Against the Ropes
Page 64
He doesn’t wait. He attaches a second strap to my other wrist and secures it to the other side of the bed frame, spreading my arms wide.
My heart bangs a warning against my ribs. I yank on the straps. No give. Unlike the rope on the motorcycle I don’t for a moment think I’ll be able to wriggle myself free, and there is little chance of anyone coming to save me except Colton.
Bang. Bang. Bang. My ribs ache from the pounding of my heart. My lungs tighten and I fight for every breath. Last night was nothing like this. Last night was fun and sweet and tender. Last night was normal.
“Makayla, look at me.” Max’s deep, compelling voice draws my eyes to his. “What’s your safe word?”
Safe word? My brain clicks into gear, remembering our night at Twin Peaks. “Agusta.”
He strokes my cheek and smiles. “Trust me not to hurt you, baby. Trust me to give you what you need.”
Trust him? I don’t know him. I know cool, bossy Max the businessman. I know sexy, playful Torment the fighter. But this man—his tattoos glistening on his powerful body—ignites my deepest, most carnal desires and my most hidden fears. I am drawn to his flame, unable to resist.
“I trust you, Max.” The lie falls off my lips in the wake of overpowering need and insatiable curiosity.
Max slides down my body and kneels at the foot of the bed. “You’re okay, baby. We’ve done this before. I’m just going to take you a little further this time.”
His words speak to something dark inside me. My sex clenches, and I try to resist the pull. “It had a purpose before—to keep me on your motorcycle. I’m not about to fall off your bed.”
“It had another purpose—to see whether you liked being restrained and touched.” He slides a finger along my folds and shows me the wetness glistening on his fingers. “You do.”
My cheeks burn and I turn my head away. What the hell is wrong with me?
Max slides his hands up my inner thighs and bends my legs one at a time. He plants each heel on the bed and sits back and studies me. “Open yourself for me.”
My body flames, but I do as he asks and spread my knees wide. My thighs quiver. Cool air rushes down below but does nothing to dampen the burn of my desire. For the first time ever, I feel utterly vulnerable, exposed. The sensation is at once frightening and arousing.
“You have a pretty pu**y, Makayla. I want to see it. Don’t move your legs. If you do, there will be consequences.” He smacks my thigh so smartly, I jump, and a disconcerting wave of heat rushes through me.
“If you want to stop, use your safe word.” His eyes shine fever bright in the shadows. His body thrums with energy. He is alive in a way I have seen only in the fight ring. And, alarmingly, so am I.
When I shake my head, his lips curl into a smile. He runs his hand down my body from my neck to the juncture of my thighs, and then in and out my curves and over my br**sts. His strokes are firm, uninhibited, and entirely possessive. The sweep of his hand etches his ownership into my burning skin.
Unable to stand the rush of sensation, I close my eyes. Max slides one hand under my neck and lifts me into a fiery, demanding kiss. As his tongue thrusts, ravaging my mouth with firm even strokes, he slides two fingers into me hard and fast.
“Ahhh,” I moan into his mouth, arching my back, trying to get away, but his lips press against mine and his fingers dive deeper.
“Feel me,” he whispers, sliding his mouth to my ear. “Feel me everywhere.”
My body trembles. My hips buck against the steady rhythm of his fingers. Desire ratchets through me like a firestorm.
I need more. I tilt my mound into his palm seeking even the smallest bit of friction. Max jerks his hand away. “No,” he barks. “Not until I say.”
My thighs shake uncontrollably. His words, his bourbon smooth voice, his taut, lean body impaling me with pleasure, all combine to undo the threads of my control one by one. I slide my foot forward to leverage myself closer to his hand.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Max warns. His voice is low and cool.
My heart pounds. A sharp stab of need sizzles all the way to my core and I slide my foot back.
“Better.” Max slicks a third finger inside me, stretching me as his thumb strokes over my sensitive nub. He spreads my wetness around and around the throbbing bundle of nerves, until there is no part of my body free of quivering need.
Move. I need to move. But Max holds me tight, and I get only what he wants to give.
“Max. No more. I can’t take anymore.” My vision blurs and the painful, desperate need to orgasm obliterates every thought, releasing my mind to float in the endorphin rush.
Dark. Quiet. Shadows in the corners. Where is he?
I creep across the lino tiles to the body on the floor.
“Wake up,” I whisper. “He’s coming.”
Soft hair, red and golden brown spills over a creamy shoulder. Her gold necklace, M for mother, M for Mary, dangles on the floor.
A creak behind me.
“Come back. Come back to me.”
My vision clears. Brown eyes laced with gold study my face. “You okay, baby?” His soft, gentle tone chases the flashback away. Max. My Max. Not the voice in the shadows. His face is etched with concern, not anger. I am safe. I am wanting.
“I need you.”
He hesitates. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Just…lost in the moment.”
His brow furrows, and then he slides his hand under my back, arching me up toward him. He takes my mouth and plunders his way to the back of my throat. His fingers dip inside me, pounding in and out harder than I ever thought possible. His thumb circles closer and closer to where I want it to go.
