Lost In Me (Here and Now 1)

Maybe I’d be self-conscious in another setting, but here in the steam, I turn sexy and wanton under his gaze. I feel nothing but determination under the weight of the unwanted ache in my heart while talking to Nate. Determination to prove to myself that this is the man I love—no one else.

With that first recovered memory in my grasp, I’m hopeful for the first time in days. I drop my gaze to his towel and arch a brow. “I sense a double standard.”

He groans and drops his mouth to mine. His kiss is long and slow and thorough. He tastes like cinnamon gum and strokes his tongue against mine as he cups my breast in his hand.

“I believe it’s my turn to touch you,” he whispers against my lips. His thumb rolls over my nipple in the slow, sensuous motion of a man who plans to take his time. “And touching you in here ranks high on my list of fantasies.”

I curl my nails into his back and nip at his bottom lip. Because I don’t want him to take his time. I want him to touch me and kiss me until I’ve forgotten the sound of Nate’s voice, until I’m so sure of our love and our future that my anxiety fades.

With his free hand, Max cups my other breast and treats it to the same slow torture.

“Max,” I whimper, arching toward him, wanting more.

“How was the party?”

“What?”

His lips curl into a smile. “God, I love that I can make you lose your mind like that.”

I slide my hands into his hair. “You can. You do.”

Trailing kisses down my neck and over my collarbone, he makes his way to my breast and opens his mouth over my nipple. Slow, steady, achingly meticulous, he circles it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. My breasts grow heavier with every stroke of his tongue, the ache between my thighs more insistent. The steam has set my senses on fire, and the brush of his knuckles down my side is as thrilling as the first time a boy went up my shirt.

Just when I think I’m going to have to beg for more, he takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks—long and hard. My knees go weak and he has to hold me tight as I slip in his arms.

“Come over here,” he murmurs. He leads me to the tiered benches and takes a seat on the bottom row. His erection is thick and tall under the towel, but when I reach to uncover it, he stops my hand. “Leave it. You tempt me too much.”

“But I like touching you,” I object.

“You like making me lose my mind.”

A giggle slips from my lips. “It’s a nice feeling.”

“Come here.” He tugs me forward until I’m straddling him, the hard length of his cock needy and glorious between my legs. As he returns his mouth to my breasts, sucking and licking in turn, I rock against him. My thighs squeeze him as the sensation of his mouth on my breasts mixes with the pressure of his erection through the towel.

His hands slide around me and over my ass, kneading the flesh of my cheeks as his mouth works at my breasts.

Whimpering, I arch my back and shift my hips just so, and suddenly pleasure snaps through me like a whip. My hips want to rock, to circle, to grind against his length, but I force them to still.

“Move against me,” he commands. “I want to feel you move.”

The friction of the towel against my swollen clit is almost too much, almost uncomfortable, but it’s a good kind of discomfort, and his cock swells bigger and more insistent between my thighs. I don’t know if I could stop if I wanted to. Unless it was for something different. Something more. How easy would it be for him to move this towel and slide into me right now? My fear is gone, replaced by red-hot aching need. Doesn’t he want it as much as I do? Maybe he doesn’t have protection with him.

I can’t think on the question for long before his hand is back at my breast, kneading and massaging. It takes my breath. Then he sucks me hard and mercilessly into his mouth and I buck against him. I circle my hips and rock, circle and rock. I’m so close to that edge, and as much as my body begs to slide over it, I don’t want this to end.

Max grips my hip and rises off the bench to add another ounce of pressure between my legs. I cry out. In pleasure. In frustration. I need more.

“Please.” My plea echoes against the walls.

He shifts us so quickly that he’s moved me before I know what’s happening. He lifts me onto the higher bench. I immediately miss the promise of him between my legs.

He sinks down as he spreads me open with a hand against each thigh. Then I’m open and exposed to him and his lips are close, the hot steam and his breath mingling and sweeping over my sensitive sex.

At first, his touch is tentative, his fingers tracing my folds before dipping into me. I bite my lip to hold back my cry, but then he lowers his mouth and wraps his lips around my clit at the same moment he slides two fingers inside me, demanding more with his touch. His fingers pump as his tongue strokes. Hungry, greedy.

Then, when I’m so full of tight-winding pleasure that I think I need to pull back, he takes my ankle and props my foot on the bench beside my hip. I’m stretched open and his fingers curl and coax and his lips wrap around my clit, and I can’t stop myself from rocking into his face, fucking his fingers the way I want him to fuck me. I can’t hold on anymore. I’m flying, falling, disintegrating until I’m nothing but the hot steam around us.

I’M CURLED up against Max as h