Page 57 of Burn
When I’m finished, I lean back on my heels and swipe my fingers over my lips, which are tingly from all the activity. His eyes are shut, his limbs sprawled, his skin a radiant bronze flush from his orgasm. How a man can be so beautiful is beyond me, and like I used to, I wonder how in the world a man this perfect ever chose me.
His eyes snap open and he reaches for me. “Come here. Please. Please?”
I try to sit next to him on the minuscule sofa—it’s a loveseat, really—but he pulls me into his lap, mashing his face against the hollow of my neck. One of his hands is on my ass, gripping my skin with his fingers, as if he’s holding on to me for dear life.
“I loved that,” he mumbles.
His hand slides between my legs.
“Max, we probably shouldn’t.”
He lifts his head. “You don’t want this?”
“Oh, I definitely want this.”
“Mmm,” is all he responds, his hand sliding from my ass to my hip, then to my inner thigh. His fingers make contact with the cotton fabric of my panties, and his hum turns to a low purr. I could almost orgasm from that sound. I’m about to protest, say that no, we’ve already risked so much here in this little dressing room. But his hot, naked skin, the feel of his lips on my neck and his fingers grazing that needy spot, make me part my legs and give him full access to me.
“Good god, you are so wet.”
I’m not just wet, I’m drenched. He strokes gently and I let out a short puff of breath.
“You know how I like balance, Lily. You did something for me, now I’ll do something for you. I won’t be satisfied until you’re satisfied.” His nose nuzzles my neck and I’m trying to hold it together, trying not to ravage him the way I want. It’s not the time or place.
I lick my lips and taste him, and this sends another rush of wetness between my legs.
His fingers locate the elastic waistband of my panties and he’s about to delve into me when there’s a knock at the door.
“Max?” It sounds like Tanya. Damn her. We pull apart and stare at each other, but he keeps his hand firmly on my flesh, under my panties. His fingers are so close to my entrance. So. Damn. Close.
I’m not here, I mouth, shaking my head frantically.
What?he mouths back.
“Hey, I’m not dressed, can you come back,” he yells, his hand moving in slow motion toward my clit. He’s teasing me, and he knows it.
For some reason this all strikes me as hilarious, mortifying, even, and I press my face into his shoulder, trying not to cackle.
“Okay, no worries. We need you in fifteen for an interview,” she says in that bubbly tone of hers.
“Will do,” he says, his fingers edging closer and closer to my folds. He’s about to dip his middle finger into my . . .
“Oh, and have you seen Lily?”
Max slides a finger into me, skimming my clit and making every nerve in my body sing with glee.
“Not lately,” he calls out while circling my clit. “Sorry.”
“Okay, thanks. Meet you downstairs.”
Max continues to stroke me, and I’m trying hard not to laugh, orgasm, or implode.
“We need to stop,” I hiss.
“Why? We have a few minutes. You don’t want to finish?”
I wriggle out of his arms, away from his fingers, which are tormenting me. I’m desperate to finish, in fact. But now isn’t the time. “I can’t, not when there’s time pressure.”
He leans in and kisses me on the mouth. “Okay. No worries. We’ll pick up where we left off tonight, after the party. In a proper bed. I’ll bring the condoms.”