Page 12 of One Weekend in Vienna

Before I can react, he captures a nipple in his mouth, his tongue laving the hard peak and stealing the breath from my lungs. The ache between my legs grows and my belly pulses as he alternates teasing me with sharp nips that make my shoulders arch off the bed and long, drugging sucks that send spikes of pleasure rocketing through my body.

Max’s lips are everywhere, mapping my body with a precision that’s almost maddening. I’m on fire beneath him, every nerve ending lit up, and yet it’s never enough. His hands, his mouth—he keeps me teetering right on the edge, and I don’t know whether to beg him to stop or to never, ever stop.

“You’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against my skin. His lips trail over the curve of my breast, soft and deliberate, as if he’s savoring me. “Every inch of you is perfection.”

My body flushes. No one has ever made me feel this cherished, let alone a man who looks like he was carved by the heavens. I feel naked, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not wearing any clothes. It’s too much and I almost want to stop because this should just be about sex. I’m about to find out exactly how good the hottest hockey player on the planet is in bed and then maybe I’ll get him out of my system.

But it’s not just sex. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m something precious, something worth worshipping.

I try to protest, my voice shaky to stop this haze of intimacy that’s making me fall somewhere I know I shouldn’t be. “You don’t have to?—”

“Shhh. Yes, I do.” His eyes blaze as they meet mine. “You need to hear it, Anna. You deserve to hear it. And I’m going to make sure you feel it, too.”

Before I can respond, his mouth closes around my nipple again, and I gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily. His tongue flicks against the sensitive peak, a wicked tease that has my fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer.

“Max…” His name comes out on a breathless moan.

He pulls back just enough to grin at me and blows a cool stream of air against my wet nipple. “That’s it. Say my name like that again.”

I want to protest but then his hand slides up my side, fingers tracing over my ribs before cupping my other breast. His thumb brushes over the tight bud there, and my brain short-circuits.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, moving his mouth to the other side. “So responsive. You’re killing me, Anna.”

I don’t think he’s ever looked more serious, and that realization makes me ache. He means it. Every word.

And then his teeth graze my skin, a gentle scrape that sends a shockwave straight through me. I moan, my hips shifting against him, searching for friction, for anything to relieve the tension coiling low in my belly.

“Patience,” he says, his tone infuriatingly smug as he kisses his way down my stomach. “I told you I’m going to take my time. I want to feel every single shiver and ripple of your gorgeous body.” He licks my stomach. “I’m going to swallow every single scream and when I finally feel your sweet pussy clench around my cock, then I won’t be able to hold back, but right now, we don’t have to rush.”

I’m about to argue that yes, we absolutely are in a rush, but he’s already there, his stubble rough on the inside of my thigh, his hands urging my legs farther apart, and all coherent thought spirals out of my brain.

“Max—”

“Anna,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee. “I’ve got you.”

The way he says it, so steady, so sure, makes my heart clench. And then his mouth is on me, and I can’t think about anything beyond how good this feels.

His tongue moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s got all the time in the world. He hums against me, the vibration sparking something molten in my core. My hips shift restlessly as his tongue licks up each side of my delicate crease, heat flashing inside me with each slow drag.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, his voice muffled but still wicked. “So sweet, Anna. Just like I knew you’d be.” His grip tightens on my hips, holding me in place for his wicked ministrations. He circles my clit, slow at first, as if learning exactly what speed and pressure made me tense under his hands, then light and fast when my thighs start to shake around his head.

“Are you going to come for me, like a good girl?” he asks, his teeth sharp on my inner thigh while his fingers slide inside, stretching me. My pussy clenches at the invasion and he growls, a low, intimate sound. “That’s so good, baby. Let me feel it again.” And then he lowers his mouth to me again, feasting while my body tightens, my back arching against the sheets. I’m pulling his hair, riding his face and he urges me on like he knows my body better than I do.

Right now, he might.

My hands fist in the sheets, my hips lifting involuntarily, but he pins me down with a strong hand, holding me in place as he works me over with devastating precision.

“Let go,” he says, his voice like a command, rough and low. “I’ve got you.”

And God, does he. His tongue and fingers work in tandem, building me higher and higher until the world narrows to nothing but him. The scrape of his stubble against my thighs, the heat of his mouth, the quiet, filthy praise spilling from his lips—it’s all too much and not enough.

“I can’t,” I gasp, though I’m not sure what I mean. It’s almost too much.

“Yes, you can,” Max says, his voice dark and sure. “You will. You’re so close. I can feel it.”

I don’t even realize I’m begging until the words tumble out: “Please, Max, I?—”

And then I shatter into pieces, pleasure cresting like a wave, before it breaks and I scream his name as lightening streaks through my body.

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