“How am I supposed to kiss you when you’re smiling like that?”
Maverick pulls back, looking down at me with a troublemaker grin. Closing his eyes, he pulls his fingers down in front of his face, dropping the smile with the gesture. Shimmying his shoulders again, he takes a deep breath.
“What are you doing?” I ask, the laugh tripping across my tongue. I can’t remember ever feeling so light.
“Shhh,” he says, his eyes still closed. “I’m putting on my serious face so you’ll keep kissing me.”
I toss my head back, laughing. “You are impossible.”
“Something tells me you like impossible.”
I do. I really do.
I grab his shirt and yank him in for another kiss. Hot and soft, his muscles give way so quickly that I have to adjust my stance to prevent us from tripping over ourselves. Then adjust again to make sure he knows he’s safe to melt into my arms.
The first kiss was a revelation, but this one… This one is an excavation. He kisses me back, revealing the deep well of passion he’s hidden beneath the smiles and the jokes.
This is not the kiss of a boy who doesn’t know how to control his pecker. This is the kiss of a man who knows exactly what he wants.
And I’m ridiculously lucky to be the one he’s wanted for a long, long time.
Maverick’s larger body is fucking amazing, and his smile between the kisses is so much like sunshine that I barely register the wind whipping around us.
We kiss and kiss until someone whistles at us from a passing car. “Get a room, you two!”
It’s my turn to smile against his lips. “That’s what I get for living so close to the university.”
Mav ducks his chin, then goes in for more kisses. Like he’s hungry, like I’m the first drink of water he’s had in days. Reluctantly, I pull away again, pushing my forehead to his.
“Fuck.”
“Invite me up, Boone.” He rubs his cheek against mine. “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanna make out with you somewhere more private.”
I’m sure Maverick’s had more than his fair share of sexual partners and experiences, but he’s so guileless. I genuinely think he’s telling the truth. He wants to make out with me, and now I want that more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
I lift my chin to the second floor and hold out my hand. If I thought he was smiling before, that has nothing on his broad, eager grin as he takes my hand in his. I take a second to look at him. Really look at him. The gorgeous muscles, the handsome features, the shiny curls whipped around by the wind.
How are we still outside? It feels like we’re in our own little bubble.
Finally, I lead us toward the staircase, the metallic groan now doubled under his footsteps. We reach my door, and I can’t tell if it took thirty seconds or thirty years. Time doesn’t seem to be working right now.
A loud meow on the other side of the door shakes me out of my trance.
“Careful of Dame Lansbury,” I warn him. “She’s a big cat.”
“Is she going to try to escape?” he asks, sweetly worried.
“No. She judges the outdoors.” I grimace. “And shewilljudge you too.”
Mav laughs. “Wait. Lansbury as in…Angela Lansbury?”
I nod as I swing the door open. “You knowMurder She Wrote?”
“Sure, but my fathers loveGaslight,” he answers softly, his expressive eyes taking in the art, the thrift store privacy screen that separates my bed from the living area, and the leggy plants dotting my small, dark apartment.
“That’s my favorite movie,” I say, my voice husky.
Maverick’s height and heft stand out in the small space, his radiant energy taking up all the oxygen. Our gazes snare on each other as he nudges the door closed with his foot. His eyes turn to half-moons as they land on my massive, judgy cat.
