Page 153 of Unorthodox
“Max,” she whispers against my mouth, pulling back, catching her breath.
I caress her breasts, kneading her flesh. “Yeah, baby girl?”
“Fuck me.”
I pull back further and see her shy smile. See the alcohol is going straight to her head.
“You want me to fuck you?” My cock aches with the way she’s looking at me like she wants just that.
“Yeah,” she breathes out, “I do.”
“How badly?” I ask her softly.
She moves her hips again, practically riding my cock. I slide my hands down her body, feeling the subtle curves, the dip of her waist, the slight flare of her hips. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, she immediately knows what I want, and she lifts her arms.
I pull it off of her, drop it to the floor and hold her out from me, my hands on her waist as my eyes roam over every inch of her body. The burns on her chest, the faint scars under her breasts.
She runs her hands through her hair, arching her back, giving me a better view.
“Do it, Max,” she says softly, bringing her hands down to my wrists, curling her fingers around me. I try not to flinch with her touch. “Stop teasing me and just do it.”
I drag my gaze up to meet hers. “There’s something I want to do with you.”
She smiles. “Oh yeah?” She bites her lip, then her hands cover mine, and she guides them down lower, slipping them under her pants.
“Yeah,” I answer her.
She stops guiding my hands, staring at me with bated breath, waiting.
“I don’t like normal things, love. I think you know that by now?”
She nods, but her eyes are suddenly full of caution.
“But there’s something I’ve never done.”
Surprise flits across her features with that confession.
“You trust me?”
She chews her lips again, debating. I don’t think she does, no matter what she’s about to say. Because Addison London is smart. She knows not to make a deal with the devil. But even still, she nods.
“Good.” I look past her. “Now go lay on the bed.”
When I’m nakedon his bed, my head spinning and a lightness like I’ve never experienced lending me a calm I shouldn’t feel, he comes to stand by me, gun in hand. I try not to let it unnerve me.
He always has a gun.
And he seems different right now. Softer. Stranger.
“Are you sure about this, love?” His eyes narrow, and he brings the gun up, trailing it down the side of my body. I shiver, but don’t look away from him. “Because if I start,” his face is calm and deadly serious when he continues, “I’m not stopping.”
It takes an effort not to cover myself with my arms. “No matter what?” I ask him coyly, arching a brow.
“No matter what,” he repeats, a smirk on his face.
My stomach flutters, and the little hairs on my arms stand on end as he guides the gun lower, then brings it toward my inner thigh.
I glance at the gauze over his shoulder, but I keep my hands down by my sides.
