Page 92 of Catching Trouble

“Chloe.” He ground his renewed hardness into me—thank you, knot-tying. “Can you fuck me now?”

I chuckled. “You mean right now?”

He ground against me again. “This second, before I explode.”

I met his pressure. “If you insist. But I want your arms over your head.” When he hesitated, I raised them myself, bringing his hands to touch the headboard. “There. Now, don’t move.”

At the darkness in his eyes, I leaned down to kiss him, taking his bottom lip in mine and giving him the tiniest bite. In one breathless motion, I lifted my hips and guided him inside me.

The moment I slid onto Maxime, I developed a healthy appreciation for hisbuild—every single inch of it.

He groaned at the slide, at the tightness. I clamped my teeth to my lip, willing my body to open. To accept him.

I moved against him, circling my hips, testing my limits. His focus was on me the whole time. Not that he had a choice. I’d sin-binned him with my wrist-tying, and now he was at my mercy. The thought filled me with delight.

“What?” he ground out.

I moved harder, taking him deeper. Alongside his sharp intake of breath, his eyebrows pulled tighter.

“Chloe. Why are you smiling?”

Something flickered in his eyes, and my heart stuttered. Did he think I was laughing at him?

Brushing a strand of hair from his face, I leaned over his body, kissing a circle around his mermaid tattoo.

“What if I’m just happy? What if I can’t believe you’re underneath me? Inside me? What if all I want to do is please you? Drive you mad with desire?”

I laid a kiss over his heart. “What if all I want is you?”

After I spoke, fire flashed across his face and Maxime shifted beneath me, a ripple of muscles tightening across his stomach. With a growl, he sat up to meet me, bending his knees a little, tipping me into him so my chest touched the heat of his.

When he came to a stop, he brought his bound wrists down, sliding his arms around my body. Threading the two of us together like two links in a chain.

I shook my head, like he was a naughty schoolboy. “I said no touching.”

He leaned in, laying a kiss on my jaw. “Technically, I’m not touching you. Not with my hands, anyway.” To make his point, he pushed into me, and I gasped at the pressure.

I didn’t know what he hit, but my whole body pulsed with pleasure. As if it wanted to belt out a loud“Glory Hallelujah”and do a double-back somersault. “Oh, God,” I dragged out, my words breathy and tight.

Maxime just smiled, like he expected my reaction. Like he knew exactly what he’d done.

He chuckled. “I’m going to assume that’s a permissible bending of the rules?”

I nodded, running my nails over his shoulders.

Then he did it again—slower, more deliberate, right on target, and my inner orgasm junkie did a full-body roll. Maxime knew how to hit a G-spot. That was the only plausibleexplanation for the tidal wave of bliss crashing through me. I let out a low moan, wondering if I’d make it out of his room alive.

If whatever Maxime was doing killed me, so be it. At least I’d go out smiling.

“It’s the angle,” he murmured, bringing his lips to mine. “It seemed a shame to waste the opportunity, flat on my back.”

I grinned. “I couldn’t agree more. I love a man who knows his geometry.”

As I moved against him, he held his breath for the longest beat. Something in my chest stuttered. He was so beautiful, I didn’t know how I’d ever stand being apart from him.

“And now,” I whispered, “if you’ve quite finished perfecting your angle, a little demonstration may be necessary. Kind of like show and tell.”

Maxime quirked a brow. Maybe that term didn’t translate into French—but who had time to check? As soon as I circled my hips, Maxime got the message.