Let It Snow (72 page)

“Mama couldn’t raise as much hell as she wanted because I was a scholarship kid. They would have pulled it and told me how I should have been grateful for the opportunity.” She scoffed. “I probably would have been better off in public school.”

“If you’d been in public school, we wouldn’t have met.”

“Like I said, I probably would have been better off in public school.”

“Cute.” Chuckling, he rolled her off his lap and moved to the edge of the bed. “So, dinner. I think we should do the ball.”

She draped her forearm over her eyes and let out a long, ragged breath. “Why?”

“You never let me take you anywhere. It’s always my condo, your apartment, or here at the hotel.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name one place we’ve been that wasn’t one of those three.”

She propped herself up onto her forearms and pursed her lips.

“You can’t, can you?”

“We went to that jazz festival and ended up fucking behind the stage.”

“Although that was very nice, that was two years ago. Try again. Something recent.”

She shook her head. “That’s it. That’s all I can remember.”

“So humor me. We’ll go to the ball and you’ll pretend to tolerate me as more than your secret fuck-buddy.”

Her cheek twitched.

“I’ll even get you a mask if you want one.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“You conceding just like that?”

“Yeah, because I know the chances of you getting me something to wear in time are slim to none unless you’re going out to buy it yourself.” She settled her back against the pillows and treated him to a devilish grin that made his cock jump. So many times she’d worn that smile just before pulling him between her lips and sucking him so masterfully that he forgot which of them was supposed to be the Dom. She’d always had power over him, though, in subtle ways and larger ones. More than once, he’d wanted to turn his life upside down for her, but reason always won out.

Sometimes, reason didn’t seem a good enough deterrent.

“And Max, baby, if you go out, chances are pretty good I won’t be here when you return.”

He growled. Damn, his girl really knew which buttons to press to keep him on his toes. “Thanks for the reality check, G, but…” He set his knee on the bed and leaned in close to whisper, “You know what happens when you tease me?”

She picked up the remote control, turned the volume up a few ticks, and clucked her tongue. “Well, let’s see. If we were in your playroom, you’d probably shove your dick into my mouth.”

“I admit the thought has run through my mind in the pat few minutes. Maybe I should start resorting to those tricks outside of the playroom, too.”

“Like you did in the stairwell?” She twirled the remote playfully and blinked coquettishly. If she was striving for a look of sweet innocence, she failed miserably. She could probably drive a man to sin with just one lusty sigh.

“Mm-hmm.” He crawled closer, grabbed the remote, and tossed it onto the nearby chair. “Maybe if I did, it’d knock your autopilot off-kilter and force you to make your actions more intentional.” He grabbed her hips, pulled her flat onto her back, and quickly straddled her.

Her eyes narrowed and hands tightened around his thighs, but she didn’t try to move.

He unfastened his pants and let down the zipper. “I think you need constant supervision, G.”

She shrugged. “Mr. Beaudelaire might agree.”

“Then I’m in good company.” He eased up her torso, and pinned her ribs between his knees. Her robe opened at the top with one easy swipe, and her breasts freed from her push-up bra with one tug of the front closure. “Stay just like that,” he said and backed off her.

Naturally, she sat up and smirked at him.

He shook his head as he pulled off his boots and stepped out of his restricting pants. She wanted to push him? Fine.

He wrapped his fist around her hair and pulled her over to the bedside. Her willing mouth opened the moment his cockhead teased her lips.

“That’s right, make it wet.”

He didn’t let go of her hair just yet. He liked the look of her on all fours with her delectable breasts hanging down and her eyes rolled up to his as she awaited instruction. It seemed she cut herself any slack when she was having sex. It was the only time she gave herself permission to not be the strong, indestructible goddess she had everyone believing she was. On her knees or on her back, she was vulnerable, and it was her choice to be so.

He let go of her hair and pushed it back from her face. “That’s enough. Get on your knees for me.”

She didn’t ask why—just did it. She knelt at the edge of the bed and raised one eyebrow.
What next?
it asked.

