Page 50 of The Maverick
The honesty in her voice landed somewhere low. Not performance. Just truth. It stirred something fierce in my gut—knowing she wanted me that much, that she'd put it into a sentence and handed it to me like a gift she'd already paid for.
I kissed her again, harder this time, and lifted her.
She wrapped her legs around my waist without hesitation. I carried her down the short hallway and shoulder-pushed the door open. The room was small, lived-in, hers. A cracked-spine paperback on the nightstand. A guitar strap on the back of a chair. Dolly watching from the wall.
I set her on the edge of the bed.
I closed the door behind me with my heel.
Stepped back just long enough to pull my shirt off.
Her eyes tracked over my chest, my shoulders, the scars. She reached out, fingertips brushing my skin like she was making a record of me. I let her. There were scars I didn't tell stories about, and tonight, I wasn't going to start. Tonight, she got to have them without explanations. My fingers wove into her hair.
I knelt between her knees. Unbuttoned her work pants and slid them down with her panties in one slow motion. She lifted her hips to help, breath already coming uneven. When she wasbare, I stayed there a beat with my hands on her thighs and just looked.
She started to close her knees, self-conscious.
"Don't," I murmured, easing them apart again, gentle but not negotiable. "You're beautiful. Let me see you."
She let out a breath and relaxed under my hands.
I leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh. Then higher. Slow, deliberate, the way I did most of the things I did well. When my mouth finally found her, she gasped, one hand flying to my hair.
I took my time.
Licked, tasted, learned exactly how she liked to be touched, how to be kissed. Slowly, I moved, and quickly, she came. One finger, then two, curling inside her while my tongue worked her in steady strokes.
She came the first time with a surprised cry, thighs trembling around my shoulders.
I gentled her through it. Kept going. Built her up again until she was rocking against my mouth, whispering my name.
"Tommy. Please. I need you inside me."
The way she said it—urgent, half-breath, no shame in the want—sent a hot spike through me.
I stood. Got rid of the rest of my clothes. Climbed over her on the bed. My cock nudged her entrance, slick and ready, and I braced on my forearms and looked down at her.
"Look at me."
She met my gaze. Lips parted.
I pushed in slow. Inch by inch. Watching her face the whole time. She was tight and hot and perfect, and her breath hitched as I stretched her, her nails digging into my shoulders. When I bottomed out, we both went still, foreheads pressed together, just feeling it.
"Fuck," I breathed. "You feel good."
She rolled her hips, testing, pulling me deeper.
"Move. Please."
I started slow. Long, deep strokes that let us both feel every inch. The bed creaked quietly beneath us. Her legs wrapped higher around my waist, heels pressing into my back like she couldn't get me close enough. I kept the rhythm steady, grinding against her on every thrust, watching the way her eyes fluttered and her mouth fell open.
She got bolder. Met me thrust for thrust. Whispered my name between gasps.
When her rhythm started to falter, I shifted us. Rolled onto my back and pulled her up so she was on top. Her hands braced on my chest as she sank down onto me again, taking me to the hilt. I groaned at the sight of her—long, dark hair fallen forward around her face, breasts moving with every roll of her hips, the private, intent look of a woman who'd decided to get what she came for.
"That's it," I murmured, hands on her waist, guiding her. "Take me."
She rode me harder, chasing it, and I thrust up to meet her, one hand sliding between us to circle her clit. The other grabbed her ass. She came the second time with a broken moan, clenching tight around me. The feel of her pulsing dragged me over right after her. I held her down on me as I spilled deep inside her, groaning her name against her neck.
