Page 54 of Unorthodox
I ride his thigh faster and he grips my ass tighter, keeping me balanced. The feel of his strong fingers digging into my skin is enough to make me moan out loud.
But his hand suddenly moves from my ass to between us and I look down and watch in a sort of horrible fascination as he strokes his finger over my flesh, split between the roped material of my underwear he’s still pulling up on as I ride him.
He pulls on one of my lips, then strokes his finger just over my clit, the cotton the only thing between us. I groan again as he moves to the other lip, pulling me wider, like he’s examining me.
“Stop,” he suddenly commands me, and I don’t want to. I don’t want to because I’m so fucking close, and seeing him play with me like that, like I’m just an object to use and inspect, is pushing me closer.
But I do as he says, and then he lets go of the fabric on my low belly and hooks his index finger through the wet cotton of my underwear, shifting it to the side and giving him a better view, and me a sense of release. Now I’m not bound by the fabric and his thigh is just underneath me.
I shift my hips, wanting to ride him again, but he grips the back of my hair, winding his fingers through it without even looking up at me, in a motion to indicate I need to stay still.
“Such a good little girl,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s saying it more to himself than to me. The words don’t hurt, not with the admiration in his voice. “So fucking wet.” He rubs his index finger down his pants, and I see the shiny, translucent trail of myself staining his clothes.
I feel hot all over again. Hot and turned on and slightly uncomfortable.
He brings his finger to my clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves and making my fingers dig into my own palms as he does.
“You have a perfect pussy, Addison,” he tells me as he spreads my lips with two fingers and I rock back a little, letting him see more.
For the first time, at the sight of my slick, pink lips,hegroans, and the sound heats my blood. Then he slips his palm beneath me, so I’m sitting on his hand instead of his pants.
“Ride me,” he tells me, looking up at me again. The sensation of his hand beneath my folds makes me want to cry with how fucking good it fills. “I want you to come on me. Tonight, you belong to me, and I want to feel you come on my hand, do you understand?” He tightens his hold in my hair, tilting my head back.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I—”
“Yes,what?”
“Yes,sir.” I don’t know if that’s what he wants to be called but it’s what Ben taught me. I see Max’s eyes dart to my mouth, feel his grip in my hair loosen, and I know it was the right thing to say.
“Good girl,” he tells me, his voice strained.
I start rocking against his hand, not about to wait another second. With his fingers fisted in my hair, and the feel of his hand beneath my pussy, I can’t wait anymore.
I’m panting as I move up and down, stroking myself against him, my eyes closed tight, breathing him in.Mein.
My fingers are aching to touch him, but I don’t dare. Instead, I press my head against his shoulder, savoring his nearness.
This time, he doesn’t stop me.
And just as I feel myself cresting, a flush of warmth and nerves and a shudder of pleasure coursing through me, he drops his fingers from my hair and wraps his arm around me, pulling me close into him as I finish on his hand, gasping his name.
“Look at you, baby girl,” he whispers against my ear as I keep rocking against him, warmth oozing from me onto him. “You’re doing so good. You’re so wet and so hot and so fucking good.”
His words make warmth explode in my chest, between my thighs, and I’m almost crying against his shirt with how good it feels to release everything. Almost weeping with pleasure and a satisfied sort of exhaustion and delirium and a need to be closer to him, to be connected. All of the oxytocin in my brain is craving more of him, and even when I finish, even when my rocking stops, I’m still breathing hard against his chest, my eyes closed. I’m completely at ease, completely relaxed.
And for a long, long moment, he doesn’t release me.
For a long, long moment everything is perfect.
Then his phone starts to ring.
“Evora is asking for you.”I can hear the words from a feminine voice through his phone, my eyes locked on his. I’m still straddling his thigh, my hands by my sides, and I want to beg him not to leave.
I don’t know who Evora is, but I remember he told Dante to bring her to his bedroom the night I was locked into the soundproof room.
My chest starts to cave.
“Don’t call me for bullshit again.” Max ends the call.
