Maverick

  “You mean to tell me you didn’t want to spend hours unraveling these, washing them, and drying them?”

  “We have to wash and dry them too?” I ask, joking.

  He shakes his head, runs a dirty hand over his jaw. “So what are you doing here?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to go home. Thought I would study terrain.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  I shrug. “Not really. I went out for drinks with Rachel and Del.”

  “Ah,” he says with a nod. “And how did that go?”

  “It was good,” I tell him. “I like them. But don’t worry, we split up before things got crazy.”

  A smile tugs at his lips. “I can only imagine what crazy would be like with you.”

  I can show you, I think. I take another step toward him, then another, until I’m right beside him. I take the rope from his large hands. “Need help?”

  “Sure,” he says, but it comes out throaty and he’s right there, so close, and I can feel his eyes as they bore down on the top of my head. I feel it, the change in the room, like the ropes themselves are wrapping around my ankles and his, going higher and higher, keeping us tighter, more confined.

  “So…” he says gruffly. “You want to learn the ropes.”

  I try to laugh, I do, because it’s funny and he’s making a joke, and if I laugh it will dispel the weird tension in the room that grows thicker the closer I move to him.

  But I don’t laugh because it’s stuck in my lungs.

  Because my breath is stolen away.

  Because Maverick’s hands are at my face, both large palms cupping my cheeks, and I’m staring up at him with big eyes, unable to catch up with what’s happening. What’s happening? How is this happening? How is he holding my face and staring down at me like I’m the final prize?

  But he is. His glacier eyes burn into me with such intensity that the air catches in my chest and then the world around us seems to shrink, seems to whittle down, until it’s just his skin against my skin and our eyes smoldering in an endless gaze and then he’s leaning down, pressing his full lips against mine.

  I open my mouth, his tongue slides in, hot and sweet and instantly I’m dissolving. His lips are soft yet firm, moving slowly at first, almost tentative, until it starts to build and build, growing more frantic by the second.

  He’s kissing me. He’s actually fucking kissing me.

  And fuck, he’s good. He’s so good. This is a kiss that I feel all the way in my toes, that snakes its way to my core, that makes me clench like crazy and I know I’m instantly wet. All from a kiss, his kiss.

  Because it’s not just a kiss. I would have thought after the other night, hearing his dirty words as I got off to them, that kissing would be an afterthought. But it’s not. It’s everything. Somehow he already knows how to kiss me perfectly. Our mouths move together so fluidly, it’s like dancing. I could do this forever.

  I think we might devour each other.

  His grip on my face tightens, his fingers pressing into my skin and I can feel his urgency, the same urgency that’s running through me now, causing my hands to disappear into his hair. It’s short but thick, and there’s enough for me to grab and tug.

  “Fuck,” he groans into my mouth and makes my nerves dance like I’ve tripped over a livewire. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh God, Riley.”

  I whimper in response, unable to get any of the thoughts out of my head and out my mouth. I don’t even think I have many thoughts, other than the disbelief that this is finally happening.

  “Do you see now?” he says, pulling his lips away just enough so they still brush my mouth as he speaks. With one hand moving to the back of my neck and holding me in place, he takes his other and wraps it over my wrist, strong. He brings my palm over to his crotch and presses my hand there so I can feel the stiff, inflexible length of him outlined in denim. “Do you feel how much I want you?”

  A wave of heat flashes under my skin as I hold him, so thick, so hard. I’m throbbing, wanting this so fucking bad. I’m starving for it, this fucking beast in his pants fighting to come out.

  “Condom?” I ask, breathless.

  I squeeze him as he chokes out the words, “Yes. I have one.”

  That’s all I needed to know. I let go of him and step back and start stripping.

  He stands there, surrounded by rope, his eyes traveling over me as I remove articles of clothes. First boots and socks, then my jeans, then my underwear, moving my way up.

  His eyes fix on how bare I am and silently I’m thankful my hair is baby fine and the wax I had a few weeks ago is still holding on.

