Page 29 of The Fire Between Us

The kiss transforms from sweet to hungry in seconds. Max's arm tightens around me, pulling me flush against him as my fingers tangle in his hair. It's been so long—so very long—since I've been kissed like this, like I'm precious and desirable and worth the slow exploration of lips and tongue and breath.

We break apart only when oxygen becomes necessary, both breathing hard. Max's eyes have darkened to a stormy blue, his pupils dilated with desire.

"You're incredible," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine.

"So are you," I reply, my voice unsteady with want.

His next kiss is deeper, more urgent, and I respond in kind, all thoughts of "slow" receding as heat builds between us. I let my hands roam over his broad shoulders, careful of his injury but eager to touch, to learn the contours of his body. He groans against my mouth when my fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, finding warm skin and hard muscle.

"Jennie," he breathes, his lips leaving mine to trace a path along my jaw to the sensitive spot below my ear. "Tell me if this is too fast."

"It's not," I assure him, tilting my head to give him better access. "It's perfect."

His mouth trails down my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake as his hand slides beneath my sweater, warm against my back.

"Can I—?" he starts, his fingers playing with the hem of my sweater.

"Yes," I answer immediately. "Please."

He lifts it slowly, giving me every opportunity to change my mind, but all I want is more—more of his hands on my skin, more of his mouth on mine, more of this connection that feels both new and somehow familiar, like coming home to a place I've never been.

My sweater joins his shirt on the floor, and we're moving through his apartment, a stumbling dance of desire that leads us to his couch. I should be self-conscious—my body has changed since having Amelia, curvier than before—but the way Max looks at me, like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, silences the cruel voice in my head that sounds too much like Derek.

"You're gorgeous," Max murmurs, his hands spanning my waist as he lowers me onto the couch. "So beautiful, Jennie."

He follows me down, careful to keep his weight off me, and claims my mouth again. I lose myself in the kiss, in the delicious friction of his bare chest against mine, in his throbbing bulge pressed against my thigh.

My hands explore the planes of his back, the definition of his shoulders, the narrow trail of dark hair disappearing into his jeans.

When his palm cups my breast through my bra, I gasp against his mouth, arching into the contact. He takes the encouragement for what it is, his thumb brushing across the stiff nipples as his other hand works at the clasp.

"Max," I breathe, his name both plea and permission.

My bra falls away, and Max draws back just enough to look at me, appreciation clear in his gaze.

"Perfect," he says simply, before lowering his head to replace his hand with his mouth.

The sensation of his tongue against my sensitive skin sends electricity racing through me, pooling low in my belly.

His hand slides down my stomach to the button of my jeans, pausing there in silent question. I answer by lifting my hips, helping him as he slides the denim down my legs, leaving me in just my underwear. He stands to remove his own jeans, and I take in the sight of him—powerful thighs, the impressive bulge confined by his boxers, the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel.

When he rejoins me on the couch, his weight partially supported by his good arm, I can feel the restraint in his movements, the careful control he's maintaining for my sake.

"You don't have to be gentle," I tell him, surprising myself with my boldness. "I won't break."

Something flashes in his eyes—hunger, relief, desire—and his next kiss is passionate, more demanding. His hand slides between my thighs, finding me wet and ready through the thin fabric of my underwear. I moan into his mouth as his fingers circle, tease, press against me through the barrier.

"Need to feel you," he murmurs against my lips. "All of you."

"Yes," I agree breathlessly. "Please, Max."

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear, sliding them down and off in one smooth motion. Then he's standing again, removing his boxers, and I take in the sight of him fully naked—all strength and hard lines and obvious arousal.

"Turn around," he says, his voice rough with desire. "On your knees."

The command sends a thrill through me, and I comply eagerly, turning to kneel on the couch, my hands gripping the back as he positions himself behind me.

His hands slide up my sides, over my back, into my hair, and then between my thighs again, exploring, stroking, finding the slick evidence of my arousal.

---