He shakes his head, laughing as I wipe his tears. “I’m making love with my Booney, and it’s better than I could’ve imagined.”
His nickname for me, which has always seemed so silly, cracks with emotion. Again and again, I’m reminded that, whatever his reputation, he is a serious man with deep feelings, and so many more layers than I’ve imagined. I can’t wait to explore every single one.
That he’s wanted me this whole time is…crazy. And crazy good.
Before I can get too emotional about it, he clenches his hole, and I curse a blue streak, barely holding on.
Letting go of his leg, I lower myself onto him, pressing the mess between us as I kiss him, wrap my arms around him, and show him how much this means to me. He grabs my ass, pulling me in as I thrust. As sweet nothings pour out of my mouth.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Mav.”
“Boone…”
“You feel so good,” I whisper, my voice ragged. “Letting me fuck you raw.”
The look he gives me sends me into the stratosphere, the orgasm building and building until it finally explodes.
More tears appear in his pretty brown eyes, along with a prideful look, like he knows exactly how tight and perfect his ass is.
“You could fucking milk a man dry with this thing,” I whisper, still thrusting, not wanting to leave his body.
He shakes his head. “Not any man. Just you.”
We kiss, and I lose my sense of gravity. I wonder if I’ve touched solid ground at all since Maverick entered my life.
He follows me into the tiny bathroom for some necessary clean up, and the bump and slide against each other is meaningful. Almost as meaningful as it was to finally bury myself in him. My mind spins out endless scenarios of rough and soft play, of taking him, of discovering exactly how much control he’s willing to give me.
Maybe we could play with?—
“Is your hot water out?” he asks, running his fingers under the faucet. “It was fine when I showered before.”
“Oh, the hot and cold on the sink are reversed,” I say, remembering, belatedly, that I’m talking to someone who lives in the penthouse of an exclusive building. With his equally gorgeous and wealthy cousins. Who all have trust funds at the behest of their billionaire fathers. “The manager keeps promising to send someone by to fix it, but you know how that goes.”
Actually, I’m pretty sure he has no idea how something like that goes.
Here I am, imagining all of these scenarios where I’m in charge, and I’m barely one level above student housing.
He turns on the tap, then gestures at my face. “What’s this look?”
“My bathroom is probably the size of your closet.”
He shakes his head, a devil grin on his lips. “My closet’s actually bigger. Though your bathroom is neater.”
I rub my face, at a complete loss.
“Hey,” he says, turning me to face him. “No.”
“But—”
“No.” He rinses off his face, now that the water has finally heated up. “I did nothing for my money. Like, less than nothing. I was born to rich dads, and?—”
“Aren’t you a millionaire from your modeling contracts alone? Like, without the trust fund?”
He looks down. “Yeah, but no one would have looked at me if I’d been born in the suburbs.”
I snort and gesture at the ancient mirror riddled with black spots. “Have you seen you?”
Still looking down, he smiles, his jaw sharpening.
