Page 48 of Edge of Stars

“Hey.” Though my voice is an interrupting prod, I keep my hand where it is. I may be stressed to my limits, but I still know a good decision when I feel it up. “What is it? Still debating choices for my punishment on the shrieking-dream thing? Because I think I can help…”

“No,” he all but pants out. “Of course not. But—”

“What? You like looking like a grumpy toad now?”

At least I get him to a half-grinning chuff. “So that’s the way of it, Mrs. Kane? Got the ring on my finger, and now I’m a testy toad?”

“Grumpy toad,” I correct. “And I’d much prefer something like hungry lion. Or rough and ready stallion.” After absorbing the jerk of his cock through the center of my palm, I squeeze his length with saucy emphasis. “Though at this point, maybe both apply.”

He’s ready to lean into the point as much as I am—every throb of his body and rush of his breath tells me so—but he chooses to shift his bottom half back while everything north of his waist is a new ball of tension. The most prominent part is his face, which welds me in with a look of dark contrition. He’s not certain about it, but my searching stare isn’t enough to unseat his quiet regret.

“Woman…we have to talk.”

I take almost too long to answer. Extending past a comfortable couple of seconds but shorter than a full ten-count.

“Okay,” I say, as if agreeing we can order in a pizza with anchovies. “I agree.”

But agreeing to the toppings doesn’t mean a full plan to eat them.

“Thank you.” He pushes it out with full sincerity, despite the telling drop of his shoulders. “I just think it’s important tha—fuck.”

Never have I witnessed him sucking air back in with such a stunned rush. But if I’d given him the tiniest hint about my own pizza order, I’m sure he would’ve decided we go for frozen pot pies instead. Well, whatever the newlyweds version is.

Newlyweds.

There’s exactly the word I need in my head right now. The confirmation that steels every inch of my daring move.

Chicken pot pie isn’t for someone’s wedding night.

“Kara. What—”

My small laugh shuts him off. I can’t help myself after noticing how straight his shoulders have gotten again.

And how wonderful his erect flesh feels once I’m making direct contact with it.

“You have your way of talking and I have mine, Professor.”

At once, there are more changes in him. His stomach goes taut. His arms shoot out with the same conflicted apprehension, as if to physically set me away. I raise my head fully so he knows that I won’t resist if he does. I’m determined he knows what I desire here, but not to the point of going creepy cock stalker on him.

But he’s swelling against my hand now.

Hardening.

And seeping.

Once I use those heavy drops to slicken my strokes along his shaft, there’s a strangled sound from the middle of his throat. It’s sexy as hell. I tell him so with my own mewl before urging him back so I can pull his boxers all the way free.

More lusty sounds ramble out of him. This time it seems like words, maybe even in another language, but they’re broken up by harsh sighs and deeper grunts. But despite my confusion, I’m massively turned on. Tingling. Needing. Getting more erect in all my right places…

Until I’m quivering from it.

The vibrations are so violent, I’m shocked I can slide back over his body with something resembling coordination. Or so I go and prematurely assume—before my knee catches inside my gown and tears away half the skirt from my bodice.

Maximus smirks up at me. “Now there’s a new communication style. What are we calling it?”

While I struggle to readjust, more of the dress submits to the torque. Enough of it gives way to expose part of my waist and upper thigh.

“Maybe you have some ideas, Professor? Since you are the one trying to make up a new language and all.”