Page 6

6

ANNA

M y heart hammers unsteadily and I’m afraid if I let go of Max’s shirt, I’ll melt to the floor in a puddle of need.

Of course he’s an incredible kisser. Of course, he’s tender and funny and the perfect mix of demanding and respectful. I knew all this when I met him two years ago.

The only thing I didn’t know was his name.

Or that he was the man my brother hated.

But I’m not my brother and as much as I want to, as much as I know I should, I don’t hate Max Walker.

This time when his lips meet mine, it isn’t tentative. There’s no gentle exploration that lets us turn back and pretend nothing has happened. This time is deliberately slow, soft, and utterly devastating.

His hand cups the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and all at once, the tension that’s been simmering between us snaps, leaving nothing but heat in its place.

For a moment, I forget everything—who he is, who I am, the storm outside. There’s only Max, his warmth, his touch, and the way he makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, letting go for one night isn’t such a bad thing after all.

After all. No one has to know.

“Anna,” he murmurs, and my belly tightens at the rough need in his voice. His mouth trails down my neck, his hot breath teasing my bare skin. Tiny prickles of sensation ripple down my back and my sweater suddenly feels like a furnace.

“Take off my sweater, Max,” I plead, lifting my arms.

He releases me long enough to grin. “Yes ma’am.” I nearly giggle at his boyish eagerness, but then his hands are under the hem, gliding the soft fabric up over my heated flesh and the cool air of the hotel room makes me shiver. With far more gentleness than I expected, Max untangles my hair where it gets caught in the neck of my sweater and my heart swells again.

The featherlight sweep of his thumbs where my shoulder meets my neck has me biting back a moan and he’s done nothing except remove my shirt. I’m a bundle of nerves, my sense firing as I’m overwhelmed by the way Max feels, tastes and smells. He smells like snow, cedar and fresh air and I want to bury my face in his chest and inhale deeply.

“You have way too many clothes on,” I mutter, pulling his black shirt over his head with far less technique than he showed with me. He laughs and helps me yank his t-shirt out of his pants until his incredible chest is bare for my exploration. My fingers inch over his skin, marveling at the work of art that he is. I know he works at it. He’s like a finally honed machine, and for tonight, he’s all mine.

He grabs my hands and holds them over my head. “Stay there,” he says as his hand make quick work of my bra. It falls free and I do moan then when he takes a step back, his blue eyes darkening as he looks at me. “God, you’re so beautiful, like a painting.”

My heart skips at the tenderness in his words. But right now, I don’t want tenderness, I want his hands on my body. I want him to drive all thoughts as to why this might be a terrible idea out of my mind.

“I’m not a painting, so feel free to touch me,” I say when he’s still admiring me a few seconds later.

“You like my hands on you?” he asks, arching one of those dark, perfect wings. When I nod, he takes another step backwards and I panic, my arms falling. “Wait, that’s the wrong direction.”

Max shakes his head. “Nope. I’m dying to put my hands on you, but if I do, then it’ll be all over far too soon and I’ve waited too long to let this happen in the blink of an eye.” His mouth tilts up in a devastating smirk. “I’m going to savor you.”

My core clenches at the dark promise in his tone. He unbuckles his belt and the button below it, dragging the zipper down while I watch. But then he stops, holding up a finger and making a little circle. “Turn around, Anna.”

My eyes lock with his. “Too modest to take off your pants while I watch, Max?” I drawl.

“Ooh, a brat. I like that a lot, baby. You’re adorable when you’re fiery.” He makes the twirling motion again. “I want you to turn around so when you pull down your leggings, I get to see that ass that’s been making my mouth water all fucking day.”

The command in his tone is my undoing. If he wants a show, I’ll give it to him. I hook my fingers into the thick fabric and slide it down over my bum, feeling the burn of his eyes on me. I bend slightly, shoving them down to my knees and jump when a warm hand falls on my back, pushing me over all the way. He hooks a foot into the bridge of fabric and tugs them the rest of the down, while bringing his big body into contact with mine.

I can feel him, hot, hard, and heavy against my bare ass and when his hand slides down to cup my cheek I lean back, relishing the sound of his groan as he kneads my flesh, before pulling me back up and spinning me around. His eyes gleam in the low light of the room as he winds his hand around the length of my hair and drags me in for another kiss, sliding his thigh between mine.

He mirrors each stroke of his tongue with his thigh, sending a burst of molten heat through my belly. His grip on my hair holds me in place and my body moves of its own accord, grinding down on his leg, needing the pressure exactly where he’s giving it. Max lifts his head, and watches me for a few seconds, his lids heavy. “That’s it, gorgeous girl, show me what you need.”

I’m panting and I can’t get the leverage I want so I push against his chest. “Bed,” I sputter, when he drops his free hand to my hip, tightening his hold and slowing the pace.

“We’ll get there, Anna. Just let me enjoy how wild you are for me right now.”

Before I can muster up any indignation to that statement, he loosens my hair, smoothing it away from my face. “Hey, it makes me feel good to know you want me as badly as I want you.” His voice is husky. “To know it’s me making you breathless and wet and aching.”

I’ve never felt this out of control, this wild , as Max puts it. “Please, Max. I can’t stand any longer.”

Instantly, I’m swept into his arms and deposited on the bed, sinking into the heavy, cool fabric. Impatiently, I go up on my elbows and watch greedily as he kneels over me, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Max pins my hips to the mattress, dropping a searing kiss on each hipbone before dragging his tongue across my belly.

