Love Is Beautiful (Chelsea & Max) (14 page)

“
Y
ou like being
on your knees in front of me, don’t you?” Max threads his fingers into my hair and thrusts his cock between my lips. “You sweet, naughty little girl.”

I look up at him as I bob my head, using my tongue along his shaft, and cupping his balls with my hand. He’s right. I do like being on my knees for him. I like having him inside me. I like bringing him pleasure. I like the way he towers over me, making me feel both small and protected in the same instant, his size both a threat and a shield. I love handing him control of my body, knowing that I am safe in his competent hands, but also knowing that while he’s inside me, I am the source of his greatest pleasure.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says as he slides himself in and out of my mouth, careful not to go too deep and choke me. “I could look at you all day.”

Suddenly, I’m less interested in him being careful and more interested in him having the blow job of his dreams. I put my hands on his hips to still him before I push him all the way to the back of my throat. My eyes water and I pull away, gasping.

“Fuck, Chelsea,” he says as I pull him back in. He grabs me by the hair and thrusts himself into me a few times, rocking his hips into my mouth, totally out of control for all of three seconds. He pulls out of my mouth and helps me to stand before he slings me over his shoulder and tosses me onto my bed.

My room has become a treasure trove of toys. My drawers hiding a number of secrets ranging from mild to exotic, from simple to brow-raising. I watch as he struts around the room, his cock hard and straining in front of him, his ass, so perfect, his thighs so powerful I can’t believe they belong to a man who would waste his time with me. He digs in one of my favorite drawers, pulling out a blindfold and fitting it on me before I hear him go back to pulling out toys.

He’ll bind me, tonight. He always does when I push his boundaries. He lost control just a moment ago, fucking my throat without concern for my well-being. (And I was more than fine with it, thank you very much.) But as a reward, I’ve earned myself the blindfold and the binding. Which I’m also more than fine with. I love giving myself over to him.

Rope scrapes across one wrist and then the other. There’s the familiar tug as he sets his knots and then ties me to the headboard. He kisses me, drinking me in. And then he’s gone. There’s a whisper of sound, the flick of a lighter, and then the caress of silk on my nipples, trailing down my stomach and dancing between my legs. A scarf. So it’s going to be simple, then.

And here I was in the mood to try some of our newer, more leather-bound toys.

But the scarf is good. He teases me with it and I know that my body writhing under his attentions has him so hard, so turned on he can barely contain himself.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, pulling away the scarf. “We’re going to try something new tonight.”

He pulls off the blindfold and my eyes go wide. He has a riding crop in one hand, and he trails it up the inside of my leg as he puts the blindfold on the bedside table. I specifically asked for the riding crop, added it to his Amazon wish list after reading a particularly hot book on my Kindle one night.

As I eye the toy, he brings it gently down to my breast, circling the leather around my taut nipple as my chest heaves and my eyes slide closed. He swats lightly, eliciting a gasp from me as my eyes spring open.

“Is that good? Is that what my naughty girl likes?”

I nod, very much enjoying the anticipation as he swirls the crop around my other breast. He swats again, harder this time, and a flare of pain takes my breath away. He immediately brings his mouth to the spot, licking and kissing, the warmth of his lips mingling with the warmth from his crop. The stinging fades and I miss it.

He trails it down my belly, letting it slide across my clit and the anticipation is almost too much for me. He pushes against my folds, bringing it back up, and then flicking it against my inner thigh. After that, I lose myself to sensation. He alternates between pleasure and little flashes of pain, only to cover it all right back up with pleasure again. Instinctively, or perhaps because he just knows me so damn well, he never pushes past my limit. The pleasure far outweighs the pain.

“Fuck Max,” I gasp. “Please fuck me. I need you moving inside me.”

“When I’m ready, sweet girl. No sooner.”

But it turns out he’s more ready than he wants to admit. He spends some time with his mouth on my clit, his fingers working deftly inside me, bringing an orgasm out of nowhere. I scream with it as he hooks his fingers to find that one spot that pushes me farther than I’ve ever gone before. There’s a brief respite as he pulls out of me and puts on a condom and then he drives himself inside me, moving deeper and deeper while I cry out as one orgasm blends into another. I am lost in him. I am made whole by him.

As he rolls his hips chasing his own orgasm, he pulls me towards him, bringing us closer and closer together. He falls down over me, his mouth on mine, his chest to mine, his hands on either side of my head. We are joined. We are one. One soul in two bodies. He comes with a shout and I am undone, losing myself in the waves of pleasure washing over me.

* * *

“
S
o that was fun
,” I say after I catch my breath.

“You sure I didn’t hurt you?” He rolls off of me and props his head up with a pillow.

“No. I mean yes. I mean, it was exactly what I wanted.”

Relief settles in his eyes. “Good.”

He looks so handsome, so at ease, his dark hair framing his face against the crisp white pillowcase, I can’t help but smile.

“What?” A question crinkles his eyebrows.

“I just like looking at you. I like being with you. I like having you in my bed.”

He grins. “I like being in your bed.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the opening I’ve been waiting for. “Would you stay? Here? With me?”

Max pushes up on his elbow. “You mean, like, an
overnight
?” He widens his eyes like I’ve just asked him for the most scandalous thing ever.

