31. Nat
It takes me a moment to remember where I am when I wake. Then it all comes back to me with startling clarity. The restaurant bathroom… Max's apartment… Oh god.
For a moment, I keep my eyes squeezed shut, in the hope that it will make all this go away. Perhaps last night was a dream. A sexy one, for sure, but just a product of my overactive, libidinous imagination.
It's been a while, after all.
Then I move and Max grumbles in my ear. He's wrapped around me like a blanket, emanating so much heat it's a wonder I haven't gone up in flames. How I managed to sleep so well is a mystery, as I usually hate being too hot in bed.
But I did sleep well. Just as well as the last two times I slept in this bed. I can't even blame the orgasms, although they did help. It's mostly just the way Max makes me feel safe.
For the last few weeks, I haven't felt safe, not even at home, which has always been my safe space away from the world. Not even Rick managed to ruin that, mostly because he always insisted we spend time at his place, where his neighbors weren't nosy and didn't scowl at him every time he passed them in the lobby.
I love my neighbors.
Max's hand has found my breast while I've been lost in thought. He rolls my already hard nipple between his finger and thumb and I squeak. I'm not oblivious to the fact he's hard. The evidence is pressing against me rather insistently.
"Did you sleep well, malyshka?" he asks, grinding into me.
"Ye… yeah." God, I think I lost my ability to talk last night, along with my sense of self-preservation. Max's massive dick has killed my few remaining brain cells. I'm officially brain-dead.
"Mmm… good." He shifts slightly and lifts my thigh so his length slides through my slick folds. I'm a little sore after last night, but not sore enough to protest very loudly. I could also do with a shower, but again, my brain is offline.
The more he slides back and forth through my folds, the harder it is to maintain any semblance of control. Before long, I'm pressing back against him, seeking more. While this feels amazing, it isn't enough. I need him inside me.
Like right now.
Max must have the power to read my mind because the minute I think it, he's doing it. The angle is awkward but we make it work. It helps that he's so big because a smaller guy wouldn't find it quite so easy to slide in seamlessly, stretching my poor abused pussy until I'm arching my back and pressing my breast into his palm.
"That's it, baby, fuck, you feel too good!" From the way he groans, he's as close as I am to coming.
For a few seconds, he doesn't move, which is pure fucking torture. Literally.
"God, just move already!" The words burst out of my mouth, surprising Max almost as much as me.
He pinches my nipple, hard, as a reminder of who's in control here, and spoiler alert: it's not me. "Patience, malyshka," he murmurs in my ear before nipping my neck.
"I'm trying," I huff out, and he laughs.
But he starts to move and I forget why I'm mad. With each slow, delicious drag of his cock, I lose my ever-loving mind. The pleasure eclipses the discomfort and I quickly forget that my pussy is sore from overuse after months of no use whatsoever.
I no longer care that Max is the devil incarnate and probably entangled in whatever the fuck is going on in this city. It doesn't matter.
Nothing matters but the way he's brought my body back to life. The way he's resurrected me from the pile of ashes that was my relationship with Rick.
When I come, my body breaks apart and I fly high for endless seconds, lost in pleasure. Max fucks me through it before finishing with a tortured masculine growl of satisfaction.
We're both soaked in sweat, cum, and it's gross, but I don't have the energy to move. And besides, not my sheets, so… Not that he probably does laundry. I can't quite picture Max sorting laundry into whites and colors.
Nope, Max is more of a growly alphahole, issuing orders while his minions quake in their shoes.
Thankfully, he didn't press me on my job last night. We mostly stuck to non-controversial topics, like family. I discovered he has a sister, Vanya, but he doesn't see her very often because she lives in a different country with her husband.
We talked about inconsequential things, like books, music, places we've visited, all the usual ‘first date' stuff.
I can honestly say it was the best date ever. Unlike my last date with Chris, where I was ready to go home after 30 minutes.
My stomach growls loudly and Max chuckles. "I guess that's my cue to feed you."
"It's OK, I can get something at home."
He freezes. "Home?"
"Yeah, I need to get going, I have work to do." And I also don't want to outstay my welcome. Morning-after-the-night-before moments are always awkward. Sure, Max has been a gentleman so far, but I'm under no illusion that he wants me sticking around like a bad smell indefinitely.
It's not like we're in a relationship or anything. Last night… OK, this morning as well… is just sex. Great sex, but still just sex.
"Natalya, you're not going anywhere."
For a moment, I think I misheard him. Surely he didn't just say he's not letting me leave. That would be fucking insane. And also controlling as fuck.
"What do you mean? Are you saying I can't leave?" I roll away from him, a cold shiver trickling down my spine. God, is Max another Rick? Is he going to start ordering me around? Have I fallen for yet another narcissistic walking red flag?
I want to scream at the thought Max has fooled me. Like Rick fooled me. If Max is another Rick, then there is something very wrong with me.
Max's hand grabs my wrist but I yank it away. I need to get the fuck out of here before he does something scary like physically lock me in his bedroom, or worse. It belatedly occurs to me I have no clue where my phone is. Fuck!
"I'm… um… gonna use the bathroom." I need some space. When I'm breathing the same air as Max I can't think straight. It must be his pheromones or something.