“I want you to trust me,” he whispers when I don’t say anything. He skims his thumb across my bottom lip, the rough pad snagging on my skin, and I purse my lips around it, desperate to suck him into my mouth. He lets me play and I swipe my tongue against his finger, earning a smile from him as he withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. If I could take it all back, I would,” he murmurs, his words making my heart swell.

“I want to trust you, too, but … it’s hard,” I admit, looking down.

He slips his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my head up so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “I will do anything to regain your trust. Anything.”

“I need you to be patient,” I whisper.

“Done.” He runs his thumb along my jaw. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“I want you to make love to me,” I admit, my voice whisper soft. I have never asked a man to make love to me in my life. It’s always sex, fucking, hooking up … whatever. Never meaningful, always empty.

But with Max it was more—and it can be so much more.

“Lily,” he starts and I place my finger over his lips, silencing whatever else he was about to say.

“I like it when you say my name.” He rarely does so. I’m either “princess” or “baby girl” or just “baby”—and I like those nicknames; they’re fun. They’re sexy.

But the best word to fall from his beautiful mouth is my name. I wish he would say it more often.

“I like it when you say my name, too.” He smiles wickedly and I drop my finger. “Especially when you’re shouting it right when I make you come.”

Ah, there’s my cocky, bossy man. “Are you going to make me come right now?”

He pushes his hand into my hair at the side of my head, his fingers threading through the strands. His touch feels so good, so right, and I love the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s never seen anything better. “I’m going to make love to you all night, baby. Until you’re so exhausted you’ll be begging me to stop.”

A whimper escapes me when he presses his mouth to my throat, leaving a path of sucking, damp kisses all over my skin.

“You love it when I talk to you like that, don’t you?” he murmurs against my neck.

I nod, unable to form words.

His hand slips down to my butt and gives me a squeeze. “You like it when I touch you like this, too.”

“I do,” I whisper, my body seeming to catch fire when he palms my ass.

Max reaches for my wrists and pins them behind my back, holding me captive as he lifts his head and stares directly into my eyes. “You like it when I take charge?”

“Yes.” My voice trembles, my entire body quakes with need.

“The way you look at me, the way your skin feels beneath my hand, sometimes I wonder if you were made just for me,” he murmurs, his low voice touching me deep. “You’re always so responsive. I can tell you’re turned on right now. Your eyes are almost black and I can feel you shaking.”

A shuddery breath leaves me, my only reply.

He tilts his head, his mouth at my ear, his breath hot and damp, and I close my eyes when he begins to speak. “I bet if I touched your pussy you’d be drenched.”

A gush of wetness coats my panties at his words and a whimper escapes me. I don’t need to offer him confirmation. I almost hope he thrusts his hand between my legs to test me.

“I’m going to let go of you, princess, and when I do, I want you to hike up that skirt for me. Show me what you’ve got on under that dress,” he demands, letting go of my wrists. I step away, my hands immediately going to the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric up slowly, giving him a show, wanting him to see.

The dress is tight and when I have the skirt pushed up to my waist he orders me to stop, his hot gaze locked on my lower half, so intense I feel as if he can penetrate the lace of my black panties. “Do you …” I clear my throat, unsure how to go about this. The last time we were together, we were both too overcome to do much talking. But he likes talking. And so do I. “Do you approve?”

“Black lace covering the most fuckable pussy I’ve ever had? Hell yes, I approve,” he growls, his gaze lifting to mine briefly before dropping once more to my panties. “Take them off.”

I blink, surprised he doesn’t want the honor himself. I wonder if I should be offended that he called my pussy fuckable, but the shiver that stole over my body at his words tells me otherwise. Without hesitation I curl my fingers around the band of my panties and slowly pull them down my legs, again giving him a show. I let the black lace linger around my knees before they fall to my feet in a delicate heap, getting tangled around the black stiletto heels I’m wearing.

“Kick them off, baby,” he says, his voice low. “But keep the shoes on.”

The panties are kicked aside but otherwise I remain still, waiting for his next request. My knees are like jelly and I probably look stupid with my skirt bunched around my waist, the expensive dress crushed by my ill treatment. But I don’t care.

I asked him to make love to me but he knew what I really wanted, what I needed. This is what I crave, his complete and utter control of me. Because up until Max, all I’d ever felt was out of control. I love the way he takes over my thoughts, my wants, my needs.

I love it.

Waiting breathlessly, my heart leaps to my throat when he nonchalantly unbuttons his shirt until it’s left hanging open, exposing the white T-shirt he’s wearing underneath it. I’m poised and anxious, hopeful he’ll remove more of his clothing, but instead he flicks his chin at me, telling me without a word to remove the dress.