He scoops me up from the wall with both arms. “Just like that.”
I’m floating and everything is a blur as he carries me to the bedroom, kicks the door shut, and sets me down on the oversize bed. He opens the buttons of his shirt and I hear it land softly on the carpet, and I scoot back and watch him crawl over the bed, muscles rippling, like a panther, lying next to me and pulling me to his side.
I swear Maverick is wearing his heart in his eyes as he looks down at me and holds me against his chest.
I set my cheek on his bare pec.
“Oh,” I say.
He frowns down at me. “Oh what? Not comfy?”
“VERY.”
Hard. So warm. I can smell his aftershave, his soap and his deodorant and his skin. I slip my arm around his waist and scoot over closer, and he tightens his arm around my shoulders and stares up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly, as if he’s at last relaxed.
I’m quivering with the feel of his arms around me. And I feel him tense at the feel of me. Smelling my hair, his body taut as my fingers absently trek the dents of his abs. I can almost hear him tell himself, Easy, Maverick. . . .
But his hand is on the move already. His fingers—long, tan—slip under my shirt and cover my breast through my bra. He squeezes a little, brushes his thumb over my nipple. It’s already hard. I gasp when he caresses, and he takes the gasp into his mouth.
I fall to my back as he leans over me, sliding his other hand under my shirt to cup my other breast as he kisses my mouth, slow and easy, but with his tongue. His marvelous tongue.
The noises I make, soft, fluttery, make him groan in his chest. “You like that, Reese? God, I like my hands on you.” He tugs my shirt over my head and reaches behind me to open my bra.
He leans over to memorize the shape of my breasts, the weight, the form, the taste, the look of my nipples, the texture. He sucks me gently, murmurs, “I want you wet. I want you wet when I dip my fingers here.” He drags his hand between my legs. I arch my hips on impulse, craving the touch.
“I am wet,” I gasp.
He unbuttons and unzips my jeans and slips his fingers inside, into my panties, and then he groans when he brushes his fingers between my folds. And I’m soaked. My panties are soaked, my folds are soaked, soaked for him, and he says, “I could drink you, Reese, and never get thirsty.”
I brush my hand against his cock and he groans.
“It hurts?”
“Best kind of pain, the one you give me.” His tongue flashes out to rub across my nipple again and I let my fingers wander his shoulders, his flexing arms, and his perfect back.
“I love touching you, Maverick,” I whisper as I arch again and lick my tongue into his mouth. This is only my second time, and I’m curious. I’m alert to the way his breath changes. The way my body softens and weakens and wets for him. The feel of my nipples grazing against the flat wall of his chest. The way my hips seem to lift, wantonly and on their own, upward. Asking for it.
I’m already high and I keep rising and rising as he eases his finger inside me. I bury my nose in his neck, and Maverick presses me closer to him. I’m panting, and he’s breathing deeper than usual.
I bite his throat exploratively and drag my fingers over his tattoo, tracing it in my mind.
“Reese,” he rasps. “When you do that . . .”
“What?”
He looks at me with eyes that look heavy and hazy with desire.
Desire for me.
And I think . . . maybe. Love.
“You’re the only person in the world who gets this tattoo,” he rasps thickly, and then he crushes my mouth and kisses me, ravenous and deep.
We’ve been waiting for this and we’re both so wired, we can hardly speak. Maverick tugs my jeans down my body, gets rid of every scrap on me. And then he gets rid of his perfectly sexy clothes and he is so . . .
Freaking.
Perfect.
Naked.
Hot.
And in fucking bed. With me.
I don’t even have time to be self-aware. Or time to feel a little too voluptuous. I’m a little firmer and sleeker now, though still curved. But the way Maverick’s silver-metal eyes eye-fuck me as he comes over to lie on top of me tells me that this man, this man, thinks I’m gorgeous and perfect and amazing and female. The proof of that is, though I have never seen another erection in my life, I’m sure there could not be one as big and hard and greedy-looking as Maverick’s.
He shifts above me so that our bodies are at maximum contact. So I can feel his cock between my legs, and I like the maximum contact so much. Too much. I shiver and fist his hair and breathe rapidly in and out, anxiously, through my mouth. “Oh god, Maverick, I’ve wanted this too much.”
“I still want this too much, Reese,” he says as he goes to his knees, and I watch him, and I know that he can see me watching him—his chest, his arms, his abs, his erection.
Just as he’s watching me. My chest, my abdomen, my hips . . . my pussy.
We’re impatient.
I start grabbing him to me and he’s high on me, I can feel it in the strength of his kiss, his arms as he grabs my hips and drags me down the bed toward his erection, hard and Maverick’s, and he watches me as he plunges. I gasp, my cheeks hot, my hair getting tangled behind me as I toss my head to one side and then to the other. The pleasure of this man inside me is absolute.
He’s all I want.
He takes my knees and drags my legs around his hips, driving in deeper. So deep my vision goes blurry, and his eyes go dark, almost engulfed by his pupils.
I raise my head and kiss the scar above his eye, where I stitched him up once. He groans, undone, and sets his forehead on mine. He slides a hand between us, rubbing my clit with his thumb.