Page 28 of Room Serviced
“Ah,” he said, twisting a strand around one finger. “I have to earn it.”
“I didn’t say?—”
“I can earn it.” He gave that single strand a tug that zipped down Sloane’s spine. “I’m good at earning it,” and god, the way he said it, this eager rumble that Sloane felt in her toes. “Tell me what you like.”
Sloane thought she’d probably like nearly anything, in that moment, with his mouth on her skin and his hands, Jesus, his hands.
“Getting eaten out,” she said, the first thing she thought of.
Max made a noise and kissed her lips again, then the hinge of her jaw and the base of her throat, and then he was on his knees on the hotel carpet, pushing her thighs apart.
She’d been expecting to have more of a discussion or at least take her pants off, but Max looked at her and bit the seam on the inside of one thigh, tugging it gently between his teeth, and Sloane said, “Oh.”
It came out shaky and breathy and a little desperate. Max pressed his mouth into her thigh, leaving a circle of heat just above where his thumb dug in, then looked up at her with one eyebrow raised, like it was a dare.
Sloane knew she should probably say something like Keep going or Yes, please, but what came out of her mouth was “That’s not all you’ve got, is it?”
“Fuck, Sloane,” he groaned, and then his face was between her legs, hard enough for the bridge of his nose to press against her clit. She heard herself make a punched-out noise, half surprise and half pleasure, and then Max did it again.
Sloane had to fight to keep her eyes from closing as she sat on the desk, leaning back, her legs pushed wide. The muscles in Max’s arms and shoulders flexed, his hands were tight as vices around her thighs, his eyes shut as he rubbed his face against her still-clothed pussy like he was drunk off it.
She watched. Sloane didn’t think she could do anything else. Her breathing had gone ragged and her heart felt like it was beating all out of sync. Her clit pulsed every time he brushed against it, using his teeth and face and even his tongue, pressing against the gusset of her jeans.
Sloane had to fight the urge to press his head between her thighs and rub his face against herself until she got off, which probably wouldn’t even work, but she wanted to hear the noises he’d make as she tried. She wanted to tear a hole in her jeans—also not possible!—and tell him to lick her into oblivion.
Instead, she managed to slide a hand into his hair, and when he opened his eyes again, said, “You look good down there.” Open-mouthed, he groaned against her, and Sloane couldn’t help but roll her hips against his face, even though he was holding her down against the desk, one hand sliding up to push at the hem of her shirt.
Sloane got the hint and took it off. Max bit the inside of her other thigh, catching a little skin and flesh this time, and Sloane made a noise deep in her throat and bucked her hips without meaning to before unhooking her bra and tossing it somewhere.
Max was wild eyed and pink. His hair was fucked up and his skin was red where he’d rubbed it against the rough denim of Sloane’s jeans, and he sat back on his heels and stared. Sloane felt his attention like a spotlight, warm and so bright it glowed, so she met his eyes and slowly rolled one nipple between her fingers.
Deliberately, he palmed himself through his pants, eyes going half-lidded at the pressure before he leaned forward to nuzzle at Sloane’s crotch again. Sloane swore and rolled her hips, and then Max was on his feet, pulling her forward, and they were kissing again, Max’s fingers rubbing her through her jeans. Her whole body jolted every time they slid past her clit, and soon she was panting into his mouth while he scraped his thumbnail across the denim in short, hard strokes.
“You want me to make you come like this?” he asked, mouth against her ear. “Or get eaten out properly?”
Sloane leaned her head against his shoulder and breathed, trying to think through the low buzz of pleasure humming through her brain. How the fuck had he found her clit so easily through her jeans? Did he have—clit radar or something? Fuck, it was good. Good, but not enough.
“Properly,” she said, and the word was barely out of her mouth before he lifted her, legs around his waist, and spun around before tossing her down on the bed with a deeply unsexy oof.
“Take—” Max started, but Sloane already had the button and zipper down on her jeans, lifting her hips so Max could pull them off.
Then he was on her, over her, mouth on hers, on her neck, teeth scraping across one nipple, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her hip, pushing her thighs wide again and biting just hard enough that it might leave a mark.
“Holy shit,” he said, and ran two knuckles the length of her slit. He sounded awed. “You liked that.”
He pressed in, knuckles between her lips but fingers not inside, and Sloane fought the urge to grab his hair again and put his mouth where she wanted it.
“Of course I liked you touching my clit.” God, she sounded like a panting mess. “Feel free to—nnnnnguh. Fuck.”
Max was a fucking sight like this, tongue flattened against her clit, eyes closed like he was in a trance. Sloane went up on one elbow, reached down, and stroked his hair out of his face. He groaned, somewhere low in his chest, but didn’t open his eyes, just licked harder. Sloane could hear herself, the noises she couldn’t help making, the bitten-off whines with every stroke of his tongue.
“That’s good,” she managed to say so he’d keep going, but she could have sworn Max laughed like he knew, and probably he did. He’d zeroed in on her clit like his mouth was a homing missile, and now he shifted his weight just enough to finally push his fingers into her, moaning with his lips suctioned around her clit as he twisted his wrist and crooked his fingers, and Sloane came with a shout.
Max didn’t stop. Sloane couldn’t see him with her eyes closed and her head back, but he licked her through wave after wave as she shuddered and swore. He slowed but didn’t stop, even as she was catching her breath. It wasn’t until she got a hand in his hair and tugged that he came up for air.
“You sure?” he said. He still had two fingers knuckle-deep in her. Sloane clenched around them, just to feel it. “I’m not tired.”
“Come here before you kill me,” Sloane said, tugging at his hair again. Max slid his fingers out and kissed her hip, her fingers still tangled in his hair.
