Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(47)

“Actually, I thought you’d engineered it,” he says with a half smile.

“In what universe do I engineer that? In what universe is doing lunch deliveries in a cat suit a good plan of vengeance against a rival? You have no idea how much I hate this uniform. Like, hate it. As evil master plans go? D minus.”

“You were driving me crazy. I could barely concentrate on anything, just waiting for those deliveries.” He kneels in front of my chair. “Your deliveries were destroying me, Mia.”

He’s saying some more words, but his head is in the zone of my lap, now, and it’s hard to concentrate. I imagine my lap lined with lights, like an airport runway, highlighting the forward route his face needs to travel in order to land in the safety and comfort of my pussy.

My breath quickens. He’s talking more. Something about the sandwiches.

But then he pauses. His grip on the chair arms changes as his eyes skate over me. “I don’t like how it happened. I don’t want any bullshit between us like before.” High school, he means.

“Let’s not think about that,” I say.

“We need to.”

My hormones are little luggage trucks, driving in furious circles, beep-beep-beeping excitedly. “Do we, though? Right this minute?”

His eyes go dark, and I’m stunned anew by how beautiful he is. “I didn’t bring you here to fuck,” he growls.

I have this sense that it’s not me he’s growling at—it’s more like he’s growling at the part of himself that wants to fuck. The really primal and base animal part that might grab my hair like a motherfucking lion.

“And yet…” I whisper.

“Fuck, Mia.” Again his eyes rake up and down me, and suddenly his hands are heavy on my thighs, all harsh gravity through the delicate silk of my dress.

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

My sex heats, a glowing landing beacon, and I settle my hands onto his, slipping my fingers suggestively under his shirt cuffs. I meet his feral gaze with a sassy little smile.

Right then, it’s as if the floodgates let loose. “God, Mia.” He’s pushing his hands up my legs, taking the silky fabric of my dress with it, motions getting more frantic the more stocking he uncovers. He gathers my skirt in his fists, shoving it up over my knees.

I lift my butt, giving him an assist.

He shudders out a breath when he finds bare skin over thigh-high stockings.

He kisses the inside of my thigh, then he rubs his whiskers there, hungry, wildly, as if to mark me.

“Fuck, yes,” I pant.

He presses a thumb to my core, wet through silky undergarments, and moves it, slides it, stoking waves of pleasure while he attacks my other thigh with his hungry face.

It’s silk and sandpaper.

My breath catches. My toes curl.

He rumbles against my tender skin.

I squirm, whimpering with need.

I shove my hands into his hair. Air traffic control to Max!

And just like magic, he’s shoving my legs apart and kissing my pussy, the hot tenor of his breath against the silk that covers my clit. I hold his hair, holding on, loving him there.

He kisses me again. I’m diffuse with pleasure. My clit stands at attention, a tendril of need. The blunt pressure of his lips drives me nearly over the edge. Then his tongue is gone. He scrapes his teeth gently over my core.

I cry out, meeting his gaze.

“Need you bare,” he growls.

“Do you want me to…” My mind races with the logistics of the strapless bodysuit. “Um…”

He’s pulling at the fabric, shoving his fingers clear through the lacy part above the crotch, and then he just rips it down.

Cool air invades my hot, wet pussy.

“Taking it as a no,” I gasp.

He’s not done. “Need you spread out for me.” He pushes my legs wide over the chair arms. I’m about to protest, except his tongue is there, warm and thick against my core.

“Ohmigod.”

He licks up once, again.

My breath comes fast.

I’m so exposed to him, it’s madness, and the sexiest thing ever.

He grips my thighs, holding me apart as he licks me. He’s holding me in place as though he has me right where he wants me and he won’t be letting me go. He’s my roller-coaster and my seatbelt.

Mercilessly he licks me until I’m at the point of no return, the tippy-top of the arc, suspended before the freefall.

He draws his tongue roughly along my clit one more time. Pleasure explodes over my brain, bright behind my eyes.

I’m weightless. I’m crying out.

Max’s rumble is a merciless vibration between my legs. I tighten my grip on his hair. “Slower!”

He’s already there, following my cadence like the musician he once was.

Suddenly I’m laughing. It’s the release of pressure, and how crazy good that was, and how fast I came, and a little bit the sounds I made.

He kisses my belly through the part of the bodysuit he didn’t rip, and then gazes up at me in wonder.

“Need you inside,” I say.

Slowly he presses a finger into me.

My body shudders around him.

He doesn’t reply; he simply adds a finger.

“You,” I say. “You, Max.”

There’s something shattered about his gaze. He kisses the inside of my thigh, and then the other side for symmetry. And then he stands over me, leaving me with my legs over either chair arm.