The Reluctant Nude - Meg Maguire [66]
Fallon was so far gone she didn’t recognize the sound of the belt buckle hitting the floor. When Max’s strong hands grabbed her shoulders, she gasped. He pulled her up along his body until he was between her legs, hot and still wet from her mouth, big and hard against her panties.
“That’s cheating,” she whispered. As his hands guided her hips she abandoned the protest. His mouth took hers, rough and explicit as he made her ride him. When he finally broke away she stared at his face, his features transformed. Possessed. His lips and cheeks were flushed, eyes unsteady, brow slick with sweat. Between her legs, Fallon’s pleasure grew until she thought she’d catch fire.
“Oh my God.”
“Come for me,” he commanded, forcing the friction.
Her panties were drenched, her body aching for him, the motions so frantic, so rough. He drew her back a couple of inches and teased her with his head, threatening the penetration her core demanded.
“Max—”
“Come on.” His voice was cruel and triumphant.
Fallon felt gravity reverse and suddenly he was above her. Strong arms flanking her shoulders, hard cock rubbing with long thrusts then shattering her every last nerve as the climax not only arrived, but tore through her like a force of nature. She heard her moans blend with his in animal harmony, felt him push her shirt up and then his hot, slick release as he shot on her belly.
He stayed braced above her for several long, panting breaths, his eyes closed, chest heaving. Eventually he rolled off of her to one side.
“Dear God, what are you doing to me?” He turned his head to hers, opened his eyes and smiled.
“Me? Doing to you?” She poked him inelegantly in the shoulder, still catching her own breath.
“You,” he confirmed. “More dangerous than silica inhalation and tendonitis combined.”
“How very poetic.”
Something in his expression as Max stared up into the skylight made her think he wasn’t joking. There was that tension in his face again, a worried quality to his darting eyes.
“Max?”
“Hmm?”
“Everything okay over there? You look…preoccupied.”
He rolled over and pressed his forehead into her shoulder. “Everything is lovely,” he said, warming her arm with his breath.
“You’re a crappy liar. Why do you look so anxious?”
He exhaled deeply. “Your statue is supposed to be done in the next month.”
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
He didn’t answer for a very long time.
“Max?”
“After I finish it, you’re going away.”
She closed her eyes. “Yeah, I am.”
“That makes me feel rather self-pitiful, you see.”
She ran her palm over his cheek and his hair. “I didn’t used to be the sort of person who’d say something pathetic like this… But why? What’s so amazing about me?”
He pulled his face back a couple inches. “What do you mean?”
“What is it about me that you seem to find so compelling? Shouldn’t you be with some Parisian cellist or something?”
“I could say the same thing to you. Where is your engineer? Your golden retriever…? What’s your answer? Why are we in this bed together?”
“Pheromones.” Fallon laughed to let him know she didn’t have a real answer for him. “We’re biologically predisposed to each other. How about that?”
“That is as good an explanation as any. How strong are these pheromones? Will they let you go all the way back to New York and forget about me?”
Fallon sucked on her lower lip and stared up into the stars.
“Oh, she has reached her capacity for earnestness.” Max tucked himself against her again. “Now we have to go back to fucking and talking about the weather.”
“Shut up,” she whispered.
“We can’t talk about what I want to talk about,” he said in a paper-thin imitation of levity. “We can’t talk about what happens after the statue is done. We can’t talk about the future or family or how much I’m bloody going to miss her—”
Fallon rolled out of bed and went to the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To clean myself up,” she said evenly, and he let her escape down the steps.
Fallon padded through the dusty studio to the bathroom. She sat on the toilet lid for a long time, fists jammed into her cheeks like