The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [65]
“Um, all sorts of stuff.”
“Tell me.” His voice so close to her ear was like a drug. “No, wait—show me.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for all that,” Fallon said as he pulled away. She could see in his eyes that he was already anticipating the scenario. He knelt wide, straddling her legs, and with a distinctly evil smile he reached down and unbuckled his belt. He slid out the length of worn black leather and folded it neatly, handing it to Fallon.
She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Just try.” He moved to her side, lying down and looking expectant. “Right here? Is my bed okay?”
She nodded shyly. “Yeah, it’s always your bed.”
“That is very handy. What else?”
Her cheeks burned. “You…you have to talk in French.”
“I speak French in your dreams?”
“Well, kind of. Made-up dream French.”
“I wonder what it is I’m saying to you in these dreams,” he said, amused.
Fallon sat up and knelt. She ran her eyes over his bare torso and arms, baffled by what she might do with him if she agreed to this.
Max shifted, raising his arms. He slid them between the metal bars of his headboard like an invitation. “Go on.”
She stared at him a moment longer then finally said, “Okay. But I might panic and just sit here, looking at you.”
“You do whatever you want.”
She swung her leg across to straddle his chest and leaned over the headboard. Her hands shook as she wound the leather around his wrists and secured the buckle. Crawling backward, she knelt between his thighs, studying him for a long moment. This man, all hers. He watched her, then said something softly in French that she didn’t understand.
Fallon ran her palms over his thighs, feeling all the strength there. Then his stomach, lean and muscular, and the hips she’d watched perform for her so capably. She smiled. She touched his cock, rock-hard behind his jeans, and felt his impatience mount with each caress, until the entire length of his body was tight and strained, just as she’d dreamed. His voice grew deeper, muttering more exotic words between dark sighs and moans. Fallon felt high in a way she’d never experienced before. Max’s arms tensed, tugging against the headboard.
“Wow,” she murmured, not meaning to say it out loud. She laughed. The reality of this situation energized her. She moved aside to unzip his pants and tug them down his legs.
“Fallon.” His face in the dim, warm light was hungry.
She scooted close between his thighs, coaxing his legs over hers, laying them open, making him helpless. For a long time she teased him, rubbing him through his underwear, fondling and pulling and reveling in the power she held in her hand. With every passing second he lost more control. With each minute he grew hotter and more desperate until his chest and stomach were damp with sweat and his hips were thrusting him into her hands, wild with need. His words came fast and harsh and she could guess a good many of them.
When she thought he’d suffered enough, Fallon slid back onto her knees and slowly, cruelly, eased his briefs down his legs. She breathed him in, his smell and his need and his mounting insanity. Intoxicating. She felt wicked, still safe in her underwear while this strong, willful man lay naked and bound and at her mercy. Those brilliant, helpless hands. She grinned at him.
His eyes were wild, jaw set. She watched his arms struggle as they did in her dreams. Between his legs she studied the spoils of this intimate war, irrefutable proof of her conquest. Hard and thick and beading with the evidence of his desire. She took him in her fist and stroked until he was writhing.
“Suce-moi.”
Fallon didn’t need a translation for that one. She teased him a few beats longer and took him.
Then she was lost. In his taste, in his guttural sounds, in a haze of the most divine pleasure she’d ever experienced. All while doing something she didn’t normally enjoy. This pleasure should have been his but she felt it selfishly in her own body. She took him, slow and deep and greedy, feeling invincible. She teased his head with her tongue until his bound fists