Page 116 of Catching Trouble

Maxime chuckled, his voice low and dirty, fingers of desire tapping at the little door between my legs. The second I finished at his waistband, I leaned in, kissing him on the neck and tugging down his shorts. The fabric dragged against his wet skin, but when they cleared his hips, they fell in a soft, wet heap to the floor.

“Consider yourself liberated.”

He stepped away, gripping the foil wrapper between his fingers. But I hooked a foot around the back of his thighs, drawing him closer. “You’ve done so much work already. I don’t want to exhaust you.” Another tug brought him flush to me. “Let me.”

Taking the wrapper, I tore the foil open with my teeth, grinning at the way his eyes darkened.

When I reached for him, he was heavy and warm in my hand. His skin was silky-tight over his hardness, and as I rolled the condom down, slow and deliberate, I savoured every twitch of nerves beneath my fingers.

Then I reached lower, cupping him gently, and his breath caught. Desire ripped through my whole body, and the thought of watching him come undone infused my every thought.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Toujours.”

My toes curled at his French. I was going to need lessons. Preferably one-on-one. Very in-depth. And with very generous…assessments.

“Chloe, what are you smiling at?”

He whispered, running his thumb down my cheek.

I leaned back on the counter, relishing his heat in between my thighs. “I’m just happy.”

Maxime smiled gently, then leaned in and kissed the tip of my nose. “Allow me to raise the game.”

With those words, he gripped my hips, pulling me to the edge of the counter. Then, in one fluid thrust, he filled me.

He groaned, and like last night, the pressure made me gasp. He circled his hips slowly, giving my insides room to breathe, and I softened around him.

Maxime pushed into me, three, four times, gathering speed. His breath quickened almost immediately. He clamped his eyes shut, gripping his lip with his teeth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how long I’m going to last.”

Despite my disappointment, my inner deviant raised a glass. I was officially a sex goddess. But I wasn’t about to rest on my laurels. Instead, I brought my mouth to the soft flesh behind his ear.

“We’ve got all night, Maxime. But if we’re going to treat this as a warmup, could I request some of that ‘angle’ theory you introduced yesterday? I might need a refresher.”

Maxime blinked, then sent me a filthy grin. Taking my hips in his blistering hot hands, he laid my back against the counter. I remained lifted on my elbows; the angle affording me a delicious view of my lover.

“Ready?”

I nodded, enjoying the way the muscles in his pecs shifted as he touched me. Then, just like last night, he pushed into me slowly, tipping my hips at the very last second. My breath caught, my body melting into his. Need pulsed through every cell.

He did it again—only this time, with a deliberate twist of his hips. A subtle shift. Devastatingly effective. I grinned as pleasure rolled through me. Maxime definitely knew his angles.

Catching my expression, he lifted his gaze to mine. “Are you still with me? I’m sorry, but this might be a quick ride.”

I chuckled, curling one foot against the curve of his butt. “I don’t care if it’s a gallop or a trot—I’m a very willing passenger.”

With his eyes aflame, Maxime gripped my hips even harder, pulling them flush against him with a groan.

Sensation swept me under again. But as I was surrendering to the rhythm, my gaze snagged on the window behind him. A sea-salted breeze slipped through the gap. And my brain—always firing at odd times—flashed back to that first day. The heavy wooden gate, the hand-carved plaque I’d snapped a photo of but never translated.

“Maxime,” I gasped, clinging to his shoulders. “This may sound insane, but what’s the name of this place?”

He paused, parting just slightly to look down at me with amused suspicion. “Really? Now?”

“My brain’s weird. It won’t let go. I took a photo of the plaque when I arrived. I still don’t know what it means.”

He arched a brow, and without missing a beat, gave a deep, punishing thrust. “La Petite Perle.”