An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(95)

“You feel so f*cking good,” Max panted. He pushed his hips up so quickly that Grace’s lifted from the bed. “Can you feel how hard you make me?”

She hummed into his cheek. Max looked down at where their bodies were writhing together. His brow furrowed and his lips pursed. “Holy shit, Gracie.”

She moved again, grinding down in a circular motion, making Max grip her waist. Grace threw her arms around his neck and buried her nose into his hair, inhaling, taking every breath of scent he had to offer.

“I missed you,” she said. “I missed you so much.”

He lifted his head, inches away. He didn’t speak, but his face told her that her words, although surprising, were welcome.

“I did,” she affirmed. “I thought about you like you asked.”

He grunted again and thrust, making Grace’s neck elongate, while sporadic moans left him with each drive of his hips. He was so close, his body, his face, his lips, and, without thinking, Grace lifted her mouth to meet his in a desperate kiss.

His reaction was immediate.

He froze, pulling away as though she’d burned him. “Don’t!”

“I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, genuinely stunned by her own actions, while also relieved he hadn’t removed himself from her body. “God, I’m so sorry.”

Max lifted a hand and thumped it back down onto the bed next to her face. “Dammit, Grace.”

“I didn’t mean to—I don’t even—I just . . .”

He swallowed, watching her carefully, jaw clenching. “Just what?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.” Her hand moved from his waist to his ass. “Truly. I wasn’t thinking. Please. Don’t stop.”

He paused for a moment and then, with a sigh that sounded like he had little choice in the matter, he did as she asked.

Grace hissed when he tilted his hips and hit her just right. “Yes, like that.” He hummed, his stare intense, cracking her verbal filter into a thousand pieces. “I love you inside me. I missed this. Harder.”

Her nails trailed down his back, squeezing his ass as he sped up, making his strokes deeper, sharper. He moaned. “Fuck.”

“I want you like this all the time, Max,” Grace confessed, the roll of his hips between her thighs beyond perfect.

“Tell me.”

“All the time. I think about it all the time.”

“How?”

“I imagine it . . . I touched myself, you know? Like you asked. I did. I couldn’t help it. I—”

Her words came to an abrupt halt, eaten up by Max’s ravenous mouth as he kissed her.

Grace flailed under the unexpected pressure of his lips, his unshaven face deliciously rough, and the air plummeting out his nose against her cheek. Gathering herself, she returned his kiss with all the passion and heat she’d hidden since she’d met him. She gripped his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He growled and pushed his tongue into her mouth, seeking out hers and sucking it. At the same time, he shoved into her harder and harder, skin slapping beautifully, bed creaking, and Grace’s muffled cries rising in volume. His lips chased hers, nibbling and biting, sloppy and desperate, as if he’d been as starved as she was for it, until, with one final thrust, he pulled his head back and roared toward the ceiling, coming with such force, his hips lifted Grace from the bed.

Eyes squeezed shut, he moaned with each exhale and twitch of his cock in her, finally collapsing onto Grace, his head burrowed under her chin, panting against her collarbone. Welcoming his weight, she wrapped herself around him, clinging to him with every part of herself and kissing his hair as his body vibrated with aftershocks.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, her lips against his forehead. “I promise. I’ve got you.”

He shuddered, his breaths heavy and shaky, and when he spoke, it was through a thick, overwhelmed throat. “Wh-what are you doing to me?”

Grace closed her eyes and stroked the side of his face. “What does it feel like?”

He shivered. “Terrifying.”

Grace’s heartbeat tripped over itself. Gradually, Max lifted his head. The brown of his eyes shimmered with unshed emotion. She cupped his face and leaned up to kiss him again. There was a hint of hesitation before he returned it gently, the tremor in his body prevalent.

“Don’t be scared,” she told him as she rubbed the side of her nose against his. “Not of me. I only want to love you.”

His face collapsed as though it was the worst news he’d ever heard. “Don’t,” he begged. “Gracie, don’t. Please.”

She smiled a melancholy smile before she stole another kiss. “Too late.”

She was surprised that he didn’t argue. He simply pulled out of her and laid his head on her chest. Although his silence was better than the row she was positive was coming, it still made her decidedly uneasy. She was proud that she’d been so brave, so honest and open with him, and the relief that seized her was as exhilarating as it was welcome. Max lifted himself from the bed and cleaned up, shocking the hell out of her when, instead of dressing and leaving as he normally did, he crawled back in, snuggling up and holding her closely.

She was even more surprised when, a few hours later, he woke her to make love again. It was heartbreakingly slow and tender, just like the kisses they shared, his voice hoarse with emotion as he talked her through her orgasm, holding her face in his hands, before calling out into her mouth when his followed soon after. It was beautiful and perfect, which made it hurt even more when she awoke again, just before noon, to find his side of the bed empty, with no sign that he was ever there at all.