It’s exactly what I need from him; the antidote to the relentless pressure he builds within me. The grinding and moaning and pleasureable gasps. Not the other stuff that can’t be cured by his hand, or dick, or well-trained tongue.
This is my solution, and if I can get it without taking my clothes off or getting my heart involved, great. Right now, I’ll take whatever relief I can get.
I rise up and slide down, over and over again, riding the long ridge of him through his pants as I curl my hands into his hair and pretend he’s just like all the other men I’ve had beneath me.
“Eden ... Jesus.”
I tug at his hair, trying to block out anything that distracts me from lighting this powder keg. I’m kindling, and his body is flint, and if I do this right, it will be a cleansing fire that will reset my ridiculous body and its gravitational pull to him.
He groans beneath me and tightens his hands on my hips, and just as I open my eyes to see his tortured expression, he grunts in frustration and stands, making me squeal as he takes me with him. We’re both panting when he sets me onto my feet and steps back.
“Eden, this isn’t what I’m about. It’s not what we should be about.” He exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “I know what you’re trying to do, and ... no. You can’t make something that’s beautiful but complicated into something simple and ugly out of sheer force of will.”
“Max, I –”
“No, just listen for a minute. There’s a difference between making love and having sex. And there’s also a difference between having sex and fucking.” He walks to the window, as if he doesn’t trust himself if he remains close to me. “Sex is just body parts creating friction to get a physical release. Fucking is more intense. It’s desperation. It’s not that you’d like to have sex, it’s that you need it. And you need it with that particular person, right the fuck now.”
He paces, not looking at me. “And then there’s making love. That’s when you need to be a part of that person, and whether or not you come is irrelevant. You get so much pleasure from just being inside them, everything else is unimportant.”
“I understand, but –”
He stops moving and faces me. “No, you don’t, because you’re goddamn terrified that out of those three options, sex is what you want the least from me.”
I throw up my hands. “My vagina would disagree.”
“That’s because you’re used to listening to it above all else while stifling your heart.” He squares his shoulders, challenging me. “Just stop fighting the goddman obvious for five seconds and admit you have feelings for me.”
I laugh. “Oh, that would make your night, wouldn’t it? To prove your domination over me. The great Mister Romance and his unfailing ability to tie women into emotional pretzels.”
“This isn’t about our bet.”
“Of course it is. Everything you do to me is about protecting yourself.”
We glare at each other, but I’m not backing down. I’ll be damned if he wins this easily. It’s bad enough that he can read me like a book and play my body like he was born to do it. There’s no goddamn way I’m going to admit to all the ways he owns me.
“If you want me to admit to something,” I say, “… then here it is: I don’t want to ride off into some mythical sunset with you, Max. That’s not who I am. I want to fuck you and get my story, preferably in that order, and that’s it.”
He clenches his jaw before raking his hand through his hair in frustration. “For God’s sake, Eden!”
“So, Miss Tate is finally out the window?”
He scowls. “You think I can even pretend to remain professional with you anymore? You’re so strong in so many ways, but right now, you look like a scared little girl. Why is it so difficult to cope with the thought that you like me?”
“My God, your ego –”
I stop short when he strides over to me, eyes flashing with fire. “Then deny it. Go ahead. But you better look into my goddamn eyes when you do it.”
He’s leaning down so his head is level to mine, and every smart-ass comment I had lined up to hurl at him dies in an instant. “Max ... I ...” I can’t deal with the way he’s looking at me, like he’s itching to pounce on any half-truths.
“Okay, yes,” I admit. “I’m attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean I have feelings beyond desire.”
“No? Okay then, if you’re so sure that all you feel for me is physical ... let’s go.” He starts unbuckling his belt.
“What?”
“Take off your underwear and get over here.” He walks over to the kitchen and slaps the marble bench. “We could start here then move the couch. Maybe up against the windows. That would be hot. You taking in the view while I fuck you from behind. We could give the tourists on the observation deck a real show.”
“Max –”
He notices that I haven’t moved. “Come on, Eden. If sex is the answer, then tell me what you want, in what position, how many orgasms you’d like ... I’ll do it all. Free of charge.”
“So all that crap about you not sleeping with your clients –”
“Is a hundred percent true. You’re not my client. You never have been. And even if you were, I’d break every fucking rule I’ve ever held sacred just to be inside you right now. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you, so if you want to fool yourself that this is just about hormones ... fine. I’ll help you work me out of your system one thrust at a time. But then, that’s it. After we’ve had our way with each other, we’re done.”
He’s so worked up, he’s panting, and my breathing isn’t much better. The mere thought of not seeing him again makes me feel sick.
“Come on, Max,” I say, attempting a smile. “This is crazy.” I try to laugh it off, but he’s being serious enough right now for the both of us.
He walks to where I am, the intensity of his eyes drilling into me. “You just looked me in the eyes and told me sex is all you want from me, Eden, so let’s do it. Fuck me until all those inconvenient urges go away, and then I’m out of your life forever. I’ll never inflict myself upon you again.”
“I ... I still need to see you for the story.”
“You can email me questions. I’ll email back. Strictly business. Is that how you want it between us?”
He’s standing close now, and because I can’t look into his eyes anymore, I watch his fists clenching and releasing instead.
“Max, I don’t ... I don’t know what I want.”
He exhales, and when he speaks again, it’s softer. “Yes, you do. You’re just too damn stubborn to say it. You want me, but not for one night. You want me in your life. You want me in ways you’ve never desired any other man, and that has you fucking terrified. You want me exactly the same way I want you.”
“No.”