“You gotta let this shit out, Camille.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
“You know what? I think I’d like to go home after all.” I set my beer down and slide off the counter.
Once again, Max towers over me, but he doesn’t use his size to intimidate. Not like Ares would. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need help. I don’t need to be coddled, or to talk about my goddamn feelings. I need to be fucked, Maximus. Can you do that? If not, then you should take me home.”
Max’s lips part and his eyes widen. Heat floods my cheeks as I stare at him, waiting, wanting.
And then his hands thread through my hair and he kisses me. His tongue delves deep inside my mouth, exploring me, consuming me. His body covers mine as he leans down and lifts me into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist. Max walks us back through the kitchen until we bump into the refrigerator, the counter, and eventually, the armchair. He sits down on the tan leather, and I climb onto his lap. The chair is roomy, despite how large he is, and I can see why it’s well-worn. I rock my hips against his lap. His erection presses against me, and I know he’s thick, and maybe too wide for me. I can’t wait. I unzip his jeans and slide my hand inside. No boxers, no briefs, just hot flesh. I jerk my wrist and stroke him up and down.
“Woah, woah, baby, slow down. This ain’t a race.”
“I want you in me,” I whisper, sinking my teeth into his earlobe.
He groans, “Babe, wait.”
I raise my hips and shove my jeans down to my ankles, not bothering to free my legs the whole way. The restraints just make everything fit more snug. Then I climb back over his lap, position him at the entrance to my pussy, and lower myself onto this fat cock. The pain almost tears me apart. He’s wider than my Sir, and what he lacks in overall length he makes up for in girth. I rock furiously on his dick, loving the pain, craving it. My nails scratch at his chest, and he grunts as he grabs my wrist to stop me from scratching him. Maximus holds my arms by my side. I love the feel of his big body restraining mine. I close my eyes, and the scent of pepperwood, gardenia, and the sharp metallic scent of blood rush back to me.
Maximus groans. “Camille, wait.”
“No, I’m nearly there.”
I rock my hips faster. Finally, pleasure sluices through me as I crest the incredible high I haven’t felt since the night before my escape.
But as quickly as it comes, the same is true for the low. I come down harder than I ever have with Ares. I crash and fall, shattering into a million tiny pieces when my heart hits the ground. He’s not Ares.
He’s not Ares.
Maximus wraps his arms around me, and I shriek and scramble off his lap. His still hard cock lays flat against his stomach, covered in my cum, and tinges of blood.
My knees go out from under me. I fucked a man who isn’t my Sir. I fucked Maximus without Sir’s permission, and I came both loving and hating that it wasn’t him.
Maximus tucks himself into his pants. “Jesus, Camille. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.”
“Take me home.”
He solemnly shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Can we just . . . can we talk about this?”
“I don’t want to talk. All I do is talk, to the FBI, to the shrinks, to you. I don’t want to fucking talk!” I get up and grab the nearest thing to me—a heavy coaster from the coffee table. I throw it. It misses Max by a mile, but his eyes are wide with alarm. I reach behind me and pull the lamp from the wall and throw that too. It hurtles through the air and lands with a thud against the floor. I grab a car magazine, another coaster, and a ceramic dish and launch them at him as he stalks toward me.
When there’s nothing left to throw, Maximus lunges. I back up, but he pulls me into his arms and attempts to quiet my screaming with hushed tones and whispered words.
I don’t want either. He can go fuck himself. I don’t want his pity. I don’t want him to placate me.I want him to dominate me. To hold his hand over my mouth and tell me I don’t have a choice. To tell me to shut up, or that I’m a whore who needs a good, hard spanking.
Maximus doesn’t do any of that, because he’s nothim. He’s not my Sir.
I struggle, lashing out with fists and sharp nails. He pins my arms by my sides and subdues me with his strength. I fall into soft sobs. My anger is soothed by his dominance when his kindness only stoked it. Max shifts his weight off me, but I hold to him as if I’m lost at sea and he’s the life-preserver.
As if there were anything to preserve after Ares threw me away.
Maximus draws me nearer, right into his arms. I melt into his warmth, and there—after being alone for so long, too many days of anger, sexual frustration, and the inherent knowledge that I’m not a good girl, I’m not good enough—I fall apart.