Page 69 of Wished

I toss my head, driving down on his invasion. “More,” I say. “More, more, more.”

My toes are curling, my spine is tingling, and the blood pumping in my veins has taken on a throbbing pulse that echoes my heartbeat. It’s as if my veins are contracting and pumping pleasure through me in great, violent pulses.

Max swears as I come over his hand. I scream raggedly again, my voice raw and husky.

The mattress is soft underneath me, the satin sheet slippery and wet from my sweat and my coming. Max lifts me then, pushing me back onto the bed. He presses his mouth to mine and his lips are wet, sweet, and hot.

I’m buzzing, so sensitive that everywhere he touches me I light on fire like dry kindling set to flame. He presses his body over mine, pushing me into the mattress. His legs are muscled and rough with hair, and they scratch my bare legs, sending a shiver over me. His chest, solid and muscled, has a dusting of hair that scrapes my sensitive breasts and just-kissed nipples.

He’s hard, full, and thick. I reach down and wrap my fingers around him. He’s satin heat, and when I clench my hand in a tight grip he pulses and leaps in my hand.

Max’s jaw clenches and he yanks in a shuddering breath as he stares down at me.

Then I gently push him, and he rolls with my touch, flipping our positions so I’m on top and he’s helpless beneath me. He’s covered in perspiration, the wetness of my orgasm, and the flush of sex. I make my way down his abdomen, kissing his taut skin, the line of his muscles, the trail of hair leading down.

And then I lick the moisture at the tip of him. His hips jerk up toward me and he makes a strangled noise. I grip the base of him and wrap my mouth around him.

He tastes salty and sweet, and as I lick around his length his hands dig into my hair, and he lets out another indistinct sound.

“Anna, Anna, Anna,” he says, until my name has blurred into one longannannanna.

I take him deep, the tip of him pressing against the back of my throat, and he fights his urge to thrust and bury himself, holding still beneath me as I suck and lick and taste.

I can feel him growing thicker in my mouth, and as I tilt my eyes up to look at him I see ecstasy on his face. His mouth is upturned, his eyes glazed, and he’s watching me as if I’m his dove, his Heloise, his heart.

I pull my mouth free, my lips tingling from the suction and the feel of him, and when I do, he grabs me and flips me beneath him.

“The first time,” he says, “I want you to come here, in this bed, so that if I don’t remember you, I’ll come back here and dream about this moment. But the second time? What do you want? I want your hands spread on my desk, your ass in the air, as I come in you from behind. The third time?”

“Do you have a garden?” I ask. “I want ... outside.”

I gasp as he sends his length gliding against the sensitive nub of my clit.

“I have a balcony,” he says. “We could open the doors, let the stars in. And in Geneva ...”

He trails off, pausing over me. I’m sure he was going to say that in Geneva he has acres and acres of land with countless spots to have sex for all of nature to see.

There’s almost a flash of regret there, so I quickly press my mouth to his, tugging him by the hair to pull him in for another deep, luxurious kiss.

Finally, with his length dragging over me, he says, “In Geneva there’s a folly in the woods. A ruin with stone columns and a mosaic floor, open to the sky. The columns are perfect for tying someone up and licking them until they scream.”

“Sounds lovely,” I say, dragging my hands over his lower back, pulling him along me.

“It does,” he says, lost in the rhythm of moving along the outside of me.

The slow, teasing build that was lost before is there now. It shimmers and glows, and I reach out to meet it.

Max reaches toward the nightstand, pulls a condom on, and then settles his tip against me.

“Anna? Yes?” he asks, whispering my name.

“Yes,” I say, arching up to him.

He lets out a shuddering breath and then looks into my eyes as he slowly pushes forward, stretching me. I tilt my hips at the feel of him. He keeps my gaze, watching my expressions, reading my every emotion.

He pulls his tip out and slowly thrusts back in, a millimeter at a time. The slow build is nearly too much—I want to grip his hips and pull him inside me in one quick, hard thrust. But no matter how much I tug, how much I roll my hips, Max keeps up his slow invasion so I feel drugged on the pressure of him, on the clasp of my insides around him.

As he thrusts deeper I cry out, clenching, riding on a wave of mounting pressure. When Max feels my muscles clenching around him he makes a harsh, hungry noise, and then his slow, careful control breaks.

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