Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Maverick sucks, thumb creeping closer to my ass, pressing into the crack. Dirty, dirty boy. It feels amazing. So, so good, I forget for a second that we’ve not known one another long, and who the hell gives a shit? He is so hot. His mouth is . . .
His mouth is relentless—lips, tongue, teeth, like he’s hell bent on ruining me for all future pleasure. My back arches off the mattress again, a strangled sound tearing from my throat as his name tumbles out like a prayer. Or a curse.
“Maveri—”
He shakes his head. “Callum.”
Callum. Ahh. I see. That is what he prefers when we’re being intimate.
“Callum,” I moan.
He hums against me like I’m the one testing his patience, like I’m the one driving him to the brink. My thighs try to close around his head on instinct, but his hands tighten, keeping me open, exposed. His to savor.
“You’re killing me.” My voice is breathless.
“Killing you?” he repeats, removing his mouth for a split second, cocky smirk visible in the storm-lit dark. “I’ll stop if you ask me to, but only if you ask nice.”
Like hell. Don’t you fucking dare . . .
If this is what he’s like with his mouth, I’m going to need a moment of silence for my entire nervous system.
“Don’t stop.”
When he laughs, it’s low in his chest. “That’s what I thought you were going to say.”
His mouth returns to my body with devastating precision, every stroke of his tongue dragging me further . . . higher . . . until the edges of my vision blur. My fists clutch the sheets, nails tearing into cotton like they’re the only anchor holding me here. He’s unhurried. Taking his time, enjoying himself, savoring every tortured sound that leaves my throat.
I can feel him smiling against my thigh.
“God, that feels so good,” I gasp.
“Good.”
Good? Good?
My vision is nothing but white-hot sparks! If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was getting a sex-induced ocular migraine, lungs forgetting how to function. I swear my soul could slip free and he’d just keep going, dragging me apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the frantic beat of my heart.
“Please . . .” I whine. Whisper.
I feel him smile again. “I love it when you beg.”
I shake my head; I never beg.
He pulls his mouth away.
He crawls up over me slowly, predator sure, bracing his weight on his forearms so his mouth hovers just above mine. The mattress dips as he cages me in. Every breath he exhales brushes across my lips, and I realize—he’s giving me a choice. A pause.
Do I want more than just his tongue on my pussy . . .
The answer is immediate. Reckless. Certain.
“Yes.”
He lifts his head just enough to search my face. “Okay?”
“Please.” No hesitation. Not even a bit . . .
I swear the simple, practical intimacy of being in this moment with him does something unruly to my chest. He’s so fucking hot.
“Look at me,” he whispers as he guides himself to me, the broad head nudging where I’m already desperate. He waits one breath—two—like he’s giving me time to reconsider what we’re about to do, and of course I don’t, because I want him to screw me senseless.
And then he glides inside.
Heat. Stretch. That glorious, mind-blanking slide, where every thought leaves my brain and my body.
I am putty in his hands.
Blissfully limp beneath him as rain beats down at the windowpanes. He sets a lazy tempo, one palm sliding up my torso to cup my breast while the other braces itself next to my head. His thumb strums across my nipple, the sensation ricocheting straight down to where we’re joined.
“Keep doing that,” I quietly demand when he pinches lightly.
Maverick tells me I’m perfect. That I feel like heaven. I’m hot. Tight. That if I keep squeezing him like that he’s not going to last, and the sexy whispered words send a shock wave through my already oversensitized body.
“Touch yourself,” he tells me. I comply, sliding a hand up my stomach and over my other breast so he can watch. I clench my muscles around him tighter, tremors rippling through me in a series of pulses. He groans.
I moan.
So, so good . . .
Chapter 12
Maverick
Sometime in the middle of the night, the storm stopped raging and the power went back on.
This morning I have no idea what to say to Annabelle, so it’s a good thing she’s in the bathroom. Door shut. Water running.
But I hear her humming. A soft, melodic little thing I’ve noticed she does. Cute. Adorable. It drifts out through the door like a thread, tugging at something behind my rib cage. Something unfamiliar.
How fucking inconvenient.
I’m standing in the middle of the hallway, listening to Annabelle brushing her teeth, hands on my hips like some idiot linebacker who just fumbled the game-winning play. I should probably sit down. Or lie down. Or dunk my head in the lake.