He cupped the heavy breasts that had distracted him so fucking much when he was a horny fourteen-year-old, and brought them together. Moving closer, his cock grazed her belly, and she bent for him, catching the head in her cleavage as he pressed onward. Even if she was just playing at it, she was the most intuitive submissive he’d ever worked with. He was certain some of that was due to their long acquaintance, but there was also that underlying compatibility she hated admitting so much. He could read her like a book at times, and imagined the reverse was true, too.

He thrust his hips back and forth, and closed his eyes to savor the warm satin of her skin around his dick and hissed when her tongue swirled against his cockhead at the apex of a thrust. He hadn’t asked for it, but like hell if he was going to punish her for it.

“More of that,” he said and slowed his strokes to give her extra time to lave his head. “Hold them.” He squeezed her breasts to indicate his wishes, and her hands replaced his. He leaned back to take in the sight of his turgid shaft disappearing into her cleavage and her tongue lapping hungrily at him. He grabbed her shoulders and began fucking her breasts in earnest. She couldn’t keep up the licking and probably felt the strain now in her neck, but it didn’t matter. When his balls began to tighten and insides stirred to life, he pulled his dick free, and quickly flipped her onto her back. He pulled her ass to the edge of the bed, yanked her panties aside by the crotch, damp with her lubrication, and pressed into her into one slick thrust.

“Oh
God
,” she whispered.

He knew the feeling. It’d been so fucking long for him, too.

She deserved gentle, tender lovemaking, and he promised himself that he’d give it to her soon, but right now, he was struggling to find some control. She’d ceded hers to him, and he’d lost both. He just thrust, faster, harder, desperately until his balls slapped against her ass and she called out. “Max!”

But he didn’t stop. Knew she wasn’t done, and neither was he. He slipped his thumb inside her panties, and pressed down on her clit.

Her heels thrashed against his the backs of his thighs and her guttural yell brought a renewed burn to his balls. He loved pleasing his woman. Loved making her fall apart and putting the pieces back together one at a time when they were done. He craved that afterglow, of making her melt and want him more.

“You’re going to go with me,” he said, swiveling his hips and lifting hers to change his entry angle. “To the ball. You’re going to eat with me. Dance with me. Leave with me. And then I’m going to fuck you again. Maybe downstairs with people watching me get you off. Maybe here in the room where I can take off all your clothes and look at what’s mine.”

She sank her nails into the meat of his ass, and her mouth opened wide as if to free a scream, but she didn’t seem to have the breath for it. She panted as he increased his speed and tugged her clit in time to the rhythm. He loved having her in this position—playing with that little bud and watching her pussy clench around nothing while he fucked her ass, but he could do that another day. A day when he could savor it and make it last.

She squeezed her muscles around him tight, and now she did yell. She yelled his name and a fluent stream of curses. “I hate you so fucking much. Why do I have to love you?” she said behind the hands she held over her face.

He grabbed the base of his shaft and came inside her, panting. “No one made you, G. That’s all on you.”

Giselle hadn’t felt so on edge about a social gathering since she and Max had crashed their senior prom. Technically, they weren’t even supposed to be there because they lost privileges when that battle-ax of an English teacher had assigned them to in-school suspension for the third time in the semester. But, Giselle’s mother had spent a lot of money on that ugly, feathery cocktail dress that was supposedly so
in
at the time, and Max had had no shame whatsoever.

Some things never changed.

He’d made her get dressed as planned, picked her up, and walked her to the country club door. He’d put their tickets down on the table, and the attendant—the very same teacher who’d been supervising their suspension—took them, tucked them into the box, and handed them each a glow stick.

“What just happened?” she’d asked as Max pulled her into the middle of the dancing crowd.

“You gotta learn to read people, G,” he’d said. He’d draped his arms over her shoulders and grinded on her so brazenly it was a wonder none of the chaperones had found a hose and sprayed them.

“I read people just fine.”

“Sure you do. If that were true, you’d know that the reason Ms. King is so wary of Ms. Gerrish is because she was once was once taught by Ms. Gerrish. And apparently Ms. Gerrish was a pain in the ass back then, too.”

Giselle had swayed a bit on the dance floor, keeping time to the music, but pondering the workings of her friend’s brain. “Max, that’s not reading people. Nobody would know that unless they went snooping.”

