His grin is sinful. “You love it.”
Love.
That word.
A memory of last night and the words “I think I love you” come rushing back, along with snippets of other memories. I said it back.
A surge of panic flickers through the haze of pleasure, but then his hand slides up my thigh again, anchoring me, and everything blurs when his mouth sucks at my clit. Fingers spread me.
Ohhh . . .
Mmm . . .
I think I love you, I think I love you, I think I love you ...
My head throbs.
My body’s trembling—part from the memories, part from his mouth—but mostly because of the way Ifeeleverything.
All of it; his hands. His breath. The deep, dizzying pleasure building in my core.
I can’t take it anymore.
“Come here,” I whisper, voice rough, needy.
He looks up, a question in his eyes.
I tug at him, urging him upward, dragging him over me with shaky hands and pounding heart to kiss me, slow and deep.
“Mmm,” I moan into his mouth as he positions himself to enter me, and I reach between our bodies the way I did last night to guide him. Both of us gasp the second our bodies connect.
This is reckless. I could get pregnant, since I just stopped taking birth control.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
We’re desperate.
His mouth crashes into mine again, swallowing my moan as he sinks deeper. My hands grip his shoulders when he thrusts over and over and over again—deeper and harder this time than last night—and I arch off the bed with a cry.
Oh shit, this feels good ...
Every nerve ending lights up like a fuse, hot and electric, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins as he drives into me with a rhythm that’s feverish and unrelenting.
One of his hands finds mine and threads our fingers together, grounding us even as everything else spins wildly out of control. We’re still drunk on each other, on everything we don’t understand but crave anyway.
I raise my free hand, resting it on his shoulder, fingers bending onto his shoulder, pressi—
And that’s when I see it.
A ring.
A thin gold band glistens on my left hand, winking at me from the fourth finger.
My breath catches mid-moan.
Maverick’s still moving, lost in the moment, forehead pressed to mine, sweat slick on his skin.
But I can’t unsee it.
