That’s a good fucking question. I live in a town where winter lasts most of the year—owning plenty of coats shouldn’t be surprising.
Actually wearing one, though? That’s another story. Sometimes I have places to be, and a coat just doesn’t make the list.
I always make sure Maverick has one, but not so much for myself.
“I might be kind of bad at wearing coats.”
“But you have them.”
“Yes.”
“You just don’t wear them?” He really does sound confused. It’s kind of adorable.
“Yup.”
He shakes his head, but with the glow of the streetlights, I can see the smile on his face. I pick up my pace, wanting to get him out of the cold quicker, since he isn’t wearing a coat now.
I know it won’t do much to keep him warm, but I can’t help myself. I slide my hand against his, twining our fingers together.
His steps falter for half a beat while he turns to look at me. He sucks in a lungful of cool air before continuing on the sidewalk laid out before us.
Neither of us says anything for the rest of the walk, but his strong hand wrapped around mine is comforting.
“This is me,” I say, pointing to my small cottage-style house. I’d love something a little bigger for Mav and me someday, but for now, this is home. And it’s kind of perfect.
He doesn’t let go of my hand when we reach the door, so I maneuver it open with my free one.
The warmth from inside hits me as soon as I step into the living room. It’s almost painful against my chilled skin.
He closes the door behind us, clicking the deadbolt into place. His presence suddenly feels bigger than it did before.
The silence surrounding us does nothing to dull the man standing before me. If anything, it only amplifies it.
I don’t think I’ve ever held eye contact with anyone for this long, but I don’t ever want to look away. His blue eyes are holding me in chains I might beg to never be released from.
His thumb traces back and forth along the side of my hand, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of that spot.
I move to slide his coat off, but he stops me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t.” It’s said only slightly louder than a whisper, but in the silent bubble we’re trapped in, it rings through my ears. “You look like mine.”
My tongue slides out, wetting my lips. “And that’s what you want?” I ask.
His hand slides from my shoulder to cup the back of my neck. Shivers race down my spine. “For tonight.”
There’s a brief flash of something in his eyes, like maybe he’s keeping himself from saying something else, but I can’t really tell.
He steps forward until my back hits the wall. His muscular body presses against mine, but I don’t feel caged. I feel free.
That really doesn’t make sense given how I’m literally trapped between him and the wall, but what can I say? My brain is a little loopy at the moment with all the lusty hormones racing around inside of me.
“Will you be mine tonight, sweetheart?” he asks, tilting his head until his forehead is a breath away from mine.
I quietly breathe out a “yes” when I really want to scream it from the rooftops.
“Good.” The words come out in a half growl, half whisper. Then his lips are on mine.
The kiss is gentle but all-consuming. His lips caress and tease against mine in a slow, sensual dance that makes my legs go a little shaky.
He finally releases my hand. It slides up the side of my body. I realize my own hands are just hanging limply at my sides.
