He grits his teeth as if he wanted me to say I wore this dress for him—my rebel maverick—and I breathlessly admit, “I bought it today thinking of you.”
“Fuck, I wanted you to say that.” He sets his forehead on mine as he runs his hand up the side of my dress. “You’re right, it’s soft, but your skin is softer and I want to take it off.” He dips his head lower and bites the top edge of my bra. He pulls it down roughly with his teeth, exposing me. Then his mouth is at the peak, drawing it in. Sucking and suctioning, licking and tasting me.
I’m seeing stars.
I reach out to grip his shirt—touch him.
His body is humming from the fight, and he still wants to fight Miles and I know it. He’s gritting his teeth in frustration as he lifts me and all his muscles are around me. I gasp against his throat and drag my mouth over any part of him I can kiss, taste, bite. “Are you jealous?” I whisper.
He looks at me with a bleak frown. “Of course I’m jealous; you wanted a future with Miles.”
But now I want one with you, I want to say.
Now I only want you.
I can’t talk, I’m so turned on. “Not”—I start to bite—“anymore,” I strain out. I hungrily bite his jaw, his chin. I can feel his breath, coming out fast with arousal. I bite his lip and he nips me back and suckles my lower lip, then he shoves his fingers into my panties. “Oh!” I say.
He uses his teeth and tongue to unhook the front of my bra. “It’s just me now, Reese.”
“Yes.”
Ohmyfuckinggod. His teeth. His fingers.
Pure heat blazes in his eyes. He’s gritting those teeth, feral as he looks at me. I snake my hands up to his shoulders, sinking in my nails. I claw them down his backside, then shove my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and sink my nails into his ass to pull him closer. He grinds himself to me, fingering me and pinning one of my arms to the wall and lacing his fingers through mine. He squeezes my hand and gives me a soul-crushing kiss that squeezes around my heart.
I wanted to see him fight. I wanted to be at his corner. I wanted to see him tonight and here he is. Not only letting me look at him in his most testosterone-filled moments after a fight, but having him see me. As he holds me here. Pinned. Helpless. A horny mess. In love. In want. Fingered and kissed and reckless and palpitating for my jealous Maverick.
I’m starting to shudder and bubble out incoherencies. He says, “Hold my neck and don’t let go of me.”
He takes out his finger, pulls my panties off, and when I grab his neck to frantically climb him, he quickly unzips and thrusts and takes me. We groan. His hands squeeze my flesh as he moves. Pounding into me. So hard, like he needs me to live. Catching my moans with his mouth. Squeezing my ass as he drives into me. It’s pure raw, pure need, him needing to be inside me and me needing him there. Here. Here. Frustrated. Desperate. Faster. Deeper. Our mouths fusing and moving and out of control until my body convulses, and he comes and holds me tighter to him.
“You’re spending the night with me.” He fastens my bra, then lifts his gaze. “All night?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say flippantly.
He frowns, but his lips quirk as he grabs my hand and takes me out. I can’t breathe or concentrate or think when Maverick leads me back to the table.
A new song starts just as we sit down in the booth.
He sits beside me, and my friends all go mute as he stares at them. No, not them. He stares at Miles, singling him out immediately.
I struggle to find a way to introduce him. “Guys,” I say, and put my hand on his thigh as he stretches his arm behind me and curls his hand on the back of my neck. “Miles, Avery, Gabe, this is . . . Maverick.”
“I think I just shit my pants,” Gabe says.
Miles purses his lips in displeasure.
Avery is about to burst with excitement. “You . . . you two . . . know each other, Reese?” she declares, eyes wide.
Maverick waits for me to speak.
I don’t know how to explain him to them.
How to explain my avenger to anyone?
“Hey, Reese. Can I talk to you?”
Maverick is just staring at Miles. Especially after he said that.
His orgasm tamed him . . . somewhat. But he’s still putting out dangerous airs and watching Miles like he’s the next man to hit the canvas—and soon. “Is something wrong?” I ask Miles.
Miles looks tortured. “I wanted to talk to you . . . alone. About . . .” He looks at Maverick, then at me. “I’ve been thinking about you . . .” he begins.
“Hey, dude.” Maverick leans forward, his face as harsh and violent as I’ve ever seen it. “She’s with me.” He takes the back of my neck and pulls me back into his arm, keeping it around me and silently looking at Miles after that.
Miles scoffs. “A guy like you? For how long? Huh?”
Maverick cuts him a cocky smile. And he keeps it simple as always. “Forever.”