But so fucking far too.
Then he tugs at my hair and slips his hand between my legs.
Again, his thumb brushes my clit.
No teasing this time.
Only that perfect pressure.
He rubs me as he drives into me.
It's too much to take.
But, somehow, it's not enough either.
I'm greedy. I want more. I want every fucking inch of him.
My hips rock of their own accord.
With his next thrust, I come. The tension in my sex unwinds, sending pleasure all the way to my fingers and toes.
That perfect white light. Only brighter, purer, even more beautiful.
Then he's there, scraping his teeth against my neck as he pulses inside me.
He works through his orgasm, then he untangles our bodies, takes care of the condom, shifts into his slacks.
He returns to the bed, to me.
For a moment, he holds me close.
For a moment, we stay in that easy, seamless space, locked together. Then he releases me, unwraps my wrists, and rubs my sore skin with his palms.
He sits up and shifts into a different version of himself. Still caring and in control but softer.
"Have you eaten?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Do you want anything?"
"Anything at all?" I ask.
"Before round two."
"Can you…"
"Not yet. But I'd make you wait either way." His smile is easy, reassuring.
He feels safe.
He feels way too safe.
I should leave now, before I get attached, but when will I get this chance again? "How many times?"
"Enough."
Enough. Fuck.
He moves into the bathroom, runs the sink, emerges with two glasses of water. "Drink."
My fingers brush his as I take the glass. The same electricity passes between us. Stronger even.
He watches me finish the glass, refills it, watches me drink another. "I got you something."
"Oh?"
He reaches into the dresser and pulls out a white gift box held together with a fuchsia ribbon.
"Is it pink?"
He mimes zipping his lips.
My stomach flutters. "May I?"
Satisfaction slips into his voice. "Please."
I take the box, set it on the bed, unwrap it.
Sure enough, it is pink—a deep, sultry shade of magenta—and it's perfect. A silk chemise, equal parts elegant and punk rock princess.
"Thank you."
"Put it on."
I nod and pull it over my head.
"Go into the main room," he says. "And wait."
"For what?"
"For me to decide what to do with you."
Chapter Four
OPAL
For three minutes, I wait.
For three minutes, my body hums with need and desire.
For three minutes, every one of my thoughts tunes to Max.
Then a noise cuts through the space.
The buzz of a… cell phone. And that I'm trying not to sound annoyed because it's unprofessional tone of voice. I've heard it on my brother Simon a million times. It's never good.
Max ends the call and knocks on the door. "Opal." He shifts to a matter-of-fact tone. "I have to end this early."
No. I only get one night. This isn't enough. I need more.
"Something came up. A favor for a friend. I wish I could turn him down, but I owe him too much. I'm sorry."
"I understand." I look for something to cover myself. A robe or a t-shirt or a pillow even.
He knocks again.
At first, I don't register it. This is his hotel room. I'm following his commands.
But I'm not. Not anymore.
This is over. We're shifting into some other place. In this place, he asks for permission before entering the room.
I barely muster a "come in."
He opens the door, but he doesn't move into the room. "It's not you. I promise."
I force my lips into a smile. "I understand."
He doesn't buy my happiness. "I wish I could make it up to you, but…" He lets me fill in the blanks. We said one night, one time, and he's happy to stick with that. "Stay if you like."
"I don't know." I feel stupid in his hotel room without him. "I don't have anything to wear."
He motions come here again.
This time, I do.
He brings his hands to my shoulders and pulls me into a tight embrace. "I am sorry. I hate breaking promises." He runs his fingers through my hair. "If it's any consolation, I'll be hard as a diamond at this meeting."
"The entire meeting?"
"With a very important person who could make my life difficult."
That's hard to imagine. Max seems like he's the very important person. But I guess we all have someone.
My brother Simon is the CEO of the family company. He doesn't answer to anyone at work, but there are plenty of people capable of making his life miserable.
For Max, who knows? I guess I never will. I can imagine any story I want.
He's a spy on an assignment to seduce the president's daughter.
He's a lawyer, and his best client was just arrested for murder.
He's an artist who will draw pictures of me forever.
"All night probably." He releases me and he fixes his clothes. Sleeves, watch, jacket. Then the cell and wallet. "Here." He reaches for something in the dresser. Pulls out another clean white shirt. "If you decide to stay."