Pearl?
I blinked. “So … oysters?”
Maxime stilled, staring like I’d lost my mind. “Chloe, I don’t think the name refers to shellfish.”
Before I could ask, Maxime brought his middle finger to his mouth, running his tongue over the tip.
He locked his gaze on mine—smoky and deliberate. Still moving inside me, he traced the same finger over my clit.
“This,” he murmured, voice tight and husky. “This is the La Petite Perle I think the builder had in mind.”
The touch sent a volley of sensations around my body. As if mother nature—or Maxime’s touch—unleashed a swirling maelstrom that threatened to batter me against the rocks. I held on to my breath, wondering if I’d ever exhale.
Then he touched me again. Only, he timed it with one of his G-spot-busting thrusts and I swear my soul left my body, circled around the sea glass chandelier, and descended into heaven.
The intensity tearing through me was insane. All-consuming. As if Maxime had taken all his bubbles and inserted them into my bloodstream, charging them up with the heat of his skin.
When he did it a third time, the room twisted around me. I wasn’t sure my body had passed its full Maxime-stress test, but I was ready to take the risk.
Heat grew in my core, pulsing and needy. “Now,” I breathed.
His eyes flared like dragon fire, and he clamped his lip in his teeth, moving harder against me. After two deep thrusts, he reached up, his fingers ghosting down my cheek until he rested his thumb on my bottom lip.
With a twisted smile, I took it into my mouth, sucking lightly before biting down—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him hiss through his teeth. I didn’t let go. Not right away.
His breath caught and that sharp, burning stare of his met mine. When I moaned, something dark and delicious flickered behind his lashes. With a look that could’ve melted concrete, he pulled his thumb free, dragging it slowly over my lip.
I ground into his hips, and something in him snapped.
Wordlessly, he grabbed my thighs and unwrapped them from around his waist, only to shift them higher, hooking them over his ribs. His grip was firm, almost reverent, as he pressed me flush against him and clamped me in place.
Maxime moved deliciously and deeply inside me. When he reached the limit of his thrust, he tipped my hips higher than before.
I cried out and the corners of his lips rose. “Do you think you can take more?” he rasped.
At the grind in his voice, a pulse flared at my core and my lips curled in delight. “Try me.”
Pure desire flashed across his features, and Maxime brought my legs even higher, placing the soles of my feet on his shoulders. When he finished, he turned his head to kiss the skin at my calf and I moved my hips, adjusting to the new sensations—to the feeling of absolute bliss, the sweet agony of him buried so deep inside me.
When I moaned, he joined me, moving, testing my limits. Every slow, torturous stroke was bliss. A desperate mix of tightness, followed by a pulse of exquisite pleasure. It was like I didn’t know where his body ended and mine began, and I never wanted it to end.
Every single time he pushed into me, I lifted my hips like he showed me, chasing sensations—chasing the throat-closing feel of him owning me…completely.
We moved and breathed together, our movements quickening. My body burned, desperate to hold him close. But in this position, I was completely at his mercy. That idea sent a blistering pressure through my chest, and I clamped down on his cock, the only way I could hold him close.
The second my muscles squeezed, his eyes blazed, and he brought his fingertips to my breast. Rolling my hardened nipple, his shoulders rose and fell in rapid bursts until finally he pulled up, his face dark and fevered. “I don’t think I can…” he rasped. He didn’t complete his sentence, but with the strangled look on his face, he didn’t need to.
“Finish it,” I whispered, pushing against him—giving him another inch.
Maxime took it with a groan, whispering unknown words. At the sound, an exquisite bolt of pleasure thundered through me. Lights pulsed before my eyes, their throb matching the desperate ache at my core. When he growled, I shattered, a ragged gasp spilling from my lips.
Like he’d been waiting for me his whole life, Maxime’s eyes darkened—hot, intense, mine. With my name on his tongue, hedrove into me one final time, pressing me against the counter, claiming me like he’d finally come home.
My phone pinged on Maxime’s side cabinet, raising me from my post-sex stupor. He settled back on the bed, running his hand over my hip.
“She’s very insistent, isn’t she?”
I chuckled. “Who, Iris?”
