"Are you scared?" she murmured, her voice low, almost teasing, as she leaned closer, her breath brushing his chin. Her eyes lingered on his lips with a quiet hunger.
"I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about," she added softly, as if she could already read his thoughts.
He didn’t answer imdiately.
"I just... needed a little courage," she admitted, her tone shifting, still light, but carrying sothing more honest beneath it.
It wasn’t easy for her. The past hadn’t let go of her so easily, especially when it ca to intimacy. Even now, there were shadows she hadn’t fully stepped out of.
But this ti... she wasn’t standing at the edge because she was pushed there.
She had walked here herself. And for once, she didn’t want to step back.
Maximilian saw through her imdiately.
She wasn’t drunk. Just a little uninhibited, just enough to let herself cross a line she would usually hesitate at.
And yet... it wasn’t recklessness.
It was choice.
That realization settled heavily in his chest, tightening sothing deep inside him.
His hand moved to the back of her neck, fingers slipping into her hair as he pulled her slightly closer, his restraint thinning with every second. He was trying... trying to be mindful, to hold himself back... but she was making it impossibly difficult.
"Nope," Catherine said, pressing a finger gently against his lips when he leaned in. "Let ..."
Slowly, almost curiously, she began to undress him, starting with his shirt. When it fell away, she leaned back slightly, still seated on his lap, and simply looked at him.
And then she laughed softly, covering her cheeks.
"So handso..." she whispered, her eyes tracing over him with open admiration. "Is that... an eight-pack?"
She giggled like a girl seeing sothing she wasn’t supposed to, sothing she couldn’t quite believe was hers to touch.
"I’m touching you," she added, as though asking for permission—yet her hands were already there, tentative at first, then more certain, exploring the warmth of his skin, the strength beneath it.
Maximilian exhaled slowly, his head tipping back as he let her.
For once, he didn’t stop her.
Didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t take control.
He simply let her take her ti, feeling every hesitant touch, every curious brush of her fingers... and the quiet, terrifying realization that she was no longer holding herself away from him.
That she was choosing him.
And sohow, that undid him far more than anything else could have.
And then her fingers reached the buckle of his belt.
Maximilian’s eyes opened, his gaze dropping to her as she worked it loose with surprising focus.
"Isn’t it... uncomfortable?" she asked softly, her voice quieter now, almost careful.
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
He could see it clearly—his Catherine, standing at the edge of sothing she had never dared before, choosing him, trusting him enough to step forward despite everything that once held her back.
And for a fleeting second... fear flickered through him, of what might happen if he let go too much.
Still... he didn’t stop her.
So he let her.
Let her take her ti.
Let her decide the pace.
Her touch lingered, tentative at first, then a little more certain, as if she was trying to understand him rather than simply reach for him. The thickness, the nerves protruding... the slickness...
The warmth of her fingers against him made his breath hitch, his restraint thinning thread by thread.
Catherine swallowed, her gaze fixed, her curiosity unguarded, her emotions written plainly across her face.
"It’s..." she paused, searching for the right word, her cheeks flushing deeper. "It’s... beautiful..."
Maximilian let out a soft breath, sothing between a quiet laugh and sothing far more strained.
"All yours," he said, his voice low, steady, even as everything in him tightened at the sight of her.
Not just his body. Not just this mont.
All of it.
Everything he had ever been, everything he had ever held back... were hers, if she wanted it.
She looked up at him then, and sothing in her expression changed. The teasing was gone. The mischief softened. What remained was sothing far more vulnerable; sothing deeper.
For the first ti, in both her lives, she was looking at a man like this... and it was him.
Maximilian.
Not a king.
Not a mory.
Not a shadow of sothing unfinished.
Him.
The man who had stayed.
The man who had waited.
The man who had loved her through everything she could not give back before.
Her eyes glistened faintly, overwheld not by what she saw, but by what it ant.
By what she was finally ready to give.
