The Last in Line

Chapter 4

Four

Freya’s not-so-subtle seduction landed right on target, Max’s breath catching in sync with his dilating pupils. Watching his reaction sent an electrified thrill up her spine.

He’d given all the signs that he wanted her—his lingering stares, his long pauses hinting that he played his advances carefully—when she didn’t need careful. While toying with him had been fun, she preferred to get on with things and put the poor guy out of his misery.

A comforting heat radiated from his neck into her hand, and she extended her thumb to stroke the edge of his well-defined and only slightly stubbled jawline. The tips of her fingers curled instinctively, and she pulled him down to her, his lips parting a split second before their mouths collided.

A small blaze took light in her lower belly, and his hands found the small of her back, dragging her in, as if his body awoke right along with hers. The possessive gesture made her press into him more, her lips drinking him in, the tension from earlier draining from her body. Just what she’d wanted.

It’d been a hell of a long time since she’d felt this enlivened at a man’s touch, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t have access to men. Max’s kiss made her heart pound and her mind clear. She was supposed to be the one leading this thing, but he left her feeling needy and weak.

A sigh rolled through her throat, and her hands balled at the thin blue material of his shirt. She pulled him back with her a few paces before his movements stiffened, and he pried his lips away. “What are you doing?”

She peered up at him and gave a sweet smile, stroking her knuckles over his front, hoping to offer more reassurance, only to feel the distinctive brush of hard, rippling abs.

A manic laugh threatened to break loose at her indiscriminate good luck—at the joy of her senses returning to her body after a particularly shitty night. Though dealing with the occasional creeper was almost part of her job description, the one she’d encountered had gotten closer and creepier than most.

But a night with Max would fix her woes. She was almost certain of that.

“Let’s take this upstairs.” She took his hand and turned to leave, but he tugged her back, halting her journey.

“You had a scare tonight. One that involved a man trying to kidnap you, and God knows what else.” Max frowned, his attention dropping to the floor, the blue of his eyes turning stormy. “And now you have me, another man, in your house and—”

She gave him a narrow side glare, a warning that he sounded painfully close to judging her decision-making skills. “Are you planning to kidnap me?”

“What? No. Of course not!”

“And are you saying no to having s*x with me?”

He went still for a beat and then shook his head. Quiet.

“Good. Then let me decide how I feel about tonight, okay?”

His shoulders eased down a couple of inches, and he gave a steady nod. She reached out and grabbed his hand again, commencing the journey through her house. The stairs creaked as she pulled him along, catching a glimpse of him through a mirror at the top, his attention snagging on yet another of her painted nudes.

She hooked her teeth over her lower lip and held back a smile. Perhaps now he’d pieced together just how much the human body didn’t faze her. She owned a burlesque bar, for hell’s sake, and had zero shame about giving or receiving pleasure, with no time for any judgmental asshat who expected any woman to hide her general enjoyment of s*x.

And she loved s*x.

She loved that s*x could defuse almost every form of stress she encountered.

She loved the play between connection and power, how s*x made her feel about her body, so alive, so free, so divine and human all at once.

Her bedroom door lay open, and she got within stepping distance before her world spun and tilted. Max pushed her back to the wall, only to rain down a whole storm of kisses on her. Like he’d wanted to do that all along but only now found the courage.

Well, welcome aboard, handsome stranger.

She laughed at the pleasant surprise, at him stepping up and taking charge. Maybe her provocative paintings had stoked his enthusiasm, or maybe he’d just needed time.

His tongue brushed over hers, hot and demanding, a rush of adrenaline cascading through her body so that she gave in to his direction, allowing him to back her into her room.

She pushed into him, alerting him to the expanding need within her, making it clear she would give as hard as she got. Even if her lips hurt from the force of their kisses, and her limbs already trembled. She still wanted more. Wanted to taste him. To run her nails over every inch of his body.

A light thud sounded from his foot hitting her bedframe, he stumbled back, dragging her down with him onto the mattress, her forehead crashing forward and into the bridge of his nose.

“Holy shhhh”—he whipped a hand over his face and hissed—“my eyes are watering.”

She couldn’t help it; knew she should ask if he was okay, but burst into laughter all the same. He lowered his hand and pressed his forehead to hers, continuing the rain of kisses while laughing hard himself.

He now sat on the mattress’s edge with her on his lap. Occasionally, she’d pull back to witness the sweet, lop-sided smile tugging one corner of his mouth higher than the other, the innocence in that look making her heart surge.

She began releasing his shirt buttons, opening all but the last before he pushed her hands away, his long fingers entangling the thick dress straps at her shoulders and pushing them down over her arms until her dress bunched at her waist.