“Delicious.” He nuzzles me and looks up at me from those lashes that should be illegal on any man. “You smell like peaches and cream.” He nips the sensitive skin below my belly button, and I squeak. “Oh, I like that noise, but let’s see if I can make you scream.”

Before I can react, he captures a nipple in his mouth, his tongue laving the hard peak and stealing the breath from my lungs. The ache between my legs grows and my belly pulses as he alternates teasing me with sharp nips that make my shoulders arch off the bed and long, drugging sucks that send spikes of pleasure rocketing through my body.

Max’s lips are everywhere, mapping my body with a precision that’s almost maddening. I’m on fire beneath him, every nerve ending lit up, and yet it’s never enough. His hands, his mouth—he keeps me teetering right on the edge, and I don’t know whether to beg him to stop or to never, ever stop.

“You’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against my skin. His lips trail over the curve of my breast, soft and deliberate, as if he’s savoring me. “Every inch of you is perfection.”

My body flushes. No one has ever made me feel this cherished, let alone a man who looks like he was carved by the heavens. I feel naked, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not wearing any clothes. It’s too much and I almost want to stop because this should just be about sex. I’m about to find out exactly how good the hottest hockey player on the planet is in bed and then maybe I’ll get him out of my system.

But it’s not just sex. Not when he’s looking at me like I’m something precious, something worth worshipping.

I try to protest, my voice shaky to stop this haze of intimacy that’s making me fall somewhere I know I shouldn’t be. “You don’t have to?—”

“Shhh. Yes, I do.” His eyes blaze as they meet mine. “You need to hear it, Anna. You deserve to hear it. And I’m going to make sure you feel it, too.”

Before I can respond, his mouth closes around my nipple again, and I gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily. His tongue flicks against the sensitive peak, a wicked tease that has my fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer.

“Max…” His name comes out on a breathless moan.

He pulls back just enough to grin at me and blows a cool stream of air against my wet nipple. “That’s it. Say my name like that again.”

I want to protest but then his hand slides up my side, fingers tracing over my ribs before cupping my other breast. His thumb brushes over the tight bud there, and my brain short-circuits.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, moving his mouth to the other side. “So responsive. You’re killing me, Anna.”

I don’t think he’s ever looked more serious, and that realization makes me ache. He means it. Every word.

And then his teeth graze my skin, a gentle scrape that sends a shockwave straight through me. I moan, my hips shifting against him, searching for friction, for anything to relieve the tension coiling low in my belly.

“Patience,” he says, his tone infuriatingly smug as he kisses his way down my stomach. “I told you I’m going to take my time. I want to feel every single shiver and ripple of your gorgeous body.” He licks my stomach. “I’m going to swallow every single scream and when I finally feel your sweet pussy clench around my cock, then I won’t be able to hold back, but right now, we don’t have to rush.”

I’m about to argue that yes, we absolutely are in a rush, but he’s already there, his stubble rough on the inside of my thigh, his hands urging my legs farther apart, and all coherent thought spirals out of my brain.

“Max—”

“Anna,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee. “I’ve got you.”

The way he says it, so steady, so sure, makes my heart clench. And then his mouth is on me, and I can’t think about anything beyond how good this feels.

His tongue moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s got all the time in the world. He hums against me, the vibration sparking something molten in my core. My hips shift restlessly as his tongue licks up each side of my delicate crease, heat flashing inside me with each slow drag.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, his voice muffled but still wicked. “So sweet, Anna. Just like I knew you’d be.” His grip tightens on my hips, holding me in place for his wicked ministrations. He circles my clit, slow at first, as if learning exactly what speed and pressure made me tense under his hands, then light and fast when my thighs start to shake around his head.

“Are you going to come for me, like a good girl?” he asks, his teeth sharp on my inner thigh while his fingers slide inside, stretching me. My pussy clenches at the invasion and he growls, a low, intimate sound. “That’s so good, baby. Let me feel it again.” And then he lowers his mouth to me again, feasting while my body tightens, my back arching against the sheets. I’m pulling his hair, riding his face and he urges me on like he knows my body better than I do.

Right now, he might.

My hands fist in the sheets, my hips lifting involuntarily, but he pins me down with a strong hand, holding me in place as he works me over with devastating precision.

“Let go,” he says, his voice like a command, rough and low. “I’ve got you.”

And God, does he. His tongue and fingers work in tandem, building me higher and higher until the world narrows to nothing but him. The scrape of his stubble against my thighs, the heat of his mouth, the quiet, filthy praise spilling from his lips—it’s all too much and not enough.

“I can’t,” I gasp, though I’m not sure what I mean. It’s almost too much.

“Yes, you can,” Max says, his voice dark and sure. “You will. You’re so close. I can feel it.”

I don’t even realize I’m begging until the words tumble out: “Please, Max, I?—”

And then I shatter into pieces, pleasure cresting like a wave, before it breaks and I scream his name as lightening streaks through my body.

His touch gentles, but he doesn’t stop, working me through every last tremor, murmuring quiet words of encouragement that sound like filthy poetry.

When I finally come back to myself, he’s there, leaning over me, his forehead pressed to mine. His smile is soft, his eyes shining with something I don’t want to examine too closely.

Because then I might have to admit that my expression reveals the same thing.

“See?” he whispers. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

I laugh breathlessly, my hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer. “You’re awfully proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I never do anything by half measure,” he admits, his grin widening. “But I’m not done yet.”

Before I can respond, he kisses me, slow and deep and full of promises he won’t be around to keep. But right now, with his weight pressing me into the mattress and his hands framing my face like I’m something precious, I don’t care.

The rest of the world doesn’t exist. There’s only Max.