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A ghost of a kiss presses against my neck, my eyes fluttering closed as he moves over my skin, his lips leaving a trail of heat behind. He’s barely touching me, but with his hands moving downward and his mouth pressing lightly against me, it’s futile to fight the reaction.
My panties grow damp, my breaths almost pants, but he says nothing further while focusing on my body. While I should probably question the change, push him away and demand he leave me alone, I don’t.
I can’t.
If this is all he ever gives me of himself, it’s enough. It has to be. Because, just this once, I need to know what we could have been. Tomorrow, I can question his motives, reassess the situation, and put my smart head on.
The music changes, the harsh pop turning into something smoother, silkier, as rhythmic R&B filters through the speakers. Maverick’s hands descend, traveling past my waist before finding my hips. His fingers dig into me while his hips move against mine.
My head tips back against his chest, my eyes closed as we move in sync. Heat courses through me, my legs trembling with need as his fingers find my thighs, running up and down.
We’re so lost in our own bubble that when a body rocks into me, I startle, my back going ramrod straight. The guy mumbles his apologies, stumbling away in a drunken fervor, but the damage is already done.
Maverick starts to pull away, his hands leaving my thighs, and the heat that was blanketing me evaporates. Before I can think better of it, my eyes scrunch shut and I grab his arms, curling them around me.
Maybe I’ll regret what I say in the morning, but I don’t have the brain capacity to think about that now. “Don’t.”
His arms tense, but he doesn’t pull away again.
“I need to know,” I rush out, my fingers tightening where I hold him. Tipping my head to the side, he leans in, and despite the echoes and music around us, my lips find his ear. “Just this once, Maverick. I need to know that this isn’t all in my imagination. That there is, or was, something between us, and that you feel it too. Tomorrow, you can hate me again, and I can go back to trying to live my life without you in it, but not tonight. I can’t watch you walk away from me and live with another what-if.”
He frees his arms, tugging my hands to my sides before he grabs my hip, spinning me to face him. There’s something so imposing in the way he’s staring down at me, his tall frame shadowing me from the movement around us.
His lips set in a thin line, his jaw tense. But it isn’t anger lingering in his expression, it’s conflict. There’s hunger in his eyes as he drags them over my face, reading me as I am him.
I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I’m sure I don’t even want to, but I won’t let him leave me again. “Please, Maverick.”
Maverick
Shit.The moment the word please falls from her mouth, I’m fucked beyond belief. What little hold I had on my sanity slips away, leaving heat and need in its place.
Grabbing her hand, I squeeze gently as I tug her through the bodies writhing around us and pull my phone out to book an Uber. Maisie and Harlow call out behind us, reminding us we aren’t alone, but I ignore them.
The air is frigid when we make it outside. Maybe I should put a stop to this, send her back to the girls and go drown in a gallon of liquor, and forget I ever saw that tattoo, or felt the way her body melded with mine, as though she was made for me. But I don’t. I don’t think I can.
I knew the moment I saw her on that dance floor things were about to change, and all I can hope is that we don’t end up more broken than before when all is said and done.
The ride back to her dorm is quiet, the air filled with tension as light-pop music filters through the car. When we arrive, she steps out first, then turns to me. The heat in her eyes scorches me, and my dick strains against my pants, my body humming in anticipation.
She holds a hand out to me, her eyes finding mine, and I swear there’s a plea in the depths as she waggles her fingertips, and fuck if when I lace our hands together the only thing I can think is that I never want to let go. As she tugs me from the car, she fumbles in her bag, pulling her keys out, then leads us into the lobby, bypassing the elevators as she takes me up the stairs and to her dorm.
When she opens the door, her hand still clinging to mine, she doesn’t bother with the light, she just pulls me past the kitchenette and living area and straight into her bedroom. My heart beats too fast, and my eyes draw over the room as she flicks a lamp on and releases her hold on me.
“It’s messy.” She shrugs, grabbing the clothes tossed on her bed and chucking them into a pile in the corner. “Sorry.”
A smile breaks on my lips, and I shake my head at her playfully. “Not much changes, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess not. Though I’m pretty sure the last time you were in my bedroom, it was for a very different reason. Or maybe you’re not actually here for the reason I’m thinking, and if that’s the case, this just became really awkward,” she rambles, one of the many things she does when she’s nervous. “I’m just . . .” She looks around the room, moving over to her closet and grabbing a top from one of the hangers. “I’m just gonna get changed. Be right back.”
She tries to pass me, but my hand curls around her wrist, halting her. “Drop the shirt, Bumblebee.”
“But I—”
“We’re not doing this with you wearing a shirt that used to belong to your dad,” I say, grabbing the material from her lax hand and tossing it behind me. She tilts her head up, her eyes finding mine as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment.
“I have to wear a shirt,” she whispers.
“Why?”
