My full weight bears on her as I drive into her again. And again. Poor girl is barely awake, but I spent the past hour banking my reserves while watching her sleep, and I’m out of control.
I cannot stop. The building could catch on fire, and I’d still fuck my woman ’til we both came good and hard before either evacuating or incinerating into ash.
Maeve grabs the headboard, her moans low and throaty in the early morning dark.
That’s my girl.
With time slipping away from us, I plan to eke out every ounce of enjoyment I can.
Relish in her scent, her sounds, the way her legs open wide for me and then squeeze. How her lips part and her head flies back when she orgasms.
Come for me, babe.
The sound of my name as it falls from those sweet lips.
I thrust, driving my cock in until our hips collide.
Scream my fucking name, Maeve.
And she does—“Kellin!”—as we both catch fire together.
Deserving or not, her calling my name is a thing of beauty.
“… Oh, fucking hell, darlin’. I can’t get enough of you.”
We both slow down to avoid passing out while continuing to devour each other with kisses. We’re wet and tangled and panting as I collapse on top of her, a sweaty, shivering mound of muscle and flesh cradled by her softness.
In the aftermath, I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.
And I don’t know what to do about that anymore.
Chapter 30
Maeve
On our way back from a morning coffee run—double Americano for him, caramel macchiato for me—Kellin receives a text. I don’t know what the message says, but the air shifts.
He tenses, those lines around his mouth pronounced and firm.
That text ushered us into the calm before the storm.
We walk back up the drive to Chateau Marmont and hand over our valet ticket in exchange for the Beemer.
A minute later, Kellin tips the guy, and I accept the keys and hop in the driver’s seat. If I plan to wait on this looming thunderstorm, despite the painfully sunny skies, I need a distraction. And it doesn’t get much better than driving.
Eyes on the road, Maeve.
In my peripheral vision, I spy the tightness in Kellin’s shoulders as he responds to the text.
Do I ask?
Do I dare?
His knee bounces. I catch it bobbing up and down from the corner of my eye, his foot tapping the floorboard like he’s already ingested a full pot of coffee.
“How about some classics?” While I’m mostly talking to myself, I still hold my hand on the knob to the sound system and wait for a response.
He grunts out an affirmative while his fingers tap away on his screen.
