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I can’t stop the smile as the Maroon Five song flashes through my mind.
“Max?” Cady worries her bottom lip.
She’s so beautiful… “My mind just went somewhere it doesn’t need to go.”
She tries to bring her legs together. “If you’re sure…”
I don’t bother to answer because, at this moment, I want nothing more. “How do you like it?” I hold her eyes for as long as she lets me, before dropping her gaze. “Tell me what you like. I want to know everything.”
“However… you like… is fine,” she says haltingly.
“Cady,” I warn.
“Other men… it’s not for me. It’s what they want.”
“There will be no other men,” I tell her roughly before I claim her with my mouth.
33
Cady
Max’s mouth… his tongue, fingers… They’re everywhere. Stroking, slipping inside me… his tongue.
His tongue.
The first time a man went down on me, I was sixteen in the back seat of a car. He had been my boyfriend for all of six weeks; both too scared of pregnancy, we hadn’t had sex, but he liked it when I gave him a blow job, which I’d done several times. One night while we were kissing goodnight and felt his hand probing under my skirt, I suggested there might be other ways for him to give me pleasure.
When I came—so very quickly even with his clumsy attentions—he told me I was too loud. “Did you fake?” he demands. “You must have faked because you sound like you’re in a porn movie.”
The second time was when I was nineteen, and one of my clients at the club asked for a private dance in the back room. Halfway through, he demanded more, and when I refused and tried to leave, he pushed me down, threw me across the back of the chair, and stuck his tongue in my pussy.
The third time, it was a woman because a man wanted to see us together.
These aren’t going through my head as Max slides through my wetness, but I’d be lying if my knees weren’t shaking. Oral sex has never been my thing.
But it’s never felt like this.
My hand fists in the fabric of my dress bunched at my waist. Max’s mouth, his fingers… he wants this. He wants to touch me. To taste me.
I know, because he’s telling me.
“You taste so good,” he mutters, his tongue dipping in leisurely strokes along my cleft.
I stare up at the stars twinkling over the water. This is for me. Max is here for me.
“I couldn’t wait to touch you,” he whispers, his warm hand splayed along my hip, trying to cover more skin as his mouth—
His mouth…
My hips roll up, into, and my hands find strong shoulders, his head with the shaggy curls bent into me. The softness of his beard against my inner thighs.
“I want to hear you,” he demands as his mouth urges, demands, takes.
He steals my breath.
My hand search for contact, to hang on as the sensations rising, flooding every inch of me. Fingers sink into his curls, my pants turning to whimpers. I bite my lips to keep from moaning aloud because…
“I want to hear you come, Cady.”
