Maxwell’s Competitive edge
Time away should’ve made him patient. Instead, it turned Maxwell into a desperate, competitive little thing—obsessed with being first, best, most obedient. The second I mentioned being horny, he was already on his knees, belt buckled around his throat like a leash, phone propped up to capture every angle.
No hesitation. No shyness. Just pure, unflinching need to prove he’s still the slut that owns my attention.
The pictures flood in. Him bent over the couch, ass high, the leather strap dangling between his shoulder blades. Him on all fours, chin dipped to show off the makeshift collar, lips parted around silent use me Every shot is a challenge—a dare to compare, to remember why he’s the one I come back to.
And when I finally reply?
His voice cracks through the speaker: “I’ll do it better than anyone else.”
Not a boast.
A promise.
