Thrill Seeker (Sinful in Seattle)

I wanted Max.

He stopped circling my clit and pressed down on it instead. His fingers not inside me, and not out either. Just there. Intent and awareness ramping me up—teasing me.

Fucking Max.

His lips brushed my ear. “Me inside you. This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” I growled.

“What do you want?”

I wanted his fingers—no, I wanted his cock. I wanted him to fill me up again. I still hadn’t recovered from the first time and I wanted it again. Now.

All of him, right now.

He opened his fingers so they were on either side of my clit, squeezing it ever so gently then releasing—again and again. “What do you want?”

“You.”

“What part of me?”

I rolled my hips along the opened placket of his pants. I could feel him. The tight boxers he wore that kept the line of his suit and made me insane to touch. I remembered his spectacular girth from last night. I wanted my hand around him again.

I reached back and palmed his balls, resting the inside of my wrist along his rigid shaft. “You know which part.”

6

Max

I needed to hear her say it.

More than I could ever remember needing anything in my life. That she wanted my cock inside her. To know it was me she needed.

Fuck.

I couldn’t lie to myself here in this alleyway with the most exasperatingly beautiful woman I’d ever known. I needed that hit of Georgia again. I’d jacked off in t

he goddamn shower like a teenager this morning. The memory of her curves, the feel of my dick gliding inside of her, the rain pounding around us as I drilled into her like some mindless sex addict—but right then, it just didn’t matter. She was as necessary as oxygen.

Sex wasn’t exactly at the top of my list with my workload, but I wasn’t a monk either. I had outlets when I needed them. The fact that I’d ignored this side of me for so long had to be a factor.

No, asshole. It’s her.

Georgia.

“Say it,” I growled. I needed to know some of this madness was hers too.

“Fill me up, Max.” Her voice was thready as I squeezed around her clit. Slick and plump to the touch, the bundle of nerves only needed a few more strokes and she’d flood my hand. That silky heat that I’d drank down like a man dying of thirst last night.

Her salted tangerine taste infused my senses.

My throat ached for it and my cock wanted to be covered in it. For fuck’s sake, I wanted to watch her lick it off my cock.

The wild pictures in my head—the film that was running on a constant loop—was going to kill me. This wasn’t me. Gray silk sheets and a warm, willing woman was my preference. Yes, I was a little dominant in bed, but nothing like this.