I put my arms around him, buried my face against his chest, and held him.
He stood still, body hard and warm in my arms, his heart beating a steady rhythm, his sweat-slicked skin making him feel so human, alive against me.
“Hello, little flower,” he said as he wrapped his arms around me as I did him, his voice coming out in a deep rumble.
I looked up to meet his eyes. “Hello, Maxim,” I said, my breath brushing his skin because I held him so close.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked.
I nodded, but it wasn’t really an answer because I was unable to think about the day, care about anything that had happened. Not with him this close to me.
“I did too,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Because I was thinking about you,” he said.
As he spoke, he brushed a kiss against my forehead, pressed one against my nose, but then stopped.
“This will happen,” he said, his breath warm on my skin.
“Yes,” I said, nodding.
“Do you understand what that means, little flower?”
I shook my head. I didn’t understand anything in this moment, anything but my desire to be his, to have him possess me completely.
“If I do this, you’re mine. Only mine,” he said, eyes locked with mine.
Maxim hadn’t said those words lightly—he meant them—would hold me to them. I didn’t care. “Only yours, Maxim,” I said.
A moment later, he pressed his lips against mine, kissed me with a strength and passion that had my breath, already short, taken completely.
I was fully aware of him lifting my feet off the ground, but I kept my eyes closed, my lips pressed against his as he carried me, and it wasn’t until he set me on my feet again that I opened my eyes. I was in his bedroom, and he was looking down at me, his eyes the deepest, most passionate I had ever seen before.
Then he turned me so that my back was to him, his bare chest pressed against me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and began to stroke his hands up and down and over me. I moaned out, arched my back so that my ass was pressed against his hard cock.
“You’ve been thinking about me too?” he said.
“Yes,” I replied, but my breath was no more than a whisper, not even that when he grabbed my breasts and held one in each of his hands, then began to knead them against my chest. My nipples were hard, pricking against the palms of his hands, and as he kneaded them, I pressed back harder, wanting more contact with him.
He dropped one hand from my breast and put it between my legs, cupping my pussy through the heavy denim of my jeans. I rocked against his hand, the friction of my clit against the seat of my panties giving me some relief, but not nearly enough.
“Maxim,” I said when he lessened the pressure.
“Take your time, little flower. I’m going to take mine,” he said.
Then he reached for my pants’ zipper and button and slid the garment down my legs, but he left my panties intact.
He worked his way back up my body, moving up to unbutton the buttons on my shirt and then he pulled it off my shoulders, leaving me in my bra.
He backed away from me then. I could tell because the heat of his body was no longer there, and suddenly I became acutely aware of his gaze on me, felt my skin prick, but not with passion, now embarrassment.
I stood a little straighter, though I resisted the impulse to put my hands behind my back. The attempt to cover my ass would be futile anyway. Not even Maxim’s huge hands could contain it, let alone mine, and reaching back wouldn’t do anything to disguise the span of my hips, the curves of my waist.
Maxim came back, his chest against my bare back, and then stroked his hands up my thighs.
“What were you just thinking?” he asked.
“I…” I started and trailed off as he settled his hand against the seat of my panties, pressed his fingers against me. But I was disappointed when he moved them away and up and over my stomach.
“What were you thinking?” he repeated.
“I was wondering if I want you to see me,” I said.
He grazed his lips along my shoulders, trailed down along the edge of my bra strap but then stopped.
“Why?” he said and then he resumed moving his lips along the edge of my bra strap.
“I’m not like…” I trailed off again.
“Answer, little flower,” he said, his hard body against my back, his lips against my skin.
“I’m not thin, pretty,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
I stiffened, but he continued to kiss me, moving to the center of my back now as he reached up to unhook my bra.
“You’re not thin, you’re soft, womanly, so much to touch and taste.” He pushed my bra straps off my shoulders, baring my heavy breasts to the cooler air.