He’d shrugged, and spun her around to grind on the side of her he obviously liked better. “It’s not snooping. It’s just quieting some curiosity. I asked some questions. The librarian likes to talk.”

“How would you even know that?”

“Like I said.” He’d pulled her closer by the waist and she yipped as his hard shaft prodded her rear. “You gotta learn to read people. Some like to talk. You just need to know how to get them started.”

“Maxwell Fletcher, I need to see some light between the two of you!” a chaperone finally called out.

Max had sighed and spun Giselle around again. “Party pooper,” he’d murmured.

“And good thing,” Giselle had muttered back, glancing down at his tented pants.

“So sue me.” His ensuing grin had been predatory, just like it was now. It was a wonder they hadn’t had sex that night.

Max pulled Giselle onto his lap at their shared table in the Beaudelaire’s ballroom and pushed her hair over her right shoulder. He put his lips to her left ear and whispered, “See, this isn’t so bad, is it?”

She picked up a breadstick from the nearby basket and turned it over and over, not answering, preferring to watch the masked guests on the dance floor.

Guests tended to pick and choose which Den of Sin festivities they’d come downstairs for, but the big balls were always well attended. They were so damn decadent, and this was the first time Giselle had been in one. She’d gone to the door a few times, of course, but she’d never been in the thick in either her staff capacity or as a guest.

The theme was Winterball Masquerade. Most guests were decked out in all-white ensembles to match the snow-evocative décor. Many wore domino masks. Though what happened at The Den tended to stay there, the masks were an extra layer of protection for some. There may have been politicians, actors, and famous athletes in attendance, and other guests might never know they’d rubbed elbows with them.

Maybe even fucked them.

Giselle had delivered room service to quite a few A-listers, but she’d never been the kind of girl to be impressed by fame. Anyone could be famous if the stars aligned the right way.

She put down the bread and adjusted her own mask.
Can barely see.

“Do you want to dance?” Max asked.

Giselle watched the dancers. It could hardly be called
dancing
. Maybe there was a little of that going on, but from where she was sitting, it appeared the guests’ idea of dancing was the same as Max’s. Further, if those women were dressed anything like Giselle was at the moment, they could sheathe a dick between their legs by bending over and shimmying in a particular way.

And that reminded her…

She said through clenched teeth, “you managed to find me a dress and shoes, but you couldn’t get me underwear? And what did you do with the ones I had on?”

He pressed his hands to her thighs and eased the bottom of her dress up a bit, wearing that s
it-on-my-face
grin all the while.

When he did that, she
really
wanted to, although she’d always been the sort who’d rather give than receive. Max seemed to have that effect on her. Eventually, she’d relent and let him have his way.

“That’s for me to know,” he said. “Besides, what would you need them for?”

Her pussy clenched at his hands’ proximity. She said a silent prayer of thanks that the tablecloth extended to the floor, and that the people on the other side of their twelve-seater table had their chairs turned to the dance floor, and not to her and Max.

“Why should I provide easy access when you don’t?” How the man managed to acquire white leather pants in time for the gala, she had no clue, but they would probably be hell to get out of.

“There’s nothing easy about you. I have to work hard for everything I get. A man shouldn’t have to be a Dom to get a kiss.”

“If all you wanted was a kiss, we’d have fewer problems.”

“Excuses.” He clucked his tongue. “If you don’t want to dance with me, how about you get us something to eat?”

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

She rolled her eyes and eased off his lap. The leather clung to the back of her thighs as she stood. Normally, she might have complained, but the truth was she liked him in leather. Leather didn’t lie. Didn’t leave anything up to the imagination, and saying that Max was well built would be an understatement that bordered on offensive.

He gave her ass a little slap as she maneuvered between their two chairs, and sighed as she walked away. The tap wasn’t worth complaining about because, for one thing, she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of calling her out on having the last word. And second, she didn’t really care. Max was handsy. He touched. She didn’t understand until years into their convoluted relationship that he craved contact. As a Dom, he resisted it when he played, but the moment she walked into a room—there he was. Hands on
her
. She hadn’t noticed it because Max was right—she sucked at observation. Maybe her worldview was too black-and-white.