39

Cadence

There must be some sort of sleep aid in this room, like the pillows are infused with Sleep-Eze, because I fall asleep instantly. I don’t even hear Max come in, which is good.
I needed a minute.
Not only did he make me come so hard that I saw stars, but the expression on his face when he saw the text from his father made me feel… concern. Like, why would he look like that? What did he say that bothered him so? And why should I care?

But I do, and that’s why I needed a moment.
Max is unexpected. I’ve had too many unexpecteds in my life so I work double time for predictable and anticipated. I plan for everything.
I don’t have time to plan for Max. I don’t even know if I want to.
I called out his name. Despite what I said, I’m a very quiet lover when it matters. If I’m with a client, I’ll go all out because that’s what they paid for. With Max—I lost control. I gave it all away for dirty talk and a talented mouth that made me feel…
So much.
So very much that when I wake up in the middle of the night, I’m momentarily confused again, but I’m also very, extremely aroused.
I must have been dreaming about us on the beach.
Because when I wake up, a thin sheen of sweat covers me and my hand is already between my legs.
I touch myself like Max touched me—have been touching myself—and I don’t know if I was dreaming it was him because I’m almost there.
From the deep breathing beside me in the dark, I can tell he’s asleep. I’ve never done this with anyone in the bed, but I’m not about to stop. I can’t. Self-pleasure has always been important when I was working because I was rarely satisfied by my clients.
No one was paying me to come. They wanted it all for themselves.
There were a few who liked it when I enjoyed myself, but by that time, I had perfected the fake.
There was no faking with Max.
And there’s no faking now; I rub frantically, lips pressed tight so I don’t make a sound. I want to make a sound. I want to call out like I did with Max. I want—
I reach the edge and topple over, my body clenching before the sweet release, taking ragged breaths as sensations race through my body.
After I slow my heart, I roll over. Max has his back to me, still breathing deeply.
Neither of us pulled the blackout curtains, so moonlight floods the room. I study the tattoo on his shoulder; the muscles lining his back.
Who knew he was so muscular?
For the first time, I regret not finishing high school, wished I had taken biology so I would know the names of the muscles along his back. So tight and firm. So tanned, even before we got here. The sheet tangles at his waist so I can admire the way his back tapers into his waist… his hips.
I imagine his hips between mine, rolling against me.
I want him between my legs. Pushing, thrusting, making me call out his name again.
My hand, with a mind of its own, reaches for the tanned muscles. I don’t want to wake him, but if he were to roll over so I could see his chest, let my gaze drift lower—
His breathing hitches and his shoulders twitch like he woke himself up from a dream.
I flip onto my back and lay still, eyes closed. With a rumble, Max rolls over to face me.
Is he awake? Is he looking at me, like I stared at him? I keep my eyes pressed tight because, if he’s awake, I can’t be held responsible.
“I still taste you,” he husks.

I look over to find sleepy eyes watching me. Without a word, without even a coherent intention, I pull up my T-shirt, my breasts glowing in the moonlight.
Max stares as he pushes down the sheet, his hand delving into the front of his briefs. When he gets to his knees, he’s already hard.
And when he pushes his briefs down onto his hips, I stare openmouthed at the length Max is fisting, Watching his angry strokes, the milky drop trembling at the tip. And then I roll over to face him, my breasts bare and inviting.
I take him in my mouth.

There’s no warning, no words as I slide my lips down his length, taking him deep. No sound except for Max’s ragged gasp.
When I draw back, swirling my tongue along his velvety head, up and down his length, Max cups my head with a shaking hand. “Cadence,” he pleads.
Like he wants me to stop. Or thinks he wants me to stop.
I look up at him and take him deep.
He doesn’t look like he wants me to stop. “Are you sure?” he manages. I don’t answer that either, just keep going, using tongue and teeth, my fist firm around the base.
“Fuck… please… don’t stop…”
I have no intention of stopping.
I could draw it out, teasing him to the point of torture, making him beg and plead and forget his own name, but I don’t. I keep it simple, hollowing my cheeks as I suck, which causes a rough mutter, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
I know when he’s close because he tries to pull out, but I grip his hip for balance as I lean into him, my other stroking him. “Yes,” I manage. “Come in my mouth.”
I’ve never, ever said that to a man before.
“Oh, god… yes…” His hips jerk a staccato and I let him take over, thrusting, my mouth open and ready to take him in. And then with a last thrust, he comes into my mouth, his fist pressed against his own mouth to muffle his groans.
When he stills, when I’ve swallowed the evidence, only then do I pull away and look up at him.
“I wanted to taste you, too.”