“I need to go check on this mess with Ibrahim. Max, find her some clothes and watch over her. Juliette.” He turns to me fully. “Do not leave this room until I come back for you.”
“Yes, sir.” Anderson nods and leaves the room. There is silence as Max and I watch him go. When the door is finally shut, Max turns, walks into the closet, and quickly comes back. He doesn’t speak to me, doesn’t look at me, just places the clothes on the bed near me and tilts his head toward the bathroom.
I grab the clothes and quickly move from the room to get changed. I want to spend as little time alone with Max as possible.
He hasn’t given me much to wear. Just a white button up shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but it makes sense there wouldn’t be many choices in Anderson’s closet for a girl my size. The shirt falls down to the middle of my thighs and the sweatpants are too large to bother with so I throw it into a corner, along with the hospital gown.
I take more time than I need to change. I idle longer than I thought because suddenly I hear the door to Anderson’s rooms open and his voice enters the space. I can’t hear what he’s saying but he must have told Max to leave, because he isn’t there when I step out of the bathroom.
Anderson turns around to face me. He looks me up and down, hums low in his throat, crooks his finger at me to come closer.
He only looks at me as I approach. We stand close together for long moments, watching each other. He reaches for me and takes my left hand.
His thumb brushes against the base of my finger where I used his blade to cut it off. There is a faint red line where Max must have fixed it. He pulls me closer.
“You really would do anything for me.” His nose starts to trace up my throat, along my jaw. I want to raise the hand he is not still holding and run my fingers through his hair. I tremble with the longing of it, but I hold myself back.
“Of course, sir.” My voice is quiet, as if I know that if I speak too loudly, this moment with him will break.
I do not want that.
“You are mine.”
His lips brush my skin back across the path his nose traced earlier. Not truly kissing, but it still sets my skin on fire.
He pulls back from me. His eyes focus. They focus on me and my breath catches at their intensity. “Sit up on the bed.” His eyes follow my every move.
“Sir?” His hands touch the outsides of my thighs and I understand.
“Open,” he repeats. The word comes out rougher this time. It scrapes over my nerves.
He steps between my parted legs. Fingers dip under the hem of my shirt. His shirt.
My heart skips a beat.
He strokes along the outside of my thighs up to my waist. I lift up just enough that I am no longer sitting on the tails of the shirt and it can bunch up to where Anderson is pressing his fingers into my skin. The cool material slides against me in contrast to the heat of the man touching me.
Hands trail back down to my hips then down to the backs of my knees. They reach back and up to touch the inside of my thighs. He is so large he’s touching me in so many places.
But not where I want him most.
I wiggle a little, wishing his fingers closer to my heated core but they just dig into me until I stop moving.
His hands come to rest on my hips, thumbs grazing the crease where my legs are bent as I sit still for him. After a moment he grasps my legs and pulls me just to the edge of the bed. One hand slides behind me to the small of my back while the other dips down to tease the inside of my thighs.
He spends some time there, tracing circles closer to my center before retreating. Again and again and again.
When he finally touches me there, I melt forward into him, gasping against the skin of his neck.
“Oh Juliette. So ready for me. So willing.” I am so wet for him he has no trouble sliding his fingers across my folds and then stroking around my clit. “I cannot waste you. To hell with their science.” His other hand comes up from where it was resting on my side under the shirt and cups the back of my neck, squeezing lightly. Heat flares through my body at the simple touch. I moan.
His movements between my legs speed up and I start to get dizzy. I don’t think I have ever felt this good before. I need more.
One hand grips the sheets, my other arm is thrown around his neck. I arch my back and rock into his touch.
He slows. I am afraid he will take his hand away.
“Please.” The world stills around us. I can hear each of our heartbeats, our breaths. We are almost in sync.
“Who’s in charge here?” The question is punctuated by a finger entering me.
“You, sir. But please-” My voice is breathy and high with the intrusion. He huffs and adds another finger, stretching me.
“Paris. Call me Paris.” His head dips down so he can whisper into my ear. Then there’s a real press of his lips behind my ear, not just a careless brush against my skin. I keen when his thumb circles my clit again and his fingers curl against my walls in just the right motion. The hand that had been braced on the bed moves to cover his between my legs, pressing him harder against me.
This time he lets me rock into him again, whimpering for more. I want anything he will give me. Everything he will give me.
I am so aware of him. So aware of everything he is doing to me, everything he is making me feel.
I climb higher and higher. He reacts to every twitch sound I make, repeating movements that I respond to particularly vocally. He does this so well. It doesn’t take long for my orgasm to wash over me.
I do not know what to call out. He said to call him Paris but my head is spinning too fast to remember. My voice shatters over unknown syllables, some mash of Sir and Anderson and Paris.
He noses along my jaw again, his breath nearly as ragged as mine. I want to look into his eyes and cannot stop myself this time. I dare to reach my hand up and touch him. I cup his cheek and bring his face up to mine. We watch each other for a moment, then it breaks and we are kissing for the first time.