He stands in the middle of the bathroom, lowering me down on him as he kisses me. I catch the reflection of us in the mirror on the side—unexpectedly. His every muscle cut and flexing. His powerful legs, his abs and ass as he thrusts, his arms and chest and shoulders as he lifts me and lowers me. And me, so pale, my blonde hair wet and streaking down my back, the towel sliding down my body—his cock submerging into the pink, shiny, swollen lips between my legs.
I’m eroticized by the sight of us together because I’ve seen movies, I’ve seen porn, I’ve seen pictures and art, but I have never responded to the sight of a couple making love the way I respond to seeing Maverick spreading me open as he lowers me down on him.
I see myself, and I don’t look like the girl I saw in the mirror several months ago. I’m not self-conscious. I’m sexy. I’m woman. I’m wanted. I’m made perfectly for him.
Gasping his name, aware of the intensity of my feelings, I’m the first to come, but he comes as hard as always, buttocks flexing, body pumping as he nibbles my neck.
I’m shy when I notice he catches my gaze in the mirror, and I whisper, smiling, “Aside from being for my purely selfish purposes . . . that was for luck.”
He mock-frowns at me, as if terribly disappointed. “And for love?”
I nod, grinning happily.
He still holds me aloft with one arm and cups the back of my head with the other, looking at me as if I’m the eighth wonder of the world. “You’re a shot of pure fucking heaven in my veins.”
FORTY-FOUR
IT’S TIME
Maverick
It’s a half hour to the match and Oz won’t open the door to his room. “Oz!” I bang the door. I jerk on the doorknob and bang harder, resisting the urge to crash through with my shoulder.
Three minutes later, I come back with a member of the hotel staff, who unlocks the door.
He’s in the small sitting area of his room, bottles all over the place.
“Oz, Jesus.” I grab the bottles and start tossing them away, then I go and stand before him. He won’t even look me in the eye, his bloodshot eyes staring past my shoulder.
“Oz, we have a shot tonight.” I grab a glass of water and bring it over. He won’t take it. Sighing, I set it aside, drop to my haunches, and level my nose with his. “I’m fighting tonight, and I need you in my corner.”
“What do you need me for?” he scoffs.
“I need you in my corner, Oz.”
“Get out.”
“We have a shot, Oz.”
“We?”
“We. Look, you want to prove something? Here’s your chance.”
Oz doesn’t get up. He shifts forward and stares at the floor. “Men like us, Maverick, we don’t get the good stuff.”
“How do you know if you don’t make a grab for it?”
“Because I’ve lived longer, that’s why. I tried shooting for it plenty of times.”
“Oz. Look—”
“Don’t sermon me, Maverick! You and the Tates. You and your girl. You’re not an unwanted anymore. Like me,” he growls, frowning.
“Oz. Fuck, man. I found this girl. And she’s lovely. And she gets me. And I get her. And I want to be with her. I’m crazy about her in a way I never thought I’d be. I’ve been training like mad for tonight. Just one night, Oz.”
“You’ve been taking me for granted, Maverick.”
I stand and curl my fists at my sides. I lower my voice. “I don’t take anything for granted. I know better.”
“You don’t need me anymore. You got me because no one good enough would take you on. Now you got something better. You got Tate as a mentor.”
“Except I’ll never forget you were the one on my team when nobody else wanted in.”
“Your best buddy Tate’s got an in now,” he says resentfully. “You can get anyone you want at this point.”
“Then fucking realize it’s me who’s standing right here asking you to be in my corner.”
He shakes his head and wipes his face, then folds his arms, and he starts crying.
I groan and drop back to my haunches. “Don’t do this to me, Oz.”
“Just fucking go.”
“Not without you.”
He grabs the nearest bottle and tries to drink.
I stop it midair, yanking it away from him and setting it aside, my voice low. “So that’s how this goes. You want to sabotage us, Oz? Do you?” I’m mad now. I’m so fucking mad I can’t see straight.
I plant my hand on the back of his seat and lean forward. “Be fucking man enough to fight the fight we set out to fight.”
His eyes shoot daggers at me. “Go, Cage. This isn’t my fight anymore,” he says, glaring at me.
I curl my hands into fists, go slam my palm into the wall, then I come back and drop down before him.
“Why are you still here?”
“’Cause you’re still here.”
He glowers.
I glower back. Then I lean in my seat and stare at the room. “Good rooms compared to where we started, huh.”
“Pretty damn fine,” he grumbles.