That was all it took. One bite. One thrust. And I was shattering apart atop his cock, my cries drowning out the sound of the shower. Maverick didn’t slow, in fact, he thrust into me harder, faster with a delicious, brutal intensity I’d never felt before.
He all but roared his release as he slipped out of me just at the last second, though he held me close as we both rode the waves of our orgasm. I lost track of how long we stayed like that, our breaths and heartbeats syncing up as we came down from the high of what we’d just done. The water rained down on us still, the warmth of the droplets almost cold compared to the heat still pumping through my veins.
“That was…” I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his chest. “Can we do that again?”
His lips curled up into a satisfied smirk as he pushed some of my wet curls back off my face. “Give me a few minutes, and gladly,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss me softly.
My stomach decided at that moment to rumble to life—a pang of hunger stirring within me.Of fucking course.
Maverick’s hooded gaze turned to one of mild concern. “You hungry?”
I waved him off, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss him once more. “I’d rather fuck you.”
He smirked, but the concern didn’t leave his gaze. “Food first,” he said, “fuck later.” His words held a finality to it that I didn’t bother fighting.
I knew a losing battle when I saw one. With a dramatic huff, I rolled my eyes. “Fiiine.”
His gaze warmed, his smirk widening as he flicked my nose and urged me from the shower. As we made our way into the bedroom,I noticed the MRC brand on his back. Right on his left shoulder.They must all have one.
I’d always wanted a tattoo or a brand, but never could decide on having something on me permanently. Charlie and Ryder both had their tattoos, and I absolutely loved them, but I just couldn’t think of something I'd want forever.
Maverick tossed me one of his t-shirts, which I slipped on happily. “So,” he asked, sliding into a pair of pajama pants. “What’dya want?”
I pulled my sopping wet hair out of the ponytail, and ran my fingers through it. “No, I wanna cook.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t. But you always cook.”
He shrugged as we made our way to the kitchen. “I like to cook.”
I stopped him, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Please, Maverick. Let me do this for you.”
I don’t know why, but I wanted, no, needed to do this. To show him just how much this moment meant to me. He’d talked. I don’t know the how or the why of it, but the fact he’d talked for me meant more than I could ever explain.
He gripped my chin, holding my stare. Whatever he saw there softened the harsh lines of his face. He nodded, leaning down to brush his lips against mine once more. “Okay. So, what’re you makin’ me?”
Chapter twenty-eight
Mine
Maverick
Cheyenne rummaged through mycupboards, a look of fierce determination on her face. I stood back, letting her flit about, reminding me of a bird. I could watch her all day. She had this inner glow about her, this magnetism that drew me in. I was little more than a moth to her bright, unwavering flame.
Her lips pulled up into a satisfied grin as she stood before the countertop, hands on her hips while she looked over her findings. “Perfect, you have everything for it.”
“For what?” I asked, eyeing the half dozen cans sitting before a metal bowl she’d grabbed. Canned corn, green chiles, enchilada sauce, black beans, an unopened jar of salsa, canned chicken, and a box of rice.
She turned on the oven, washed her hands, and rifled through the utensil drawer before pulling out my can opener. “This is what I like to call my southwest bake.” She went to work, grabbing for the canned chicken, draining the water, and plopping it in the bowl before adding some taco seasoning and spices to it. Then she started opening the cans and added them in. “I know it doesn’t look likemuch, but I promise you it tastes better than it looks…It’s my three favorite things when it comes to a meal. Quick, easy, and delicious.”
My brow rose. It didn’t look like much. Just a mish mash of different ingredients. But some of the best things I’d cooked didn’t look all that great.
She scoffed. “Don’t judge. We can’t all be the next Gordon Ramsey like you.”
I rolled my eyes, a grin drawing on my lips as I took a seat at one of the island chairs, watching her mix everything together. “Hardly.”
She paused, pegging me with an are-you-kidding look. “Maverick, you’re the best damn cook I’ve ever known… and I’ve had Mrs. Mooney’s cooking.”
