Page 41 of Maxwell

He didn’t move.

“It’s cold out here, Maxwell.”

His right hand moved to cup the side of her neck, and she whimpered. All night they’d brushed or bumped into each other during their competitive games. This was different. He moved with intention, making the nerve endings under her skin go berserk.

“Then let’s get you warmed up,” he said huskily.

That was the last warning he gave before closing the distance between them. Her breath hitched when his mouth found hers, dissolving whatever lame protest she had intended to offer. Not only did her brain short circuit and betray her, so did her hands as they fisted in his sweater and pulled him closer.

He made a sound in his throat—something between relief and satisfaction—and deepened the kiss as if he’d been waiting weeks for permission. His hand slid from her neck to her hair, winding the length of her ponytail around his closed fist. It was a demanding move. He was taking control like he’d done before, tilting her head back to the position he wanted. And she let him. God, how she let him, arching into him because she wanted to be controlled. Because submitting to the strength of this magnetic man was a pleasurable place to be. A place where passion took over and time ceased to exist.

Her arms wrapped around his strong neck as he pinned her against the cold metal of his vehicle, the slow grind of his hips forcing her to acknowledge the thick bulge pressing into her abdomen. She trembled as her body remembered his possession. The weight of him on top of her. The way he kissed her with the leisurely sensuality of a man who had nowhere else to be but right there, blowing her mind with every move he made.

“Jasmine.” He said her name in a rough whisper against her lips. Half asking. Half warning.

She replied by shoving her fingers into his curly hair and kissing him harder, opening her mouth wider for the invasive thrust of his tongue. Who taught this man to kiss like this?

His hands slid roughly and slowly over her hips and buttocks as if he were relearning the shape of her. Then he released her lips and trailed his mouth down the side of her neck, the delicious scratch of his beard adding a striking contrast to the softness of his lips.

“Max...” she breathed, tilting back her head to stare up at the black sky. Her nipples became taut and sensitive, longing for the slide of his tongue.

“I love the way you say my name. The way you plead. Shit turns me on,” he whispered. He kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth. “Need you.” He took her hand and placed it over his erection.

Jasmine released a shaky breath, going weak in the knees. She needed him too.

Their foreheads almost touching, both of them breathed in an unsteady pattern. His eyes were dark and questioning.

Jasmine opened her mouth to answer the unspoken question but then said nothing. Resting a hand against his chest, she gently pushed against him. “I-I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Why not?”

Jasmine had expected anger from him. Instead, his face conveyed confusion.

Rightly so after that kiss, but now her brain was functioning like normal and not clouded by lust and the expertise of his kisses.

“Is this about him? You said he’s not your boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to sleep with you.” The words came out harsher than intended.

Maxwell reared back, insulted. “Why not?”

“We’ve already had this conversation.”

“I know what your mouth said, but our bodies just had a completely different conversation. If you’re hesitant because of Mr. Tight Pants⁠—”

“Would you stop calling him that! His pants aren’t tight. They’re snug.”

Maxwell distanced himself from her further by taking another step back, his breathing still irregular but more controlled. Jasmine suddenly felt very, very cold with the warmth of his body taken away.

“You don’t know what you want, do you?” he asked.

“I know what I don’t want,” she replied in a hard voice.

His curls were in disarray from her fingers, making it difficult to look at him because of the evidence that she had been completely out of control in her apartment complex parking lot.

“I don’t have time for games.”