Taming Lily (The Fowler Sisters #3)(51)

The smile that stretches across Max’s face is almost feral. He doesn’t look happy. Nor does he appear pleased. He’s … pissed. Furious at me for defying him, and the secret thrill that races down my spine makes me shiver.

“No.” He tugs on my wrist, making me sit up so his face is in mine. “I told you not to touch yourself and you did it anyway.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I’m breathless with anticipation, my entire body on edge waiting to hear what he has to say.

His smile softens, causing his eyes to crinkle, and my breath leaves me for another reason. He’s so handsome, so big and masculine yet rough around the edges. Stubble lines his cheeks and I have the sudden memory of those rough cheeks rubbing against my thighs … my * … driving me wild.

“What do you want me to do to you?” He brings my hand up to his face and inhales. “Fuck, you smell amazing.”

My entire body goes weak at his words. “Make me come so many times I pass out?” I ask hopefully.

He chuckles. “That doesn’t sound like punishment.”

“Passing out is definitely not a good thing,” I tell him, licking my lips, mimicking the way he’s licking my fingers. Tasting me. Oh God, this man is wicked.

“Passing out from too many orgasms is a f*cking awesome thing.” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to tell you what I’m going to do to you.”

I frown. “You’re not?”

“Nope.” His smile grows. “I’m going to show you. And you’re going to both love it and hate it.”

Wariness fills me, along with fear and excitement. “O-okay.”

“Now lean back again.” I start to but he gathers me, his hands on my ass, lifting me up so my * is directly in front of his mouth. “Watch this, baby girl,” he murmurs just before he licks me.

A little scream escapes and he lifts his head away, glaring at me. “Quiet,” he whispers, and I clamp my lips shut, closing my eyes when he licks me again. And stops.

“I said watch me,” he commands, and my eyes fly open, excited and scared to see what he does next.

What he does is drive me out of my mind with pleasure. Just as I’m about to come he pauses, pulls away, changes the motion, rains kisses on my inner thighs. He toys with my clit with just the tip of his tongue, nudging it, flicking it, drawing it between his lips for one long, good suck, and then he’s moving on. Kissing my belly, stroking my thighs.

Driving me f*cking crazy.

“A bad girl like you doesn’t deserve to come,” he whispers against my * after about ten minutes of exquisite torture. “Greedy girls have to learn patience.”

“What …” I swallow hard, my throat dry, my * anything but. Max’s lips glisten and just the sight of that alone turns me on. I’m so worked up I’m afraid he’ll breathe on my clit and I’ll come. “What if I can’t stop myself from coming?”

His gaze glitters like perfect sapphires. “Then you’ll be in even more trouble.”

He means it. He’ll do something to me that I can’t even fathom. And this torture he’s putting me through now is beyond ridiculous. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. Like I’m observing the both of us as he grips my ass with his large, flexing hands, my * an offering for him to feast on. His tongue touches every part of me, his lips, his teeth. I feel mindless, out of control, scared that I’ll come and he’ll hate me for it.

Excited that I’ll come and he’ll do something deliciously awful to me for disobeying him.

“You need to learn how to take orders, princess. Not give them,” he murmurs against my thigh as he kisses me there yet again. “Learn how to restrain yourself and do as I say.”

But it’s so hard. So incredibly hard. I’m dying to grab hold of his hair and tug him close, tell him exactly where to lick and suck. I’ve always taken charge with the other men in my life. It was all fun and games but ultimately, I was in control. They did what I said and I loved it.

Not this man. He won’t do anything that I say. He’s in command and I …

I love it. Hate it. Want more of it.

“You want to come?” he asks, sucking my clit between his lips before he lets it go.

I nod, not saying a word. Scared he’ll deny me if I say or do the wrong thing.

“I bet you’re going to convulse and cry out my name,” he says, his voice low. Hypnotic. He nuzzles my * with his nose, breathing deep, dropping sweet little kisses all over my flesh and making me shiver. “Maybe I should stick my fingers inside you so I can feel it when I finally let you come.”

God, whatever he needs or wants to do, I’d let him. Gladly.

“Not going to protest, princess? Did I finally break you?” I squint at him, batting away the anger that wants to surge, and he sees it. I can tell just by the change in his expression. But why do those words make me mad? Is it the way he said it? Or is it the word break? Everyone seems to want to break me, have a piece of me. I’m sick of it.

Can’t he just want me for me?

“You don’t want me to break you, do you?” he asks, shaking his head. “Well, too damn bad. By the time I’m through with you, you’ll be an obedient little girl, just how I like it.”