Maverick
When we reach the hotel, I take a shower, drop into bed, and I’m restless. I replay the cab. I replay her kisses. I replay her words. I replay what she said about herself.
You make me drunk, Maverick. . . .
Fuck, I shouldn’t have taken her to her hotel. I should’ve brought her with me. To lie here, on my chest. Like she wanted. And talk all night, either with words or with silence.
And I’ll kiss her, for hours, her tongue coming out to play with mine, and I’ll have her breasts in my hands. She’s going to moan into my mouth. And I’m going to draw out those moans, because when I’m with her, I’m intoxicated and I’m crazed and out of control.
Reese in bed, looking nice and sweet, wrapping her arms softly around me as I spread out on her. Her saying my name in a way I know she wants me, needs me like I need her. “Maverick.”
I can’t talk, I’m groaning against her mouth, then squeezing her ass in my hands as I taste her nipple. I turn her around and kiss the mounds of her ass too. Slip my fingers between her legs, and she’s all wet and juiced up. I’m memorizing her. It’ll take me forever, but I’m dedicated and I want to memorize every tiny inch and pore with my eyes and my fingers and my tongue.
Her breaths jerk and she rolls around and grabs me to her and takes me inside. She’s hot. Wet. I can’t get enough. She accepts me inside her. She welcomes me inside her. She rubs her hands all along my back, over my tattoo. And she knows what it means. She’s the only one who knows what it means. It’s not about my father, it’s about me.
And I know who she is. I know she’s strong and sweet, I know she fights to balance what others need and what she needs. I know she’s finding Reese, and I know that I’m the lucky guy who’s gotten the privilege of watching her find herself.
