Page 89 of A Manny for Christmas

Holy crap.

I really am the luckiest woman alive.

Mmm. I lie there and luxuriate as Max lifts my feet to take off my shoes before hooking his thumbs in the sides of my yoga pants and yanking them and my underwear down my legs. He assesses his handiwork appraisingly.

‘Nearly there.’

I arch one shoulder off the bed so he can undo the back of my bra and pull it over my raised arms.

His mouth curves up slowly. Triumphantly. ‘Just beautiful.’ I think he’s going to jump on me, but he looks around before his gaze alights on something on the bed. Next thing I know, he’s pulling the cord off the nearest robe and flexing it in his hands.

‘I assume you still like this?’ he asks, his tone carefully impartial.

I inhale sharply. The sight of Max, naked and already semi-hard again, standing at the foot of the bed flexing a restraint, albeit an innocuous one in wholesome waffle cotton, causes an immediate physical reaction. My nipples pinch, there’s an instant pulse between my thighs, and my heart rate ratchets up out of nowhere.

Because I haven’t done this since Max. Felix didn’t tie me up, nor did the casual partners I had before I met Felix. Max and I used to fool around with a bit of low-key bondage—the odd silk tie, or a pair of stupid fluffy handcuffs courtesy of my girlfriends, or a trusty dressing-gown cord. And from the looks of it, this boy scout hasn’t forgotten his skills.

‘Why don’t we see?’ I say, and his eyebrows rise.

‘You haven’t…?’

‘Nope,’ I say in a tone I hope shuts downthatparticular conversation.

‘Well, well, well,’ he says. ‘Even better.’

Instead of coming around the bed, he puts a knee up and straddles me.

‘Scoot up a bit.’

I wiggle myself up so my legs are on the bed, too.

‘Arms up.’

I raise them in the air, holding them together like a good girl as he braces his powerful body over me, winding the cord around my wrists and securing it tightly while affording me a most excellent view of his sheer physicality. He gives my wrists a tug.

That seems like a solid knot.

My breath hitches.

The thing about Max is that when you get him in the bedroom, he goes from laid-back to predatorial, and I fucking love it. I know I’m completely safe in his hands, but I also know I’m in for a treat. He’ll reward my trust and then some. The knowledge of this, and the knowledge that, for now, I’m his sexual plaything, gets me so hot and bothered that he’ll barely have to touch me before I’m coming. The power dynamic in itself is turn on enough.

He touches me gently on my inner arms, prompting me to lay them back on the bed above my head. Then he’s crouching down on me, the heavy sac of his balls resting right at the top of my thighs, his erection brushing my stomach as he leans forward. I stare up at him. Trustingly. Impatiently. Wanting everything he has to give me.

His hand comes to my hair, my cheek, as he braces on one arm. ‘So fucking sexy,’ he tells me. ‘Mol, you should see yourself. You are every man’s fantasy right now, and I am one hell of a lucky bastard.’

‘I’m the lucky one,’ I tell him, my words turning to a moan as he swipes both palms roughly over my exposed breasts, a shock of heat lancing south at his touch.

He presses his lips together and shakes his head. ‘Nah.’ He plays with my nipples, his fingers sending electric pulses so delicious around my body that I clench my jaw and attempt to arch my back. He’s no longer looking at my face. I stare in fascination at the expression in those eyes as he scoots backwards on his heels, scrutinising every inch of my body as he moves down it. His hand nudges my knees apart, and he kneels between them so he can peruse the area where my legs have fallen open in surrender.

The male fucking gaze.

This is it.

It’s so blatant, so deeply possessive, entitled, even, that every feminist part of my being retreats in shame while every nerve ending, every cell remotely connected to my sex organs veritably sings. Max crouches between my legs in all his gorgeous, golden glory, his cock now rock-hard and ready to go again, those magical amber eyes exploring every inch of me with a heady edge of ownership.

And I can’t get enough.

I stretch my arms luxuriously over my head, my body arching off the bed again. It’s cosy in the room, but my skin is covered in a layer of goosebumps, and my nipples are so tight as to be on the verge of snapping off.

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