Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
I’m in the bedroom when I hear three quick raps at the hotel suite door. My sweatshirt and yoga pants don’t exactly scream come hither, but I was exhausted after dealing with the press, and the initial stages of dismantling the campaign have drained me. My appearance is the last thing Maxim will care about.
I speed walk to the door but stop with my hand on the knob, giving myself a beat to calm down. Anticipation sings along my nerve endings. The rapid thump thump of my heartbeat fills my ears, and my palms are actually sweating.
When I open the door, my heart collapses at the sight of him. Maxim’s handsome face is almost haggard. His eyes, tortured. I marveled at his composure during the funeral service, delivering Owen’s eulogy without breaking down. And at the reception, he stood with his usual strength, though obviously emotional and grieving, but the man in front of me is held together with ropes close to snapping.
“Maxim, hey.” I open the door wider for him to come in. The security guy who wanted to follow me on my jog stands in the hall. “Oh, hi.”
“Ms. Hunter.” He nods, his expression giving away nothing.
Maxim strides in past me.
“Is he, um…” I keep my voice low and tip my head toward the hall. “…staying out there?”
“Yeah. That’s okay?”
“Of course.” I walk over and grab a chair from the hotel’s tiny dining nook and drag it to the door.
“So you won’t have to stand,” I say, pushing the chair toward him.
Surprise flicks over his face before he carefully stows it away behind the straight line of brows and an unsmiling mouth. “Thank you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rick, ma’am.” He slides the chair out into the hall and closes the door.
I turn my attention to Maxim. Outwardly, he’s as put together as usual, the navy-blue sweater clinging lovingly to the sculpted muscles in his arms and back and chest. The slacks are well tailored and crisp. There’s no slump to his broad shoulders. He stands as straight and powerful as usual, but I’ve never seen Maxim unsure. He always knows what he wants, what comes next, and where he’s headed. This is the first time I’ve seen his compass spinning.
I cross the room and wrap my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder. “How ya doing, Doc?”
His chest rises and falls against me with a deeply drawn breath. “Not good.”
“I know.” I tighten my arms around him and blink at the tears stinging my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He kisses my hair and rubs my back. The pressure of his hands on me feels so good, I huddle closer, needing him, too. He dips to scatter kisses over my cheek and jaw. Cupping the back of my neck, he drags his lips to my ear.
“Nix, I…” he rasps. “I need to fuck you.”
My breath catches, and I start trembling, the anticipation I felt before he came building and running in rivulets down my arms and legs.
“Okay.” I nod. “Yes.”
“I can’t explain it,” he says hoarsely. “I just need to feel you, to know that—”
I press my finger to his lips and lay his hand between my breasts. “Maxim, you don’t have to explain. I’m yours.”
“Thank you.” He presses his forehead to mine, grips my neck, and kisses me so thoroughly, his tongue so deep and seeking, that my head spins. I grip his shirt to stay on my feet.
“Too much?” he asks, his breath coming fast. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I lick my lips, gasping for air. “But could we go to the bed?”
He nods, and I lead him by the hand to the back of the suite where the bedroom lies.
“Sit.” I give his shoulder a gentle nudge, and he sits on the edge of the bed. “Can I undress you?”
He glances up, eyes flaring, and nods his agreement. I stand between his spread thighs, only a little taller even when he’s seated. I tug his sweater by the hem over his head. With his last business trip, it’s been two weeks since we made love, and at the sight of his pecs with the bronzed nipples and the taut, tanned skin straining over a ladder of muscles in his stomach, my mouth waters. I get on my knees and trace the word endurance inked into his skin. He will endure. This is his greatest test yet, and though it’s unimaginably hard, he’ll get through this.
We will together.
Wordlessly, I ghost kisses over his shoulders and throat, drifting down to his chest and laving the tattoo for long seconds before taking his nipple into my mouth, whirling my tongue around the hardening tip.
“Lennix,” he breathes. “I need you so much.”
I take the other nipple, setting an aggressive, suctioning rhythm until he groans and curses. I roll my hand over his dick, hard in his pants. With shaking fingers, I undo his belt, free the button of his slacks, and pull down the zipper, reaching into his briefs and taking him in my hand.