Page 44 of Crack the Ice

“You shouldn’t be here with him,” he whispers. The words almost sound like a plea.

Blood rushes through my veins. This is a side of this man I haven’t seen, desperate, almost. It sends some sort of sick satisfaction through me, knowing that he’s feeling a fraction of what I felt years ago when I was desperate for him to see me. Yet, some stupid, traitorous part of me decided it was a great idea to stand in a tiny locked closet with him anyway, close enough to feel the question in his gaze.

I’m seconds from reminding him of exactly what I told him about being friends when his thumb finds my chin, and he raises my head until I’m looking directly at him.

His eyes flare, tongue slowly dragging across his lips before he whispers, “Because it should be me you’re with.” With enough conviction to make me stop breathing altogether.

My lips fall apart. I stand there momentarily stunned, because yeah, he said something similar the other day, but I don’t want jealous decisions. I want to be the one in control of opening the door, not having it kicked in.

“What are you doing, Mav?” I sigh. “We were doing fine. The last few weeks have been nice. And you just—” I reach beside me, hand landing on the handle, but I’m stopped when he places his palm flat against the door next to my head.

“No.” His voice is firm, all dominance, and I am rapidly losing the desire to fight him.

The sound that comes out of me is pathetic. My brain and my heart are battling it out for who’s right, who we should listen to. But the only thing that comes out of my mouth is his freaking name.

“Maverick,” the sound obviously spurs him on because he leans in, his nose dragging up my neck until his lips are next to my ear.

“You tell me one thing, Cecilia. But your body says something else entirely.” He breathes against my neck, setting every nerve ending on fire as he drags his lips along my jaw. My head instinctively leans back to give him more room to explore. “Tell me to stop, or I’m going to kiss you.”

My brain may as well be the egg on the “your brain on drugs” commercial with the way it’s scrambled right now. My head says no, my heart says yes, and my body says we’re not nearly close enough to being done.

One hand moves to wrap around the side of my neck, his fingers anchoring against my heated skin, but it’s his thumb resting softly against my jaw that undoes me.

I want this, I want him, but it’d be so unbelievably selfish to let either of us have it. Yet the second he pushes against my chin with his thumb, moving my head exactly where he wants it, his eyes falling to my lips before coming back to my own, I lose every argument I had.

“I see you’re still a coward,” I whisper.

That does the trick. He pounces, every thread of restraint snapped at my words. His lips move against mine, rough, hot, and purposeful. His free hand moves to my ribs as he pushes me further into the door with his hips. His monster of a dick presses into my stomach, and I gasp. A sharp sting has my eyes popping open as his teeth bite into my lower lip hard enough to make me hiss before he soothes it with his tongue.

Mierda⁠*, this is better than the memory I’ve been holding on to all these years.

His hand slides down my sides until it meets the heated skin of my thigh. He wraps his hand around my knee, pulling until it’s hooked around his waist. “Tell me to stop, Cess. Please.”

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, arching further into him. I need him, I need him to show me he still cares, I need to know I’m not alone in this.

His hand trails up my leg, disappearing under my dress as his lips meet the side of my neck. He places open-mouth kisses up one side before biting at the hollow of my throat at the same time he squeezes the globe of my ass.

I moan into him, tilting my head against the door as he runs his mouth up the other side of my neck.

“I miss those pretty sounds, Cecy baby.”

I’m a puddle on the floor, completely at his mercy, and I’m not even going to pretend I’m not exactly where I want to be. But then his hand moves, and his finger trails the line of my thong, and my eyes fly open.

Wait, no. If he moves any lower, he’ll feel it. He’ll find out everything I tried to keep from him. I can’t let that happen. I can’t answer questions right now. I can’t let myself want him the way I do.

My hands slide up around his neck, and I let myself have a few more seconds of bliss before I push him back hard enough that he stumbles.

Our chests are heaving, eyes wild, and I catch my reflection in the mirror and cringe. This is going to take some time to fix before I can go back out there. “What the hell is your problem?” I spit.

He points to himself, eyebrow raised. “Me?”

My hands fly out to the side as I gape at him. “No, the Queen of fucking England.”

“I told you to tell me to stop.”

“I told you, friends. I said I wasn’t ready to open this door.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I’m sorry, I wanted this, but I can’t. We can’t.”

His face falls, and he steps back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why, Cess? Why can’t we?” His nose flares as he stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time in a long time.