Her breasts overflowed her black lace b*a, and he sucked in a loud breath, as if for a moment there, he forgot to breathe. The reaction filled her belly with a million dancing butterflies and the shock of never before feeling so desired.

And because of his reaction, she decided to take her fill of visual stimulation too, trekking her gaze over his open shirt, to the valleys and mountains of pecs and well-honed abs.

Holy Mother Goddess!

His body was remarkable.

The man was built like an athlete—lanky, toned—as close to a living god as she’d ever seen. From his brilliant blue eyes, to his golden waves, once again she couldn’t believe her good luck. That and, how the heck had she missed all that gloriousness whilst walking past him every other week at the bar?

Her next words fell from her mouth, breathy and unplanned, “Holy f**k!”

“Yes.” He gave a slow nod, his stunned blue gaze catching hers, like he too needed a moment. “Holy fuck.”

His “Holy f**k” seemed aimed at her body more than his own, so she shuffled back, resolved to put on a slow show of stepping out of her dress, holding his attention until she stood before him in just the lower part of her underwear.

The act of watching him watch her lit sparks of pleasure throughout every nerve, igniting heat between her legs, her body wanting more. More touch. More action. More him.

And as if he knew, he slid off his shirt, where a thick scar sat at the top of his shoulder, one that only added a sense of intrigue, strength, vulnerability, stoking her desire.

She wanted to know how he’d gotten the scar, wanted to press her lips right there since he was physically perfect in every way except for this small c***k in his armor, which somehow still increased his perfection.

Holy f**k again.

He removed his pants, revealing narrow hips balanced by strong-looking thighs. He was a god. A Nordic one, probably capable of launching lightning bolts from his magical pecs or something. Kind of ironic since her name, Freya, came from the Nordic goddess of fertility, love, and beauty.

Maybe this guy was made for her after all.

Well, just for tonight, anyway.

She copied his initiative and took off the last of her clothes, her underwear finding a place on an armchair next to her bedside table, before she reached into the top drawer, seizing a c****m in its silver packet.

She handed it to him, his long and seemingly dexterous fingers curling around hers, while his gaze held hers again for another beat, drawing that same strain on her heart as earlier.

She pushed at him, pushed at that feeling, and made him sit back down on the bed’s edge, straddling her knees on either side of his powerful thighs.

He rolled the c****m down his length and things moved quickly from there, his hands finding her hips, guiding her so very slowly onto him. Her head lolled back while he became incredibly still and released a low groan.

Exquisite pressure grew within her. Despite the lack of lights in the room, the soft, white glow through the sheer floor-to-ceiling curtains was enough for her to witness his pupils expanding.

She couldn’t help but trace a finger over his cheekbone, marveling at the way his eyelids fluttered shut at her caress. He leaned in, giving in to her a little, kissing her neck, while hot, heavy breaths brushed her skin and lifted his broad, powerful shoulders.

Fingertips dug into her hips, rolling her over him in a steady, rocking motion, the gentle rhythm fueling one desire after another, forcing her eyes closed until she lost herself to the rising swell through her chest and the heat swallowing her every fiber.

This was a celebration. Of bodies. Of her body. Of being alive. Something she’d learned never to take for granted.

She’d survived. When surviving hadn’t always been a given. And yes, she had more curves than mainstream culture deemed acceptable since there was less money to make from women who simply loved who they were. But she’d long ago decided that mainstream culture could suck eggs. She had a body made for indulging in, experiencing, one that functioned for her every day and deserved gratitude.

And oh, speaking of gratitude...

She pressed her palms to Max’s shoulders and gave thanks for this beautiful man, too. For the way he held her in place and let her take her fill of him. For the awe expressed through his eyes, like maybe a total stranger could truly see her.

A moan broke from deep within her chest, and she allowed the light waves of tingling to rise and spread from the place where their bodies joined, the room thrumming with energy. An energy so electrifying it effervesced from her toes, all the way through to the very tips of her hair.

Oh yes, she did love s*x. Always had. But this man. He was something else.

Another moan tore from her, and she clenched around him. His hand slid over her hip, over her tummy, fingers soft until he cupped her breast, his thumb abrading her n****e enough to steal her breath.

He bucked against her, rewarding her loss of control with further pleasure, taking their exchange up another level. A rich chuckle rumbled through her, betraying just how much she enjoyed this unexpected end to her night.

She cupped her palms to his cheeks, allowing him to kiss her through her slow and shuddering c****x; her long curls falling forward and acting as a curtain of intimacy around them.

His fingers bunched the hair at the back of her head, and he deepened the kiss, grinding into her, obliging her to ride him harder; her breaths turned ragged, heart near bursting. His tongue lashed hers, hungry, hard, until he swelled within her and found his own release.