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I trip backward, falling against the wall. My bare back hits the cold plaster and Max falls over me, pressing me to the hard surface. He grabs my wrists, holding my arms over my head, and drops his mouth to my neck, to my fluttering pulse, and then to the hard points of my breasts.
I arch into his hot mouth and cry out when he sucks—hard—then bites down. Then he frees his mouth with a slow pop and blows hot air across my stinging nipple. There’s a sharp, hungry pulse between my legs and I strain against his hold.
He looks up at me, his eyes glazed and hungry. Then he smiles so wickedly my heart nearly leaps from my chest. I clench my legs together at the insistent, needing pulse.
“You taste like sunshine,” he says, “and wishes come true.”
“You don’t like my wishes,” I say, straining at his hold on my wrists, wrapping my ankle around his calf and rubbing my leg down the rough hair on his. I shiver at the feel of him.
“Tell me what you wish for tonight.” He drops his mouth to my other nipple, takes a hard suck, and scrapes his teeth over the sensitive point. “Tell me what you wish and I’ll make it come true.”
I close my eyes, unable to look directly into his gaze. In life, sometimes you run across something so beautiful that you can’t look directly at it. It’s as if the beauty tears at something inside you. The beauty is so astounding, so shattering, that you have to look away. In this moment, with his mouth worshipping my breasts and his gaze telling me he’ll grant my every wish, Max’s smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life.
The Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame, Sacré-Coeur—nothing can compare.
He’s so beautiful that I can’t breathe, my heart has lost the ability to beat, and the corners of my eyes sting as tears leak from their edges. He’s too beautiful to look at.
“Anna? What?” He straightens, releases my wrists, and pulls me to him, kissing the salt pooling at the edge of my lips.
I shake my head, my mouth trembling against his. “I’m afraid to ask.”
“Tell me and I’ll do it. Anything.”
I open my eyes finally. He’s waiting, his hair falling across his head, the stubble on his jaw dark after a day of growth. He smells like the city, fresh air, spring sun, and the hand-milled soap I lay out for him every week. On my lips I taste him—sweet, insistent desire.
“I want ... I want a night I’ll never forget.”
He smiles, wide and wicked. “Anna, darling. I’m going to give you a night you remember even into your next life. You want passion?”
I nod. “Yes. Do you?”
He draws his fingers across my jaw and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “For the first time in my life. I want it all. Damn the consequences.”
“What consequences?”
He grins. “None. There are none.”
Then he grips my hips and lifts me. I straddle him and he strides through the living room, down a long, antique-strewn hall, to a large bedroom. There’s a giant four-poster bed in the center of the room with a white silk canopy. On the nightstand is a photo in a gilt frame of me and Max at our wedding. He glances at it and lets out a small scoff.
He carries me to the bed, flips the photo face down on the nightstand, and says, “This night is about us. Not that.”
I nod, my throat tight.
Then, as if we’ve both given ourselves permission to let go of everything except the wish of this moment, we collide.
I grip Max’s bare shoulders, press myself against his length, and send my mouth over his lips. He sinks to his knees, hitting the thick rug, and drops me to the bed, my calves hanging over his shoulders.
And then, with a ragged breath, he sets his mouth to the heat between my legs. There isn’t any build up; there isn’t a slow tingle or a throbbing spark. No. The second his mouth hits my clit and he takes a long, hard suck, I arch my back and scream.
The orgasm rips through me, tearing me in half as I come and come and come. I claw at Max’s shoulders and he grabs my wrists, pushing them and me back to the bed as he continues to suck and bite and pull so the orgasm that began doesn’t stop—it just keeps building and growing—until I’m mindless with the sensations tearing through me.
Max’s rough stubble rubs against the insides of my thighs, his fingers release my wrists and reach up to grip my hands in a tight hold, and he thrusts his tongue inside me. He’s rough, insistent, a mirroring of the kisses we’ve shared. When his tongue invades me I cry out again, clamping down, wishing he were inside me so I could feel myself around him.
He’s tasting me, sucking and biting and licking, and I can feel his hot breath as tremors flow through me. I grip his hands and try to pull him up.
But he shakes his head and says, “Not done,” in a greedy, hungry voice. “Been reminiscing about this taste, and it’s better ... how is it better? You’re so sweet.”
He sucks me again, humming against me, and when I lift my hips involuntarily he lets go of my hands and thrusts a finger inside me, then another.
