“The dumbest,” he agrees, grinning as he rolls over and pulls me with him. “Kiss me, wife.”
Wife. The sound of that word on his lips has me so hot and bothered—so wet already—and he’s barely even touched me.
I ache. Practically vibrate from the inside out as he flips us so I’m straddling his lap with my thighs spread over his hips and his hands locked around my waist as if he has no plans of ever letting go ...
It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s messy, hungry, teeth and tongue and hours of pent-up sexual frustration I didn’t know I’d been carrying around until this second. His hands slide up my back, under my shirt, fingers splaying over bare skin like he owns it.
Ownsme.
Our clothes go flying. My hands skim his broad chest, and he groans, lying still as I caress his skin, nails dragging gently over his rib cage.
When I finally slide onto him and he’s inside me, he’s so deep I feel whole, realizing there’s no part of this that feels fake.
Mmm.
Yummy, delicious Maverick.
Callum.
Mine.
And God, the way he moves ... Slow, then fast. Rough, then sweet as he kisses me, fucking me at the same time ...
He whispers my name into the crook of my neck as I move over the top of him ... hands roaming up my back ... my hips ... holding me in place ... Mouth presses kisses against my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw—everywhere he can reach, like I’m a map and he’s memorizing me.
And maybe I’m doing the same?
Then I ruin the moment, pulling back so I can see his face. “We haven’t been using protection.”
He stops thrusting. “Aren’t you on birth control?”
“I was ...” I shrug. “But now I’m not. I wanted to give my body a break. Still concerned about STIs and all that.”
Maverick props himself up on one elbow, still inside me, looking baffled and wildly amused. “Are we seriously having the STI conversationmid-fuck?”
“I’m just saying!” I hiss. “We barely know each other! What if you’ve been out here spreading free linebacker love all over the league?”
He snorts. “Free linebacker love?”
The last thing I want to do is imply that he’s been banging tons of women ... but I also don’t want to assume he isn’t, now that he and I are ... a couple? Lord, even that feels weird to say in my own head.
“I’m not trying to insult you. I’m just trying to make a point. I don’t know your sexual history.”
“And you don’t think we should have talked about this sooner? I’ve already dumped in you, like, six times.”
Dumped in me.
Ew.
I make a gagging sound. “Can you pleaseneverphrase it like that again?”
Maverick laughs like I’m the funniest person he’s ever met, which would be flattering if I weren’t currently trying to have avery seriousadult conversation while half naked and still slightly out of breath.
“I’m being mature,” I insist, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You’re being gross.”
“I’m beinghonest,” he counters, catching my hand and kissing the palm.
I sigh. “Just tell me you’ve been safe. Like, in general. Before this.”