  “Look at you,” he whispers roughly, his gaze coming up from between my legs, to meet my eyes. Sky blue. Glacier. The deepness of ice. Such cold-colored eyes are lighting me on fire.

  I remove my sweater, my tank top, my thin bralette, and then I’m completely naked in front of him. He doesn’t even know where to look now. My tits, the tattoos on my arms and ribs, my stomach. He’s taking me all in, the look on his face growing more intense, more carnal, by the minute.

  “You’re fucking perfect,” he growls.

  I grin and grab my breasts, teasing my nipples until they’re hardened peaks. “I’m perfect for you.”

  “You are unreal,” He shakes his head in disbelief, and then looks over my shoulder at the metal table we sort our gear on. “Get on the table.”

  I raise my brow. “Okay.” I’m game. I turn around and climb on quickly with ease (thank God, because this is not the sort of thing that looks good when you’re naked).

  “On my knees?” I ask him as I’m on my knees, ass in his direction. I give him a sly look over my shoulder, playing the coquette, and wiggle my butt.

  He opens his mouth to speak, licks his lips instead. Then, “On your back.”

  I lie down on my back, stare up at the ceiling. The metal is cold, biting into my skin, such a contrast to all the heat I have inside, the hot blood running through my veins.

  I hear the slide of rope and raise my head to see him approaching the table, the climbing rope in his hands.

  A thrill shoots through me and I swear I’m wet to my thighs already.

  He stands at the end of the table, his expression so serious, like he’s putting a lot of thought into this.

  “You’re still clothed,” I point out. “This isn’t really fair.”

  “It’s fair,” he says and reaches out, wrapping his big, wide hands around my waist and pulling me down along the table until my ass is almost hanging off. I immediately slam my palms down on the surface to keep me from sliding off, my abs working overtime.

  He stares down at my pussy and slowly, carefully, parts my legs further.

  “So fucking unreal,” he says again. “Perfectly pink, tight, wet. You’re so gorgeous.”

  More compliments. I’m not even sure how to handle them now. “My body is ready,” I joke.

  He grins and then quickly ties one of my calves to the leg of the table before doing the other. He’s so comfortable with this, handling the ropes like it’s an extension of himself. I know he’ll handle my body the same way.

  After my legs are tied apart, spread eagle, he comes around the head of the table and says, “Arms above your head.”

  I put them back and he wraps my wrists together before tying the rope to the table.

  “I’m surprised you’re letting me do this,” he whispers as he works.

  “You know I’ll let you do anything,” I tell him.

  “Good,” he says. “It’s about time I’m in control.”

  I want to point out that he’s been in control since the day I met him, constantly thwarting my advances, but I don’t want to ruin his buzz.

  As if to make a point, he tightens the rope, pulling my arms an inch further, my back arching, nipples growing even harder as they point to the ceiling.

  I moan as the discomfort morphs into bliss.

  This is so fucking insane!

  And yet feels so damn
right.

  He looks over me like I’m a feast and he can’t figure out where to have his first bite. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so desired before in all my life.

  Then something dark comes across his face, his features tightening as he starts to run his fingers down my collarbone, between my breasts, over the flat plane of my stomach, before settling between my legs.

  “Bet you didn’t do this with Neil,” he says, trailing his finger over my clit.

  I blink at him in surprise while shivering from his touch. “Why, what?”

  He shrugs. “I’m going to fuck that guy out of you. Like it never happened.”

  Oh boy. “Mav, it pretty much never did happen. I’m not going to go into details about it, right here and now when I’m naked and tied to a table, but believe me, you have nothing to worry about.”

  He shakes his head, jaw tense, eyes burning. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine from the start.”

  I don’t mind his alpha caveman talk. It turns me on. I’m his, he’s mine. But still I say, “You sure have a funny way of showing it.”

  He frowns. “Don’t make me gag you.”

  Oh, I am definitely down for that.

  I grin.