“Yes. Exactly like an overnight.”

He’s never stayed with me before, always using the dog as an excuse to go home. And maybe that’s not fair. I mean, needing to let the dog out really is a valid reason not to stay. But the times we’ve been at his house haven’t come with an invitation for me to stay. It’s always made me wonder if the dog was just a cover story.

Max pulls me in close and I snuggle in, wrapping my leg over his and pressing my cheek against his chest. “I’d love to stay,” he says, his voice rumbling in my ear. I’ll just have to leave kind of early to make sure Reagan’s okay.”

I snuggle in even closer, breathing him in. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, sweet girl.” He runs a hand through my hair. “I get to spend the night curled up next to this fine body? I think I’m the one who should be doing all the thanking.”

“So…” I take a breath, a little uncomfortable about asking him my next question. “Next week is Thanksgiving. And it also just happens to be my birthday—”

Max pulls himself out from underneath me. “Your birthday? How do I not know this?” He looks stricken.

I suck in both my lips and drop my eyes. “It’s my thirtieth and I was kind of hoping to just let it slide by without noticing. Bury it under Thanksgiving and ignore the fact that I’m old now.”

“Just like that. Boom.” Max snaps his fingers. “You’re old.”

I roll my eyes. “Thirty is a big deal. Next comes wrinkles and sagging skin and then what good am I?”

“First of all, you’re a long way from wrinkles and sagging skin. But second of all, how in the world does your physical appearance have anything to do with your worth?”

“Think about it. You’ve got two women, one well-groomed, pretty, trim.
Young.
The other? Older. Rounder. A little squishy around the edges. Where does your eye go?” I squirm. We’re getting way off track here. I wanted to invite him to Thanksgiving with my family and here we are talking about my fear of growing old.

“My eye goes to you.” Max sits up and puts his hand on my cheek. “No matter who else is in the room, I only ever see you.”

Tears sting my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper around a tightening throat.

“Now you listen to me,” Max says, his face and voice earnest. “You take broken bodies and put them back together again. You bring out the best in me. You make me smile when I had started to think I had forgotten how. You have shown me what it means to really and truly feel close to someone, to share the good and the bad parts of me. You have a quick mind and a sharp wit that keeps me on my toes. You have a drive to succeed and achieve like no one else I have ever met in all my life. That, all that, is your worth. It has nothing to do with age or beauty or wrinkles or anything like that. Yes, you’re physically beautiful, I mean look at you. But your true beauty lies in who you are. And you are the most beautiful person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

I’m crying now. Like lips quivering. Breath hitching. Can’t swallow. Max is a man of few words. To hear him say all of that about me. The look in his eyes. The warmth of his voice. To know that he’s seen me bare and uncovered, uncensored and unfiltered, and he still feels that way about me … it’s everything I ever wanted. My whole life, I wanted someone to see me. The real me. And I just wanted the real me to be okay. Enough. I wanted someone to look at me and want me for who I am, not for who they thought I could be.

And Max just did that.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, wiping the tears from my eyes.

“Because…” I swallow and sniff. Sit up and take his hands, not even bothering to cover my breasts with the sheet. “You make me feel like I matter. Like
me
, who I am inside. What I think. Why I do the things I do. All those things matter to you. You see them and understand them. You don’t want me to be anything but what I am…” I take a breath and give him a watery smile. “It feels good to be accepted. That’s all.”

I wish I could explain it better. Wish I could explain the pressure I feel to succeed. That it’s just built into my sub-conscious that I will never achieve enough because I am capable of so much more. I can hear my dad’s words to me over the years.

Not bad, Chels. But I know you can do more.

Over and over and over. Time and again. And it doesn’t matter what I accomplish, it’s always the same.

I know you can do more.

Max’s eyes soften. He holds my gaze and I fall into him, tumbling head over heels, into his heart and soul. “I love you, Chelsea.” His voice is raw. Powerful.

The truth of his statement hits my chest like a ray of light and I take a sobbing breath. “Oh, Max, I love you, too. Like crazy, beautiful in love with you. I’ve never felt this way before. Like, never ever.”

He kisses me and the answer to everything is in that moment, our lips touching, our breath shared. His hands cupping my face. And when we’re done, we sit with our foreheads pressed together, just staring into each other’s eyes, falling head over heels together.

“Will you come to my birthday Thanksgiving with me? With my family?” I whisper the question, afraid to push too far, too fast.

Max pulls back, distress in his eyes. “I can’t…”

I knew I shouldn’t have asked. I knew it was going to be too much, too soon. Leave it to me to ruin the most beautiful moment of my life by asking for more. “I’m sorry…” I pull back and give my head a little shake.

“No, no.” Max reaches for my hands. “It’s not that. I promised Charlie that I’d spend Thanksgiving with him so he didn’t end up being alone.”

“Alone? Isn’t he only ten?”

“Exactly. I refuse to let that happen. So, it’s going to be a me and Charlie kind of day.” Max smiles sadly, flaring his hands.

“Bring him.” Who knows how my family will feel about me bringing a random kid to our Thanksgiving, but you know what? Sometimes I get to have what I want, too.

Max shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know, Chels. A strange man
and
an at-risk kid at a London family gathering? Is that really the best idea?”