I’m so wrapped up in what I’m saying and in measuring my breaths, that I barely feel Loreena twist in my arms. It’s the feel of her soft palms on my face, cupping my jaw, that snaps me out of the litany. She stares into my eyes for a second that seems to last forever before she drags me face down to hers.
There’s nothing between us. Literally and in every other way. All her walls are down. I’ve never had any with her to begin with. She knows exactly who I am and what I’ve done, and to her, that doesn’t make me a bad person. She looks up at me like she’s never quite seen anyone like me before and never will again. She sees me like I’m not broken and trying to glue myself back together to exist in a world that has changed so damn much, I’m little better than lost in it, despite how much I might pretend otherwise.
She shifts to her toes when I remain frozen. When our lips meet, it’s because hers graze softly over mine. She initiates. She leads. But I don’t hesitate.
I don’t drive her against the cupboards or pick her up, I don’t scald her mouth with kisses or devour her. I keep the kiss slow and tender. Soft. I pour my emotion into it. Kissing is a physical thing, but it’s also mental and emotional. I pour myself into it, my heart, my soul, every moment that I’ve ever thought of her.
She steals my breath. She’s captivated all of me from the first letter, and now we’re here, years later, sharing a moment that defies everything.
She drops her hands to my shoulders and then wraps her arms around me, like I’m the one who needs to be held. I am. I might break apart if she doesn’t tether me to her.
As soon as her tongue meets mine, the kiss changes. She tilts her face, drawing me in deeper. She kisses harder, more frantic. Little whimpers roll off her tongue. I kiss them away, taking them inside of myself, little treasures that I’ll store up for forever.
She spins us around, guiding me through the kitchen. I take slow steps to make sure I don’t crunch her toes or that I don’t trip and fall. She leads, her hands roving over my shoulders, my face, twisting to the back of my neck, tugging at my hair. Our mouths clash together furiously. We leave the kitchen and make it to the hall. The door to the basement is right there, but she doesn’t open it. Instead, she tugs me into her so that we both jam up against the wall.
“Maverick,” she whimpers against my lips in a tone that I never thought I’d hear.
I want you. I need you. Badly. Here. Now.
I know I’m not wrong, but I want her to show me. Guide me. Take the lead on this. If there’s discovery, I want to walk side by side with her. I want her to show me what she needs, how much, and when.
She does. She tugs my face back to hers and peppers my lips with kisses.
In all my life, all the tough, lean years of growing up, and in all my time in prison, I never surrendered. If I had one fear, it was that, but I can let my guard down with Loreena. I can place myself into her hands. I can trust in her. I can escape to a world where only we exist.
Chapter 13
Loreena
Maverick kisses me deeply. His weight presses me to the wall while his tongue plunges deep into my mouth. There’s no hesitation in him. He wants this as badly as I do, but I can feel him holding back, like he wants me to show him. I know he’s probably afraid of hurting me, but I don’t want to be fragile. I don’t want to be someone who could break into pieces with the slightest handling. I want him as ravenous and wild and out of control as I feel.
It’s reckless to do this. It’s going to change everything. I know that, but I also knew it before I kissed him.
I break the kiss and guide his face down to my throat. I tilt it up, exposing the column to him. I want him to see how madly my pulse beats against my skin for him, how labored my breaths are. I want to expose that tender, unguarded part of me to his hands, his mouth, his teeth.
He doesn’t use his teeth. Just his surprisingly soft lips. He kisses just above my pulse point then licks lower, towards my ear. I gasp when he rolls his tongue along the bottom and traces it higher, over the shell of my ear.
I drop my hands to his hips, trying to tug him closer. He’s as strong and solid as the wall at my back. I can’t tug him into me, so instead, my hips roll into his. Through all our clothes, I can still feel the ridge of his hard length behind his zipper. I try to angle myself to grind against him. I’m half afraid that he’ll pullback, but he surges forward, pinning me to the wall and letting me feel every bit of his muscular body.
My hands are trapped between us, but I manage to work one up under the hem of his black t-shirt. His skin is silky, but the muscles beneath that are hard and ridged. I trace the outline of his side before sweeping my hand over his ridged abs. I can feel every single one of them. I work out, but his body iscarved.
He grinds harder into me, his hips surging back and writhing forward. He hisses against my neck, then groans long and low, so feral that it sets my insides on fire.
Not that they haven’t been since the minute he showed up at my apartment. After all that time, it was almost impossible for me to believe he was real, and even if I had, what good is longing for something you can never have?
My brain wants to throw me right back to all my doubts, but I close my eyes and fight against it. I want what Maverick made me do in the kitchen. I want it to be just him and me. Just two people who found a connection years ago, sustained it with every word we shared, and built something concrete as soon as we could.
My brain tries to interject all the reasons this is wrong and is probably going to be a disaster, but I push back against it, grounding myself with every touch and sigh and kiss as I struggle to get closer and closer to this man.
I might not have much to offer him, but I’d give him everything I have.
My hand climbs a little higher under his shirt, tracing the top of his abs. He flexes them and jerks back involuntarily. My eyes shoot up and I look up at him, offering a shy smile when Irealize that he’s ticklish. He traps my hand in his, flattening my fingers against his scalding skin for a second before he guides it down and grasps the hem of his shirt. He tugs it off for me.
My mouth goes dry as my eyes rove over him. It reminds me of the first morning, when I woke up and found him fresh out of the shower wearing only that towel slung over his hips. He might not be soaking wet now, but he’s still a work of art. Every muscle is a masterpiece.
His hand lands on my hip as he leans in against me, trapping me between him and the wall again. It’s significantly better sans t-shirt. He skates his fingertips to my belly, then lets them drop to my jeans. His head shoots up, a question burning in his dark eyes.
I’m a bundle of nerves already. Everything is sensation, even when Maverick hasn’t touched my bare skin.
