Chapter Three
OPAL
Take off your dress.
Max's voice echoes off the clean white walls and wide glass windows.
It flows into my ears. Sure. Steady. Enticing.
This is happening.
And I'm not just nervous. I'm terrified. But he likes that. He likes my honesty.
I take a deep breath and let out a steady exhale.
"Can you help?" I turn and motion to the zipper on the back of my dress. "Please."
He moves toward me slowly.
I pull my hair over my shoulder.
Max runs his fingers over the back line of my dress. Slowly, he pulls the zipper down my back and pushes the straps off my shoulders.
He peels the dress over my chest, stomach, ass.
The fabric falls at my feet.
I step out of it.
He brings one hand to my hip. Brings the other to my lower back. "Beautiful." He traces a line up my spine with a perfect, impossibly light touch.
I need more.
I need exactly this.
All of this forever and ever.
My fingers curl into my palms. My eyelids press together. My thighs shake.
He traces the line all the way to the waistband of my underwear.
They felt mature and sexy when I slipped into them, but now, in this ornate space?
The cotton bikinis feel impossibly unsophisticated.
"Do you always match your underwear and your shoes?" he asks.
My lips curl into a smile. My cheeks flush. He's teasing me. He's not deeming my Natori French-cut bikinis too casual. He's trying to set me at ease. "If I can."
"I do."
"All black?"
"Yes." He curls one hand around my inner thigh. Draws it higher, higher, higher—
There.
His palm brushes my sex, pressing the soft fabric against my skin. It's quick, a second, but it still sets me on fire.
Fuck.
I need more.
I need everything.
He traces the lace trim over my ass. "Take these off."
I slide the panties off my hips. Kick them off my feet.
"Turn around."
I do.
He watches me carefully, studying me with his deep brown eyes. They're dark, intense, impossible to read, and impossibly intriguing.
He's more handsome than I imagined. Richer too. The room, the suit, the watch—they're all expensive.
After years as an official Pierce, I know how to spot wealth. It doesn't move me the way it did once, but I do notice. Max is loaded.
He didn't mention it. He didn't try to entice me with status symbols.
He asked what I wanted and offered to give it to me.
A perfect gentleman. In a twisted way.
He looks me up and down slowly, savoring every inch. "I could do this all night."
A whimper falls from my lips.
He smiles. Proud. Secure. Completely aware I'm putty in his hand. "I won't."
"Promise?"
"No." He looks me over again. "But I promise you'll leave satisfied."
My chest flushes.
"Come here."
I meet him in front of the armchair.
He sits. Cups my hips with his hands. Looks up at me like I'm a painting he's admiring. Then it's something darker, something dripping with desire.
He turns me around and pulls me backward into his lap.
My legs part reflexively.
My hips rock.
He's hard. I need more of the friction. Fewer of the layers.
My skin against his.
Max presses his lips to my neck.
Softly at first.
Then harder.
Harder.
The soft scrape of his teeth.
My fingers curl into my thighs.
The pressure is perfect. Not enough to hurt. Only enough to feel I'm his.
Only for tonight. But for tonight.
With the next brush of his teeth, I surrender to the sensation. I let my eyes fall closed. I let my lips part. I let a groan rise from my throat.
He slips his hand between my legs. Draws a line up my thigh.
Higher and higher—
Closer and closer—
There.
His thumb brushes my clit. Soft. A hint of pressure.
Then more.
More.
Exactly enough.
"Fuck." The word falls off my lips.
He hears. Keeps that perfect pressure. Tests different strokes.
A little faster.
A little slower.
Bigger.
Smaller.
There.
I let out a groan. Reach back for him reflexively.
He wraps his hand around my wrist. Hard. "Only if I say." His grip stays tight. "Exactly what I say."
I nod.
He places my hand outside his thigh on the couch cushion. Takes the other and does the same. "Keep them there. Or I stop."
No. Not that. Anything else but not that. "Yes."
He groans against my neck.
The vibrations make me buzz.
I want to please him. It's the only thing I want. It's the only thing in the world.
Everything else is fuzzy, far away, out of frame.
This is in sharp focus.
The rough wool of his jacket.
The soft brush of his lips.
The murmur of his breath.
Max brings his thumb back to my clit. He teases me with soft, slow strokes, again and again.
Then he speeds.
There. The pressure I need. The movement. The pace.
Again and again.
Closer and closer.
The tension inside me winds tighter and tighter.
Again and again, until it's almost too much to take.
Then I'm there, digging my hands into the cushion, groaning as I unfurl.
Everything goes white.
The perfect, pure light of bliss.
He works me through my orgasm. Then he pulls his hand back. Wraps his fingers around my wrists. "This way."