Page 60 of When Hearts Surrender

I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean in and press my lips over the scar closest to his pecs, and he hisses.

He reaches out and digs his hands on my shoulders, holding me close and urging me to continue, a tortured groan slipping out of his lips as I press one soft kiss after another.

“They’re beautiful.” I breathe in his scent, a sultry heat swirling inside me.

Maxwell lets out another shuddering exhale before dragging me up his body and pinning me against the stainless steel fridge door.

“What are you doing to me?” he murmurs, his hand cupping my face, his thumb sliding over the sensitive area where my ear meets my neck. I let out a whimper.

“What do you want from me?” He leans down as my eyes flutter shut and drags his nose along the side of my neck.

I want you. All of you.

I moan, wetness gathering between my legs. I need more. I need everything.

Tilting my head back, I bare my neck to him, my hands clutching the rippling muscles of his back. He trails heated kisses down my throat, his mouth laving at the pulse points, and I let out a mewl, my fingers digging into his muscles.

Everything is so sensitive, so achy, so taut.

Growling, he hoists me up and palms my ass, and I wrap my legs around him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters.

He nips my clavicles, his hands digging into my ass cheeks, but the pain only adds to the erotic sensations coursing through me.

I claw at his flannel shirt, wanting to feel every inch of his hot body pressed against mine. He sets me on the countertop and slides out of the flannel, baring all his muscles in their full glory.

My mouth waters at every chiseled edge, every hard ripple, the leashed power inside him.

“Yes,” I whisper, raking my nails over every indentation, feeling his body harden and tremor at my touch.

He buries his face in my chest, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin of my cleavage as his hand slides one strap off my shoulders.

My breasts are heavy and swollen, nipples aching for him to touch them, to taste them. But I need his mouth on mine more. I need to taste him again, to kiss those addictive lips of his.

I grip his hair and drag his head up toward my lips. He lets out a pleasurable hiss, our labored breaths an erotic symphony in the dim room.

Maxwell pins my hands to the cabinets behind me, his eyes glazed with madness and lust as they snare on my parted lips.

Kiss me,I command silently.

I need him so, so much.

He stands as still as a statue, hovering over me, making me feel so small and yet so safe. But he doesn’t move.

Impatiently, I shrug out of his hold and cradle his face to draw him toward me.

“Kiss me,” I say aloud, feeling his breath fanning my lips.

He freezes, then hauls himself off me before raking his hand over his mussed hair.

“Fuck!”

His eyes are a wild, turbulent storm, and he shakes his head in anger—at himself, at me, I don’t know.

“I can’t, Belle. I can’t. It’s for your own good.”

What?

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