My chest tightens. “You think I can’t handle it?”
His gaze snaps to mine, sharp and unwavering. “I think you shouldn’t have to.”
I move slowly through the kitchen, lifting my hands to cradle his face. He leans down, instinctively pushing his face into my hands, and shuts his eyes, letting out a long breath, and my heart aches at the sight of him hurting. “You’re carrying too much, Mav. You can’t protect me from every crappy headline or comment.”
His eyes soften, even as they shine with something unspoken. “I still want to try.”
“Mav-” I start, but I don’t get another word.
“Don’t,” he says, softer than his body looks. He pulls back from my touch, running a hand through his hair, blowing out a harsh breath. “I’m done talking tonight. About Maggie, about Jax, about all of it.”
His arms sweep me up, cradling me against his chest. My breath catches, and my hands instinctively grasp his shoulders as he carries me bridal-style up the stairs.
“Maverick,” I whisper, though it’s half a warning, half a plea.
He looks down at me, the muscle in his jaw twitching, but his mouth curves into that dangerous, heart-wrecking grin. “Relax, dollface. Not planning on dropping you.”
Heat rushes through me, my pulse racing, but I don’t argue. I let him carry me into his room and gently set me down on his bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs in beside me, rolling onto his back, broad shoulders sinking into the pillows.
He looks at me, raw and unguarded, his blue eyesmeeting mine as if he’s baring his soul. His voice lowers, coarse with exhaustion and need.
“Make me forget about today, Amelia,” he murmurs. “Make me feel something. Please.”
The plea guts me. This man, bigger than life, is begging me.
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling as they trace the hem of his shirt. “Bossy today, aren’t we?”
He smirks, though it’s softer now. “Only when I know I’ve already won.” His hand finds mine, guiding it up over the plane of his abs. “C’mon, dollface. You know you wanna.”
My hand drags higher across his chest, over the ridges of muscle beneath his black compression shirt.
Maverick looks at me as if I’m the only thing in the room, like I’m the only thing that has ever mattered.
“Careful,” he drawls, his lips curving as his hand trails to my thigh. His thumb strokes lazily over bare skin, setting me on fire. “You keep touching me like that, I might start thinkin’ you actually like me.”
I arch a brow, trying to appear unbothered even though my pulse is wrecking me. “Like is a strong word.”
He grins like he can’t help himself. “Then fuck ‘like.’ I adore you. I crave you. I’d tattoo your name across my forehead if it’d make you believe me.”
I suck in a breath at his confession.
His hand slides higher, toward the edge of my shorts, and I take a breath.
His breath comes in harsh pants, hands shaking where they toy with the hem of my shorts. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me? I’m ruined, Amelia. Begging like a fool just to get my hands under these damn shorts. Tell me I can. Please.”
I bite my lower lip, tilting my chin up at him. “Permission granted, quarterback, just don’t stop looking at me while you do.”
My fingers slip under the hem of his shirt, brushing the hard lines of his stomach. He lets out a low groan, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.
“Fuck,” he says, almost like a laugh. “Take it off, dollface. Before I lose my mind.”
I grip the hem and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Then I just... stare. His tattoos, the broken clock inked on his outer bicep, the script curling across his ribs, the way his chest rises and falls under my gaze.
His smile is softer now, less cocky, more dangerous. “See somethin’ you like?”
“You talk too much,” I whisper, leaning in to shut him up with my mouth.
The kiss is slow at first, his lips parting under mine like he’s letting me take the lead. His hands cradle my hips, sliding me up to straddle him. The pressure of his cock beneath me makes my stomach clench, heat pooling low and fast.