  He pushes one finger inside me. My grin disappears as my eyes close, my mouth falls open. I moan. With my legs forced apart, my pussy bared wide, his finger feels extra large and intrusive. Extra dirty.

  “Do you like that?” he asks hoarsely. He pushes in two fingers. “How about that?”

  I exhale, my breath shaking. “Yes.”

  “This?” Another finger is pushed inside. Three of them now, going deeper, deeper. I spread around him, squeezing as he goes. “I can’t wait until that’s my cock.”

  I open my eyes to look at him. “Then hurry the fuck up.”

  Though his eyes are blazing, he bites back a smile. “That’s it. I warned you.”

  He leaves my view and when he comes back he’s holding my lacy black bralette in his hands. He rubs the thin material between his fingers. “I don’t even know how this is able to hold those up.” He gestures to my full breasts.

  “Underwire is the devil,” I tell him before he shoves the silky material into my mouth.

  Well, this is new.

  Satisfied that I can’t speak, even though I could spit the bra out if I wanted to—and I don’t—he runs his rough hands down my thighs, squeezing and kneading them before he settles between my legs and drops down. I lift my head, staring at the sight of him there and he stares up at me from beneath his dark brows.

  I watch, and he doesn’t break eye contact as his flat, wide tongue starts licking me up and down, like I’m a melting ice cream cone.

  I can’t keep my head up for long.

  It goes back against the table as his tongue sends wave after wave of fire through my body, the heat spinning in the middle and radiating outward. “Mav,” I cry out softly, muffled, wishing I could grip the table, wishing my legs could crush his face. But I’m splayed open, so bare and vulnerable, at the mercy of his every move.

  “So wet, such a good girl,” he murmurs against me and I’m raising my hips, bucking into his face, trying to get purchase. “Greedy too, but that doesn’t surprise me.”

  “I’m going to come,” I try to say through the bra, breathless, on the verge. My words come out muffled.

  “What was that?”

  I moan, my head lolling back and forth, trying to sort through the sensations running through me.

  “You want to come?” He pushes his finger inside me again, razing against my G-spot.

  “Oh God!” I cry out, nearly spitting out the bralette.

  “You’re ready to go, wound so fucking tight. I wish you could see this, how wet you are for me, how beautiful you look.”

  But while he goes on about how beautiful I look, I’m straining against the ropes, trying to get my hips up, trying to drive his finger in deeper. I want it, need it, more than I’ve ever needed anything. The drive to come is overwhelming. I might be going crazy.

  “Please,” I try to say.

  “What?”

  I spit out the bralette, gasp for air. “Please,” I say loudly.

  “What do you want?” he asks. His words are husky and I feel them in my skin. I want his words all over me, his mouth, his tongue.

  “Your tongue. Tongue fuck me like you said you wanted to.”

  “I really like hearing you beg.”

  “I think I’ve been doing nothing but begging.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that. I just feel the hot lick of his tongue, the perfect amount of pressure swirling around my clit and then I’m coming, a trail of sparks that quickly travels outward until I’m exploding like dynamite.

  “Oh God, Mav,” I yell, lost to the shockwaves, unable to control my voice as it bounces around the room. “Mav, oh, fuck.”

  “God my name sounds so good coming from your lips.”

  I know he’s watching me come and I hope he’s getting a good show because I have no idea what’s going on. The world spins out like a pinwheel and then I hear clothes being thrown to the ground and I raise my head in time to see Maverick taking off his clothes.

  Dear. Fucking. God.

  I don’t think it’s just the lingering orgasm clouding my judgment, but his body is even more unreal than I thought possible. The man is built like a god, like some powerful, inhuman, immortal from the past, one who rules seven kingdoms and rides a chariot into the clouds. That kind of god.

  Every single inch of his body is ripped. Taut. Hard. Perfect.

