I grabbed him by the arms and crushed my mouth to his.
Oh my fucking God.
For the first time in my life I was touching another man’s lips with my own. They were so different than a woman’s—bigger, firmer, fuller. I devoured them with the ferocious hunger of a starving lion.
He opened his mouth, sliding his tongue between my lips. His hands gripped my hips, pulling my lower body against his. Fuck. I felt the bulge in my jeans grow bigger and harder, and I felt his on the other side. As we kissed, he backed me up to the counter and moved against me, his cock rubbing up and down alongside mine. I was out of my mind at the thought of it, the feel of it.
This can’t be happening.
Everything about this—his mouth, his hands, his body, this kiss, this friction, this madness I felt, this caged thing inside me desperate to get out—was unreal.
Maxim slid a hand between us, gripping me through my jeans. Even through denim I felt the heat of his palm. “Can I?” he asked, his breath warm against my mouth.
“Yes.”
His lips still on mine, he unfastened my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. A moment later I felt his hand—another man’s hand—wrapping around my cock. It was warm and solid and strong, and I groaned in agonizing pleasure as he worked it up and down my shaft. He moved his mouth across my jaw and down my neck. “You smell so fucking good,” he said, and his voice—low and intense—made my dick throb in his fist.
Next thing I knew, he’d dropped to his knees and a warm, wet mouth was closing over the tip of my cock. In some kind of spiraling motion that nearly drove me insane, he slowly took it deeper and deeper into his mouth until it was buried. Then he moved faster, rubbing his tongue over my crown, sucking me hard and deep, taking me to the back of his throat.
Holy fuck, he knows what he’s doing.
And when I looked down and saw him on his knees for me, saw his lips moving up and down my cock, felt his deep, driving hunger in the way he sucked and squeezed and stroked me, I was lost.
Lost to him, lost to myself, lost to this aching, pulsing need inside me to let go. To stop pretending I didn’t want this. To surrender to it because I wanted it and it felt so fucking good.
But I didn’t even try to make it last.
I grabbed the back of his neck with one hand and fucked his gorgeous mouth like the selfish, savage animal I was, my lower body contracting rhythmically as I poured myself inside of him.
I felt like a god. I felt like a monster.
I felt like nothing in my life would ever be the same.
Fourteen
MAXIM
I sat back on my heels, momentarily stunned. I don’t know who was breathing harder, Derek or me.
Oh my God. I can’t believe that just happened.
I looked up at him, and he was sta
ring at me like he’d never seen me before.
“Jesus,” he whispered.
Then he was gone. I don’t even think he zipped up his pants, he just took off. A moment later I heard footsteps on the stairs, followed by a slamming door.
Fuck. Was he angry? About what? I hadn’t forced him. He’d kissed me. Maybe I’d pushed it too far? But I’d asked before touching him, hadn’t I? And he never told me to stop, never pushed me away, never once indicated he wasn’t enjoying it. In fact, he’d seemed to enjoy it a hell of a lot.
Almost as much as I did.
I got to my feet and adjusted the crotch of my jeans. Apparently my dick hadn’t gotten the message that we were done here. It was still hard, and thinking about what had just happened was only making it harder. I could still hear Derek’s rasping growl, still smell him in the air, still feel his cock sliding between my lips.
I can still taste him.
Taking deep breaths, I braced myself against the counter and closed my eyes, trying to calm my body down. But God, the way he’d lost control was so fucking hot. I hadn’t expected it—I hadn’t expected anything, of course. There hadn’t been any time to think. But he’d gone from standing still and letting me have my way with him to grabbing my neck and pounding his cock to the back of my throat in an instant, almost like he’d snapped. It had surprised me somehow. The quickness of it. The violence of it. The intensity of it. I’d loved every fucking minute.