My heart bangs a warning against my ribs. I yank on the straps. No give. Unlike the rope on the motorcycle I don’t for a moment think I’ll be able to wriggle myself free, and there is little chance of anyone coming to save me except Colton.
Bang. Bang. Bang. My ribs ache from the pounding of my heart. My lungs tighten and I fight for every breath. Last night was nothing like this. Last night was fun and sweet and tender. Last night was normal.
“Makayla, look at me.” Max’s deep, compelling voice draws my eyes to his. “What’s your safe word?”
Safe word? My brain clicks into gear, remembering our night at Twin Peaks. “Agusta.”
He strokes my cheek and smiles. “Trust me not to hurt you, baby. Trust me to give you what you need.”
Trust him? I don’t know him. I know cool, bossy Max the businessman. I know sexy, playful Torment the fighter. But this man—his tattoos glistening on his powerful body—ignites my deepest, most carnal desires and my most hidden fears. I am drawn to his flame, unable to resist.
“I trust you, Max.” The lie falls off my lips in the wake of overpowering need and insatiable curiosity.
Max slides down my body and kneels at the foot of the bed. “You’re okay, baby. We’ve done this before. I’m just going to take you a little further this time.”
His words speak to something dark inside me. My sex clenches, and I try to resist the pull. “It had a purpose before—to keep me on your motorcycle. I’m not about to fall off your bed.”
“It had another purpose—to see whether you liked being restrained and touched.” He slides a finger along my folds and shows me the wetness glistening on his fingers. “You do.”
My cheeks burn and I turn my head away. What the hell is wrong with me?
Max slides his hands up my inner thighs and bends my legs one at a time. He plants each heel on the bed and sits back and studies me. “Open yourself for me.”
My body flames, but I do as he asks and spread my knees wide. My thighs quiver. Cool air rushes down below but does nothing to dampen the burn of my desire. For the first time ever, I feel utterly vulnerable, exposed. The sensation is at once frightening and arousing.
“You have a pretty pu**y, Makayla. I want to see it. Don’t move your legs. If you do, there will be consequences.” He smacks my thigh so smartly, I jump, and a disconcerting wave of heat rushes through me.
“If you want to stop, use your safe word.” His eyes shine fever bright in the shadows. His body thrums with energy. He is alive in a way I have seen only in the fight ring. And, alarmingly, so am I.
When I shake my head, his lips curl into a smile. He runs his hand down my body from my neck to the juncture of my thighs, and then in and out my curves and over my br**sts. His strokes are firm, uninhibited, and entirely possessive. The sweep of his hand etches his ownership into my burning skin.
Unable to stand the rush of sensation, I close my eyes. Max slides one hand under my neck and lifts me into a fiery, demanding kiss. As his tongue thrusts, ravaging my mouth with firm even strokes, he slides two fingers into me hard and fast.
“Ahhh,” I moan into his mouth, arching my back, trying to get away, but his lips press against mine and his fingers dive deeper.
“Feel me,” he whispers, sliding his mouth to my ear. “Feel me everywhere.”
My body trembles. My hips buck against the steady rhythm of his fingers. Desire ratchets through me like a firestorm.
I need more. I tilt my mound into his palm seeking even the smallest bit of friction. Max jerks his hand away. “No,” he barks. “Not until I say.”
My thighs shake uncontrollably. His words, his bourbon smooth voice, his taut, lean body impaling me with pleasure, all combine to undo the threads of my control one by one. I slide my foot forward to leverage myself closer to his hand.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Max warns. His voice is low and cool.
My heart pounds. A sharp stab of need sizzles all the way to my core and I slide my foot back.
“Better.” Max slicks a third finger inside me, stretching me as his thumb strokes over my sensitive nub. He spreads my wetness around and around the throbbing bundle of nerves, until there is no part of my body free of quivering need.
Move. I need to move. But Max holds me tight, and I get only what he wants to give.
“Max. No more. I can’t take anymore.” My vision blurs and the painful, desperate need to orgasm obliterates every thought, releasing my mind to float in the endorphin rush.
Dark. Quiet. Shadows in the corners. Where is he?
I creep across the lino tiles to the body on the floor.
“Wake up,” I whisper. “He’s coming.”
Soft hair, red and golden brown spills over a creamy shoulder. Her gold necklace, M for mother, M for Mary, dangles on the floor.
A creak behind me.
“Come back. Come back to me.”
My vision clears. Brown eyes laced with gold study my face. “You okay, baby?” His soft, gentle tone chases the flashback away. Max. My Max. Not the voice in the shadows. His face is etched with concern, not anger. I am safe. I am wanting.
“I need you.”
He hesitates. “What happened?”
“Nothing. Just…lost in the moment.”
His brow furrows, and then he slides his hand under my back, arching me up toward him. He takes my mouth and plunders his way to the back of my throat. His fingers dip inside me, pounding in and out harder than I ever thought possible. His thumb circles closer and closer to where I want it to go.
