“Oh, you weren’t kidding. Dame Lansbury isunimpressed.”
“Unimpressed is better than most people get,” I say, kissing his shoulder through his T-shirt. “It means she likes you.”
“Mm.” He unzips his bag and flashes something purple. “Maybe I should tell her that my tyrant of a professor just advanced me to purple belt.”
“Professor—as in Brazilian jiu-jitsu?” I ask, surprised.
Maverick beams, so proud of himself. Fuck, he should be.
“Congratulations.”
I wrap my arm around his waist and go in for another kiss. Outside, I was able to ignore the wind whipping around us, but now, in the relative quiet of my apartment, I’m swept up in even the smallest sound. The slick sound of our lips meeting, the swish of fabric I wish we weren’t wearing, the small, happy groans coming from the back of Maverick’s throat.
He looks behind us and angles us past the folding screen until my calves hit the soft duvet. He pulls away, smiling broadly.
“I thought we were just making out,” I remind him, breathless.
He falls backward onto the mattress. “I don’t know about you, but making out is so much better when there’s room to maneuver.”
Good point.
Dropping onto the bed, I cover him with my body as I meet him again in a kiss.
I let my weight settle on him, happy to be reminded of his solidity. It’s one thing to see his muscles in outline, to brush against him. It’s quite another to feel their power underneathme. Even with his physical attributes, Mav’s body is soft with submission.
An invitation.
Straddling his hips, I adjust, nudging against his hardness with mine.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say, cupping his jaw.
“And you’re one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I flush at the compliment, then dive in, kissing him, rolling my hips. Something about his body is… I know exactly how to touch him. How to draw out more of those beautiful sounds.
I could do this with him all night.
The next time we come up for air, I shift to my side, hand on his chest as it rises and falls.
“Is this real life?” he asks, turning to me, his eyes bright. “Am I really kissing my Booney?”
A small hit of guilt streaks through my belly.This means so much to him.
“We’ve already kissed,” I say, kissing him softly. “By the fountain.”
“Hm. I wondered if you’d ever admit that you kissed me back.”
“Of course I kissed you back. Have you seen you?”
He flushes, then pulls me in for more hungry kisses. I promise myself I will tell him about me. About who I really am.
Soon.
“Booney, my Booney,” he murmurs, and I pull back, rolling my eyes at the stupid nickname.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Because you’re from the boonies of West Texas.”
