My fingers contract against his tense back, my nails scraping against his skin, as my head hits the wall behind me hard. The pain against my skull instantly forgotten as it mixes with the pleasure his mouth is bringing me. He releases my nipple with a hard snip of his teeth before those rough hands of his curl under my ass.
“Hold on,” he warns, making my eyes snap open. I see his lips, plump and swollen from our kisses, turn up into a devilish smirk before his fingers flex, his hips pull back, and with a wink he takes me in a way that makes my body feel as if he’s branding himself into me. The grunts and groans coming from our mouths mix together and echo off the walls. My hands scrabble for purchase, desperate with the fire blazing up from my center—each hard thrust into my wetness making it burn so hard I’m half convinced that he’s taking me to the point of no return. My body wound so tight that it feels like I’m going to explode, the feelings too intense and powerful that I feel tears filling my closed eyes.
And then I break.
A million flashes of bright light fire and swirl through the darkness behind my closed eyes, spiraling in a dizzy speed.
My throat becomes hoarse as I scream his name over and over.
I lose the ability to breathe as my climax rages through my body, making my chest burn and my head spin.
My last thought before I feel my consciousness slip away and I feel him spill deep into my body is that if I die right now, it would be the most beautiful death there ever was.
I awaken with a jolt.
My body is sore and screams in protest as I sit up. I look around, search through the darkness, and try to figure out where I am.
And then I see him.
Maverick.
He looks so peaceful. One arm thrown over his head, his face turned toward me. Like this, asleep, he looks like the old Maverick. The one that wasn’t fighting a war with his own self to escape some invisible prison. He doesn’t look like the warrior that he’s since become. The one that never showed emotions. The one that would jump on the backs of beasts capable of killing him with one wrong move and not even think twice about it.
His strong jaw is relaxed and his full lips part slightly, soft snores coming through. I hold my breath, waiting to see if my sudden movement registers through his deep sleep, but he just continues to slumber.
A small part of me wonders if he will still be so relaxed and peaceful when he wakes and realizes that we slept together. I know the last thing I feel right now is calm; full-blown panic is more like it. It’s like some weird daze settled over me and fogged out any rational thought.
Lust.
Pure and simple.
Well, not so simple, since now I have to deal with the fallout.
I know deep down that this was a long time coming. We had been building toward it since he rode back into town. Our emotions too strong to deny the explosion our anger was sparking.
I shift, moving slowly to the edge of the bed, while keeping my eyes on his face. He doesn’t stir. I stand, letting my breath out slowly when my chest starts to burn. I’m not sure how long I was out.
The only thing I am sure of in this moment is that I need to get the hell out of here.
I look around the room, embarrassingly just now realizing that we must be in his old bedroom. The full moon is illuminating the room through the open blinds and I easily spy the dark duffel bag thrown on the floor at the foot of his bed. I grab the first thing my hand hits, a soft T-shirt, and pull it over my naked body. The hem hits me almost to my knees so I stop my search. I would rather be barely covered than risk him waking up while I’m trying to make my escape.
My foot hits a weak spot in the floor and a loud creak echoes around me. My eyes shoot to his face as my breath is once against stalled in my chest. He rolls, one muscular arm coming out and searching. I panic, again, and quickly turn to grab the pillow off the top of the bed and place it in his path. He, thankfully, wraps his arm around it and turns his head into its softness. Letting out the breath I had been holding, I make my way to the door again. Right when I silently close the door behind me, I hear his gravelly, sleep-roughened voice moan my name.
The sound alone makes me want him again, but I know this was a mistake and returning to his bed would make things only worse. But even knowing without a doubt that it would be a mistake, a very big part of me wants to turn around anyway. It takes everything I have in me, but self-preservation wins and I rush down to the kitchen as silently as I can.
One look at the clock above the oven confirms that not even two hours have passed since I arrived at the Davis ranch. I’m sure that had I been here any longer, Clay and Quinn would have returned—but I’m fairly confident that they’re still at the PieHole. Especially since I pulled out the rest of my moonshine stash before I stormed from there with the bats of hell chasing my tail.
I grab my discarded clothes, ignoring the mess around the kitchen, and run to my Jeep. I toss my clothes and shoes in the passenger seat, my boots slamming against the door, and with shaking fingers I turn the ignition and slam my bare foot down on the accelerator. I hear the gravel ping against my undercarriage, but the fear of waking Maverick keeps me focused. I turn the wheel, speeding through the circular drive in front of the Davis family home and down the long lane that will put me back onto the main road.
In all my determination to get out unnoticed, I failed to see the porch light flicker on and the tall, very naked man that filled the open doorway. Which really is a shame, because had I been paying attention, I would have seen the look of promise-filled determination that took over his features. I had unknowingly awoken the sleeping dragon, and there wasn’t anything that would be powerful enough to stand in the way of the hungry beast that had been hiding for so many years.
It might have taken more than ten years, but I finally got my wish—Maverick hadn’t just noticed me, but he also realized what he had missed out on by denying us both what we had always been destined to find.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
10
MAVERICK
“Amarillo by Morning” by George Strait
“What’s gotten into you?”
I continue to spray the inside of Dixon’s stall before picking up my pitchfork and shoveling in the hay that I had brought down from the loft this morning, ignoring my sister’s repeated questions from behind me. A place where she’s been standing since she got down to the barn fifteen minutes ago. Comically trying to intimidate me with her stubbornness.
“Maverick! Stop ignoring me and tell me what the hell crawled up your ass.”
“Nothin’ to tell, Quinny,” I snap back, using her old nickname that I know gets under her skin like nothing else, in a vain effort to cut off her insistent questioning.