And slowly, she leaned closer... not out of boldness this ti, but out of sothing softer, sothing certain... closing the distance between them as her forehead brushed his, her breath trembling just slightly.
"Mine..." she whispered, more to herself than to him.
Maximilian’s hand rose to cradle her face, his thumb brushing away the faint trace of emotion gathering at the corner of her eyes.
"Yours," he answered gently.
The next mont, Catherine slipped out of her dress.
A soft shiver ran through her as the cool air brushed against her skin, but she steadied herself with a quiet breath.
No turning back now.
Not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.
She reached up and pulled the scrunchie from her hair, letting it fall freely over her shoulders before giving it a small shake.
She wasn’t wearing much makeup, yet her lips had deepened in color, flushed from excitent, her entire presence warm and alive in a way that drew his gaze without effort.
Maximilian watched her, his hands settling instinctively on her slender waist.
Catherine gasped softly at the contrast—the cold air against her skin, and the warmth of his hands anchoring her.
She leaned in.
Her lips found his, slow at first, then lingering, trailing from his mouth to his jaw, down along his throat.
Each kiss was unhurried, as though she was discovering him piece by piece... morizing him... claiming him in her own quiet way.
His hand slid into her hair, fingers tightening just slightly at the back of her head as she moved lower, to his chest, her touch soft but deliberate, her presence enough to make his control strain.
But when she began to move further down his navel, no longer hesitant and more confident... sothing in him snapped... the fragile balance he had been holding onto.
He stopped her.
In one swift motion, he shifted, guiding her back onto the bed as he moved over her.
Catherine’s breath caught, her eyes widening as she looked up at him.
For a mont, neither of them spoke.
The air between them changed, no longer teasing, no longer uncertain, but heavy with sothing deeper, sothing neither of them could ignore anymore.
Maximilian hovered above her, his gaze fixed on hers, searching, steady... yet burning with everything he had been holding back.
And this ti... he wasn’t stepping away.
"You’re slow," he murmured, his voice low and edged with sothing darker, sothing far less restrained than before.
His hand guided hers—firm, deliberate—closing her fingers around him as he watched her reaction closely.
Catherine’s breath hitched, a soft shudder running through her as she t his gaze.
There it was.
That sharpness in his eyes.
That hunger.
That barely-contained dominance he had kept leashed for so long.
And she felt the weight of it pressing down on her, surrounding her, pulling her in.
For a fleeting second... her breath faltered with the overwhelming realization of how much of him there was, and how deeply he wanted her.
How completely she had stepped into it.
Her heart began to pound, fast and unsteady, her earlier boldness lting into sothing softer, sothing far more vulnerable beneath the intensity of his gaze.
Maximilian didn’t look away. Didn’t soften. For the first ti, he let her see it fully—the depth of his desire, the way he wanted her, the way he had always held himself back for her sake.
And now... he wasn’t holding back as much.
Catherine swallowed, her fingers tightening instinctively, her breath uneven as she struggled to keep up with the shift between them.
The air felt heavier, charged with sothing that made it impossible to think clearly.
And yet, even in that overwhelming mont, her eyes stayed locked on his—drawn, held, unable to look away.
Because no matter how intense he beca...
She knew.
He would never cross a line she didn’t choose to step over. And that certainty steadied her. That trust anchored her.
And it was that trust... not the heat, not the closeness, not the way he was looking at her, that made her lean into him.
That made her stay.
Maximilian didn’t rush her.
His hand remained over hers, guiding, adjusting the pressure, the pace, as though he was teaching her without words.
"Like that..." his voice ca low, strained, his breath uneven as he watched her. "Slower..."
Catherine followed him, her focus entirely on him now—on the way his jaw tightened, on the way his breath hitched when she got it right, on how his control, so carefully maintained until now, began to slip.
There was sothing intoxicating about it.
Seeing him like this.
Feeling the effect she had on him.
Her earlier hesitation faded, replaced by a quiet confidence as she adjusted her movents, watching him closely... learning him.
Not just his body, but the way he unraveled for her.
And only her.
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