Page 19 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“Shit,” I choke out. “Shit. Sorry. You didn’t take this gig to get naked with a bawling mess.”

“But your…bawling…is beautiful.” He laughs his way over my slang before dropping kisses across my tears. “And your mess is mine. You are mine, ma révélation.”

Well, that does it. The rice paper sheet of reality I’ve been clinging to? Shredded. Replaced by the romance novella he’s dedicated to selling me tonight. But if he’s committing, so am I. All brain cells in. Time for this wild fiction. This crazy, sweet addiction.

“Yes,” I whisper—before my world becomes nothing but the plane of this bed, the heat of this man, the strange peace in his passion. “Yes. Yours.”

“Mon cœur,” he whispers, locking my waist with his hands. “Ma belle.” His whole form trembles as the hard, hot head of his sex nudges my folds.

“Oh, my God.” My clit trembles, burning with my cream and his pre-come, ensuring my words are equal parts regret and arousal. “God,” I stammer again. “That’s…unnnhhh…so good…”

Hotness flashes a cocky new grin. Much cockier. “Not as good as it will be.”

“I totally believe you.” And I mean it. “But hold that thought.” I reach for my toiletries bag, thanking myself for dropping it on the nightstand earlier. Ten seconds later, I’m pushing a foil square into his hand. “Better late than never, right?”

“Late for…what?”

I grind a layer of enamel off my teeth. “Give me a break, handsome. Method acting is awesome, but so is protection.”

“Protection?” He practically barks it, whipping his sights toward the window. “Are we still under attack?”

“Ohhhh, honey.” I reach up, tear the packet open, and wrap my hand around his length. His violent groan is a perfect payback for the effort. Feeling his flesh like this, erect and exposed, layers my lust with new anticipation. The impatience intensifies as I consider how his pulsing, hot length is going to feel inside me. Swelling and stretching and fucking me…

“Ventre…bleu.” His harsh breaths chop apart the syllables as I roll the rubber over his length. “What is this sorcery?”

His stunned gasp brings on my entranced smile. I drag my big toe down the muscled striations of his torso. “You have to be dressed for the party, Hotness. But now that you are…”

“What?”

I halt the toe. Really scrutinize him. His question rings sincere, but his gaze is that of a ruthless dictator. Crafty bastard. He’s really going to make me say it. And holy shit, I’m really going to accommodate him. He’s that damn good.

“Come to me, my lord.” I raise a hand to his face, my lips trembling despite the sultry confidence of the words they form. “Come and…make love to me.”

Suddenly, my nerves are pure heat. My skin is three sizes too small. My pulse sprints as he opens his knees, spreading mine farther. He notches his cockhead against my quivering slit—and I’m positive I’ve never been so aroused in my life.

“Oh, God!”

“Try again.” He pushes away the hem of my tee and digs a merciless hand into my naked hip. “My name is Maximillian. Now say it.”

“M-Max…Maximillian.” The last letter clings to my tongue for a few seconds. It sounds so right. It feels so perfect. “M-Maximillian! You’re making me…so damn wet…and—ahhh!”

I break into the cry as he cups my ass. He answers me with a new growl.

“Sacré mort,” he grates. “You shall be the glorious death of me with that wicked mouth before any part of this hex comes to pass.”

For a moment, maybe two, I really try to figure all that out. I finally go for an easier option: writing off his seduction as a product of the moment. “Oh, I’m only getting started.”

He smiles against my lips. “So am I, ma belle femme. So am I.”

Chapter Three

Max

I pray, with every fiber of my body and mind, that she has readied an adorable snippet to fling back at me. Her odd New World phrases are quite possibly the only reins on my raging lust. Before long, even they will not be enough to deter me. I need to claim her. I mean to have her. In every way I possibly can.

My head falls to one of her succulent breasts. I suckle her perfect nipple through her oddly pliant nightshift. Her answering sigh is like music through my veins.

“Damn.” She arches up toward me. “Do it again, Hotness. Again.” Her pleas are a sweet mix of supplication and direction as she twists a hand through my hair. She makes me so much harder. Hungrier. Lustier.