An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(74)

Without preamble, Grace pushed her small fingers into the elastic of his underwear and pulled. Max didn’t hesitate. He lifted up, allowing her to rid him of them, and kicked them off his feet to the end of the bed.

Naked and hard as hell, Max lay back and allowed Grace to stare at him.

Her green gaze wandered from the tip of his toes to the crown of his head and back again, roaming over his cock in such a way that Max was pretty certain he could have come from that particular look alone.

“You’re . . . exquisite,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to caress his erection. He growled at the sensation of someone other than himself touching—it had been too f*cking long—the gentle stroke, the throb that craved more, harder, firmer.

He swallowed back a moan when she gripped him and slid her hand up and down, cautious yet determined. “What the hell’s wrong with this picture?”

With her eyes still on his dick in her hand she replied, “Absolutely nothing.”

He laughed gently, bringing her eyes back to his. “Grace.” He lifted a hand and stroked her thigh. “I’m naked and you’re not.” She glanced down at herself as though surprised by the fact. “Let me see you,” he urged. “You’re in control here, Grace. I’ll do whatever you want, but I want to see you.” He squeezed her leg. Still on her knees, she released him, appearing to consider him carefully. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her dress up and over her head, leaving her in a pair of black panties and nothing else. Her hair fell down her shoulders and back and her dark skin was so f*cking beautiful in the soft light that filtered through the white lace, which hung at her bedroom window. Her scars—her tiger stripes, as Max had come to call them—moved like ripples on a pond as she discarded her dress to the floor.

“Perfect,” he said softly when he saw her fidget under his appreciative stare. Max couldn’t help but touch. He reached out and cupped her tits, loving their weight in his hands and the pebbling of her nipples against his palms. “Fuck, yeah.”

“What do you want?” Grace gasped, arching her back and pushing more of herself into his grasp.

“Whatever you f*cking want,” he replied before licking her stomach.

“Max, tell me.” The slight pleading in her voice brought Max’s head up. “I want to know. Please?”

Max moved back, resting his weight on his elbow. He rubbed a hand through his hair as a barrage of filthy, hot, and sweaty images assaulted his mind. He chuckled nervously. “Grace, this is all on you. I don’t think—”

“Max,” she interrupted, placing her hand back on his cock.

He swallowed and closed his eyes as he spoke. “I want you to ride my face. I want you to come all over my mouth because I’m desperate to taste you. Then I want you to do the same to my cock, because I don’t think I can wait another second not being inside of you.”

Max opened his eyes when a low moan echoed around him.

“Jesus, O’Hare,” Grace gasped. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

“You mean . . . you like the sound of that?”

She bit her lip, dropped down next to him, and pushed her underwear off. Max kept his eyes on hers, even though he was nearly turning himself inside out with the need to see her fully naked. They breathed together, watching the other tenderly before Max spoke.

“You can get on whenever you’re ready,” he said. A burst of nervous laughter erupted from her, relaxing Max further. He knew he had to assure her, make her comfortable, but he continued to find himself fumbling. Fuck it, he was like a damned virgin, jumpy and about ready to come at the mere hint of a pair of spread legs.

“Stop,” Grace said softly, placing a hand over his racing heart. “Stop overthinking it. I’m okay.” She leaned over then, placing a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’m supposed to be the intimacy nutcase here, not you.”

Max lay back. “In that case, have at me.”

She lifted gradually, every movement steady, every shift of her body measured. She was f*cking breathtaking to look at. She gripped the wrought-iron headboard and glanced at Max, her brow furrowing. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” Max said quietly. “Please. You’re fine. You look incredible.” She raised her leg and dropped down so that she was straddling his chest and Max got a f*cking epic view of every part of her, bare and perfect. He ran his palms up her thighs, to her waist, and back again, keeping his touch light so as not to panic her. “Come here. Let me taste.”

Grace moved over him and, when his lips finally met the ones between her legs, Max was sure he saw f*cking stars, and, oh, holy f*ck, she was wet. Soaked. He groaned. Unable to be patient, his tongue slid against her clit, garnering from her a squeal of gibberish and a jump of surprise.

“Max! I— Oh.”

Grace’s hips swiveled and lifted, as though the feeling was too much, but Max held her legs softly, coaxing her body to ease against him, humming against her flesh. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Her taste was f*cking exquisite, creamy, and sour in all the right ways. Max hummed against her swollen clit and lathered every inch of her with his mouth. Grace writhed and moaned loudly. His rapid and willing tongue finally disappeared inside her, becoming a part of her, pulsing into her tightness with every surge and dip of her hips.