Times Square(12)

By the ninth I already know this is going to be the best sex I've ever had.

When we reach the landing I pull my dress over my head and drop it to the floor.

"Jesus, Lauren." Max groans as he runs his hands down my sides, his thumbs splaying over my skin. I fumble with the remaining buttons on Max's shirt before yanking it off of him, but I clearly missed one because the shirt catches then a button pings to the floor and skitters across the room.

"Oops, sorry," I offer.

"It's okay."

"Good, because I'm not that sorry."

He pinches my ass and I yelp.

"Sorry." He grins.

"No, you're not."

"I'm not," he agrees.

He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. I have a fleeting thought that my ex wasn't strong enough to lift me and then I shove him from my mind because he doesn't matter anymore. Not in the slightest.

Max rests me on a hard surface I assume is the kitchen island and I shiver as he unsnaps my bra, his fingers trailing down my spine as the straps fall from my shoulders. I lift my hips as he hooks his fingers into my scrap of underwear and slides them over my hips to the floor.

"You're lovely," he murmurs as he drops his hands to the counter on each side of my hips and lowers his lips to mine.

"Ditto." I grin, eyeing his chest.

"There's that smile I'm so enamored with." He brushes his lips across mine. "But I'm going to wipe it off your face now."

"Yes, please."

"I like your enthusiasm."

"I like your cock."

"You haven't met my cock yet."

"I know, but you make me feel optimistic." I bite my lip as I say it because I realize it's true. He makes me feel hopeful. He makes me feel like me.

"Ditto," he repeats. His voice is soft and husky. His eyes are dark and piercing, his lips warm as they meet mine, soft yet firm. Perfect.

Outside a cab honks and someone shouts an obscenity. Inside Max's apartment I moan as he slips a finger inside of me. I groan when he makes it two and I clutch his forearms when he angles the heel of his hand over my clit.

“That's good," I gasp.

"I can do better than good," he says as he drops his head to my chest, his tongue flattening across one of my nipples. I love having my tits played with and when he moves his spare hand to my other nipple and tugs I clench around the fingers thrusting inside of me. Then he chuckles and adds teeth to the mix and I'm about done for.

"That's better than good," I pant, my breath short.

"You're quite the kinky girl for someone with such a sweet exterior." He withdraws his fingers from me and wraps his lips around them.

Fuck.

I watch him slide his fingers slowly out of his mouth, a light pop sounding when he's done. Then I'm scrambling off the counter and yanking at the button on his jeans, desperate to hold him, to feel him inside of me. Now.

"I'm not that sweet," I tell him as I free the button and tug at the zipper.

"Good to know," he replies and takes over with his pants, pushing my hands out of the way to free himself. His cock is hard. And sizable, oh, lucky day.

I am so glad I said yes to Max, I think as I wrap my hand around his cock. You can't go through life being skeptical just because you've been burned a few times. No one's intuition is right every time and I shouldn't blame myself for that. Besides, I think my instincts are improving because I feel really good about Max. I think I'm getting savvier because everything about this night is one big yes.

"Yes," he hisses as I twist my wrist and stroke the length of him.

See? We're in total harmony.

He wraps his hand over mine and we stroke him together. He's thick and long and I'm getting ever wetter feeling him in my hand. He really is long. I can't wait to sit on him.

"It is nice."

"It?"

"Your penis. I wasn't wrong." I flick my eyes to his and squeeze my hand around him.

"Thank you." He grins. "It's nice of you to mention. So polite," he adds with a smack to my ass which catches me off guard and I yelp. Then he lifts me again, my legs quickly wrapping around his waist, and moves us with ease to the sofa, resting me on my back and following me to the cushions.

It's leather and the material is smooth and cool beneath me, in stark contrast to the warmth and hardness above me. Max brushes a strand of hair off my cheek and kisses me. Our tongues swirl, exploring each other, before I press my lips to his neck, enjoying the texture of him—the subtle abrasiveness of his jaw, the skin rougher from shaving, growing softer the lower I explore. He smells like some combination of pine and the ocean, an expensive cologne, surely, but something else too. Something Max.

His pants are still hanging around his hips and I slide my hands inside and palm his ass, traversing the contours of his body, my hands behaving as though they're on a sexual voyage over the river and through the woods.