—I was going to come embarrassingly fast if he kept this up.
“Wait,” I panted, tugging lightly at his hair and pushing against his shoulder.
Maxwell pulled off with an obscenely wet sound, his lips swollen and glistening. He wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at me with questioning eyes.
“Rory, if you’re about to ask me if Ilike, like you again, that really will be the death of me.”
“Do you want to fuck me?” tumbled ungraciously out of my mouth.
Maxwell’s mouth made an O of surprise, his eyes widening behind his glasses. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Is that what you like?”
I shifted my weight, fighting the urge to cover my glistening dick with my hands. “I mean, normally I prefer to top, but yeah… sometimes.”
With Maxwell, the idea felt right in a way it rarely did with others. There was something in the careful way he touched me that made me want to surrender completely. The thought of being completely vulnerable with him—of letting go of control for once and trusting someone else to hold all the spinning pieces of me together—was intoxicating. My mind whirred for more words to say, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to articulate how safe he made me feel despite our turbulent history.
Maxwell said nothing, his expression unreadable. Tension hung heavy between us, growing more awkward with each passing second.For fuck’s sake, Rory, why did you have to go and fuck it up again? We were having a perfectly nice time—
“You fuck me, then.”
I blinked, certain I’d misheard him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Maxwell stood, adjusting his glasses with that precise little movement I’d come to recognize. And adore. “You prefer to top, so do that.”
Typical. The one time I really need him to read my mind, and he doesn’t.
Something in his tone made me narrow my eyes. “Are you trying to prove a point? That you’re so one hundred percent definitely bisexual, that you absolutely want a cock up your ass?”
“No,” he said, too quickly. “It’s just… logical.”
“Logical?” I snorted. “Have you ever even touched yourself there before?”
Maxwell pursed his lips in a way that was almost comical. “That’s irrelevant.”
“It’s extremely relevant! You can’t just decide to bottom like you’re picking what to have for lunch.” He’d said it himself—this was all very sudden for him.
“I’m trying to do what I thought you’d prefer,” he said, his voice measured and careful. “I want this to be good for you.”
“Good for me?” I threw my hands up. “This isn’t about checking boxes on some satisfaction survey. This is about what feels right for both of us.”
“And that means I can’t be… accommodating?” His eyebrow arched perfectly.