  Tattoos of all sorts, geometric designs and words and animals decorate his torso, his chest, his arms, his shoulders. It’s crazy to think that I’ve been around him so much, working with him constantly, and yet I’ve never had a glimpse of these. Fucking winter weather, all these sweaters and jackets kept on hiding the goods.

  And what goods they are. He’s pure, beastly, godly, sculpted perfection from head to toe.

  He knows it too.

  How can he not?

  Especially when he has his python of a cock in his hands, thick and dark with need and ready to do some serious damage. I mean, just look at that cocky smile on his face. He knows.

  He expertly rolls on a condom and then saunters over, his giant dick swinging as he comes, looking so big even against the vastness of his thighs.

  He stops at the end of the table, between my legs, where I’m still pulsing, and grips the base of his cock, rubbing the fat tip up and down over me. I’m sensitive, too sensitive, and I cry out, cringing, but he’s persistent, knowing what I want and need even if I don’t, and then it fades into want. I find myself aching for him all over again, the need inside me winding and winding and winding.

  For someone who was quite talkative earlier, Mav has certainly gone quiet. I stare at his face, taken by the pure lust burning out of his eyes as he looks at me. My skin grows hot and tight, impatient under his gaze.

  He puts one hand at my waist, gripping me so hard I can barely breath, as he positions himself against me. I’m tightly tied up, I’m not going anywhere, but even so his grip doesn’t loosen.

  There’s little time to think about it.

  With one swift movement he pushes himself in and all the air leaves my lungs, my mouth is open and gasping and the sensation is too much, he’s too much, that I don’t know how to handle this.

  “Oh, fuck me,” he groans, still sliding in. “You’re so damn tight, like a fist. How’d you get so tight, little minx?”

  He exhales, his breath shuddering, his back arched and head back, displaying his Adam’s apple. He then looks down at me through long lashes and heavy lids. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, but I’m not sure if I am, I’m so tense and he’s so big and I’m so tied up and…

  He pulls out, slowly, inch by inch, then pushes back in, over and over until…

  Oh, fuck, this is good.

  So crazy good.

  I’m no longer tense, not in that way. I
stretch around him, feeling impossibly full, like I can barely contain him. The feel of his cock inside me, so stiff and hot and wide, he eventually becomes the perfect fit, moving inside me like it’s second nature, like our bodies know each other, like we do this particular dance every night.

  With each push, I feel like we’re fusing, going deeper in time and space, not just into each other. Somehow he knows exactly how to work my body, to give me what I need.

  My neck is starting to hurt but I want to keep watching him because he’s watching me, staring in lewd fascination at his cock as it disappears deep inside me. His brow contorts, full lips fall open on a moan and he picks up the pace, thrusting harder, faster.

  His grip is still rough and he’s fucking me hard, wild, his hips slamming against the edge of the table. It’s starting to move across the floor, an inch here and there, and I’m getting fucking pounded, over and over again. I’ll have bruises around my wrists and ankles tomorrow, probably my waist and thighs too.

  So. Good.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Mav croaks hoarsely. Sweat is starting to trickle down his face, dripping onto my stomach. The whole room vibrates with the sound of sex, our sex, his quick, heavy breaths, the slap of skin, the scrape of the table legs, my heart fluttering in my ears. Faster, harder, deeper, Mav doesn’t give in, doesn’t give up. He fucks me like it’s his job, like he’s trying to save me.

  This man is a goddamn national treasure.

  “You’re coming again,” he tells me and slips his hand over my clit.

  I immediately cry out, so hair-trigger sensitive.

  “Your noises will be the end of me, you know that,” he goes on, and then starts grunting rhythmically with each rut. “Your wet, dirty little moans. Fuck, Riley. I don’t have long.” His voice breaks off as he groans again.

  I feel like the universe is expanding inside me. There isn’t even enough time to warn him that I’m coming but it doesn’t matter because the second I start to let go, my back arching, my hips fucking into his, he lets out a low guttural groan that vibrates through me and then his head goes back, his pumps slow and he shudders endlessly, coming and coming.