Page 64 of Betray Me

He chuckles, soft and deep. “As you wish.”

Still holding his hand, I lead him back to the mattress and gently push him down. He’s wearing a simple button-up, and I slide it slowly off his shoulders, savoring the way his eyes darken as I reveal inch by inch of him. His skin is smooth under my fingers, invisible scars tracing patterns that mirror mine.

My fingers go to his fly.

“Take them off,” I whisper.

He grins. “Now who’s bossy?”

But he moves with impressive efficiency, revealing legs muscled and tanned from spending his summers at the beach. His pants join his shirt in a tangled pile on the floor, leaving him gloriously naked.

I take in the lines of him, the tension in his muscles, the evidence of his longing already evident.

“Tell me how you want it,” I say.

His brows go up, then soften. “So many options,” he murmurs. “Slow is good.”

I position myself between his legs, my tongue teasing the tip of his cock. The sound of his breath catching is the sweetest music. I hold his gaze as I pull him into my mouth, loving the way he bites his lip when I stop.

“Not too slow,” I say, smiling wickedly.

“Belle.”

The way he says my name—like a moan and a plea and a prayer—shocks me with its beauty.

I move down on him again, this time with deliberate slowness.

“Not fair,” he whispers, then bucks his hips, thrusting deeper than I expect.

The act is unpracticed, more clumsy than erotic, but it still makes my heart race. That he’s willing to surrender control. That he trusts me enough to be vulnerable, to risk what happens when I meet him at that most intimate part of him.

I move faster, my pulse racing as his moans grow more desperate, his whole body tensing.

“Wait, I…”

He gasps and throws his head back. I swallow reflexively, surprised by the taste. Real. Natural. Salty and sweet. It’s the first time I’m not appalled by semen, the rare time it didn’t feel like a power play.

I can taste the sweetness. That’s the thing, I think, not without humor. I like it, as long as it’s coming from him.

Still breathing hard, he rises, then tugs my body toward his. His arms feel like iron bars, and all at once, I’m perfectly fine with that. He takes my head in his hands and holds me there for a moment, just looking. His fingers trace my cheeks, then his mouth crashes into mine.

“Fuck,” he whispers against my mouth. “That was amazing.”

I smile, flush with power, relieved to feel like someone worth kissing again. The word “mine” comes to my lips, but then he pushes me against the bed and undresses me. Carefully, softly, almost tenderly. My body responds with an ache and a surprise urge to tear at his chest and tell him never to leave.

He hesitates at the hem of my shorts, eyes darting to mine. An unasked question—my answer, unmistakably certain. “Take them off.”

We are animals, we are humans, animals that fuck. But are we animals that love? I don’t know, but as Max’s fingers enter me, we are definitely fucking. No force behind it, but a commandment, one we couldn’t turn away from if we tried.

That thing is happening. God, I want it.

He strokes, and I gasp.

“Oh, fuck,” I say, losing a little breath. “Max.”

“Shh,” he breathes, and it’s already close. “Don’t stop,” I say, throwing my head back on the pillows. It’s an order now—don’t stop. Nothing has ever felt like that. That’s not the orgasm, not his fingers. That’s what’s inside him coming into me.

Inside me, his cock feels perfect. Heady, familiar. I’ve fucked too many strangers to feel like I’ve never had sex before, but it’s different with him.