Page 34 of Second to None
“I need to move,” Max said, his hips pulsing.
She nodded against his shoulder, and he lifted her enough to allow him to withdraw partially before he drove into her again. She’d thought she was done, but the rhythm made her nerve endings waltz with him, starting little tremors that expanded and sent her tumbling into another orgasm. As he bowed up from the chair, she rode his hips while he shouted and pumped and dug his fingers into her waist.
Afterward, they folded in on each other, shuddering and panting together. Emily felt his heart pounding as she curled against his chest. A secret little smile tilted the corners of her mouth. She had done that to him.
“Let me catch my breath. After that, I promise I will let you eat,” Max huffed against her hair.
“Maybe we should try putting some clothes on this time,” Emily suggested.
“So much for my fantasy.”
“Next time,” she said. His arms twitched and tightened around her. She tilted her head in an effort to see his face. “What is it?”
He smiled down at her. “What is what?”
She shrugged. It must have been her imagination or an orgasmic aftershock. She snuggled back into him.
“All right, food,” he said after a few moments, patting her bottom.
She was still drifting in a blissful haze of satiation. “Must we move?”
“Unless you want a cold buffet instead of a hot dinner.”
She disentangled herself from his arms and started toward their scattered clothing.
“May I suggest a compromise for dinner attire?” he asked as he stripped off the condom. “You wear my shirt and I’ll wear my trousers.”
“Deal.” She scooped up his shirt and slid her arms into the sleeves, the soft cotton caressing her sensitized skin. She left a nice stretch of cleavage exposed in the neckline and rolled back the cuffs.
“I’ll never launder that shirt again,” he said, flicking open one more button so that most of her breasts were exposed. “That’s better.”
“When you do that, I’m not sure this is much different from wearing nothing,” Emily teased.
“Oh, believe me, it is.” He twined his fingers with hers and led her to the table, holding the chair for her.
His shirttail was long, but her bare skin still brushed the satin of the chair seat. It sent a little tingle into her core.
“What’s on the menu besides me?” Emily asked, giving him a wicked smile.
He held up a hand. “Don’t, or you’ll find yourself stretched out over the tablecloth with me between your legs.”
She laughed, reveling in her effect on him.
He rolled the warming cabinet to the table and pulled two covered bowls from the top shelf. “Hot potato-leek soup. A favorite of mine for wintertime.”
It was thick, creamy, and hearty. She gulped down the entire bowl.
“Worked up an appetite, did you?” He smiled across the half-burned candles, his posture more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.
“Didn’t you?”
He chuckled and returned the empty bowls to their shelf before he set out plates, lifting the covers with a flourish. “Venison chops with dried cranberries, shallots, and a little side pot of polenta and cheese.”
She inhaled, letting the warm scents rise and mingle in her nostrils. “Yum. So who made this?”
“My chef. I prefer not to cook myself.”
Because he’d had to do it too often as a kid, as she remembered. “I’d like to have a personal chef ... and so would Izzy,” she said. “Do you tell him what to make, or does he just surprise you?”
