Legend
Page 56
His hands open on my hips and splay outward, to encompass my ass.
This ass is mine. . . .
I lift my head, and he looks wicked. Smiling wickedly. I’m drunk with the sight of him.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I can feel him kiss me.
I suddenly press a little closer, then he whispers in my ear, “That’s right, Reese, dance with me,” and he reaches up to slide his hands down my bare arms, over my shoulders, down my curves as we start dancing.
He just fought. He just got into the finals, and I know this because I was clinging to news from the team like a junkie. Testosterone pulses through Maverick’s body in the usual fighter’s high, and I grab his jaw and press my lips to his, then quickly embrace him and keep moving with him as I whisper, “You’re going to the finals.”
He whispers back to me through the music, “That’s right. And I want you there with me.”
We’re still moving, but he eases back to put a few inches between us and study my face. His face is raw. His eyes are hungry.
There’s something more than desire in his eyes. There’s something primal.
And I think Maverick wants me for Christmas.
And for Thanksgiving. And Easter.
And I think Maverick wants me right now.
On the dance floor.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, the square muscles that are straining his shirt. “Miles was my sponsor in AA,” I say, close to his ear so he can hear me through “Rollercoaster” by Bleachers. “AA prefers for heterosexual men and women not to sponsor each other, but I thought he genuinely wanted to help. He kept telling me that he saved me. And I thought I was in love with him because he gave me a chance to try to find myself. But a real man would’ve told me the truth. That I saved myself.”
“That just makes me want to pull out his testicles and feed them to the asshole.”
He pulls me a little closer, looking down at me in frustration, rawer and rawer as the music hums and beats around us. Bodies move, but the fire inside this building is alive as Maverick presses my body to his.
He lifts his head and scans the second-story balcony of the club, then stops dancing. Lacing my fingers in his, he leads me up the stairs and stalks purposely down the hall, peering into some curtained private rooms. He spots an open blue velvet curtain and he pulls it wider for me, tugging me inside, and I wait. Anticipation and nerves and need and love swirl around me as I stare at his back as he closes the velvet to the tiny private room with its cushioned bench a few feet away.
“Hey.” He comes over and takes one of my hips in his hand, pressing me back against the wall, eyes on my face. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. I don’t like him looking at you at all.”
“I hadn’t noticed he was looking at me, only sensed that you were close—”
He cuts me off, saying, Not close enough.
Lips taking mine. Tongue flashing into my mouth, his hands gripping my ass, squeezing my ass, lifting me by the ass and pressing me to his erection. “He’s looking at you like you’re his. And you’re not. You’re not his, Reese.” He sucks my tongue, commanding and without restraint as his fingers fly down the front buttons of my demure black wavy-skirt club dress.
“Did you wear this for him?” He touches the skirt of my dress, lifting it a bit before dropping it.
“No, I wore it for me,” I lie. “Because it’s soft and comfortable and it didn’t take up too much space in my suitcase.”
He grits his teeth as if he wanted me to say I wore this dress for him—my rebel maverick—and I breathlessly admit, “I bought it today thinking of you.”
“Fuck, I wanted you to say that.” He sets his forehead on mine as he runs his hand up the side of my dress. “You’re right, it’s soft, but your skin is softer and I want to take it off.” He dips his head lower and bites the top edge of my bra. He pulls it down roughly with his teeth, exposing me. Then his mouth is at the peak, drawing it in. Sucking and suctioning, licking and tasting me.
I’m seeing stars.
I reach out to grip his shirt—touch him.
His body is humming from the fight, and he still wants to fight Miles and I know it. He’s gritting his teeth in frustration as he lifts me and all his muscles are around me. I gasp against his throat and drag my mouth over any part of him I can kiss, taste, bite. “Are you jealous?” I whisper.
He looks at me with a bleak frown. “Of course I’m jealous; you wanted a future with Miles.”
But now I want one with you, I want to say.
Now I only want you.
I can’t talk, I’m so turned on. “Not”—I start to bite—“anymore,” I strain out. I hungrily bite his jaw, his chin. I can feel his breath, coming out fast with arousal. I bite his lip and he nips me back and suckles my lower lip, then he shoves his fingers into my panties. “Oh!” I say.
He uses his teeth and tongue to unhook the front of my bra. “It’s just me now, Reese.”
“Yes.”
Ohmyfuckinggod. His teeth. His fingers.
Pure heat blazes in his eyes. He’s gritting those teeth, feral as he looks at me. I snake my hands up to his shoulders, sinking in my nails. I claw them down his backside, then shove my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and sink my nails into his ass to pull him closer. He grinds himself to me, fingering me and pinning one of my arms to the wall and lacing his fingers through mine. He squeezes my hand and gives me a soul-crushing kiss that squeezes around my heart.
I wanted to see him fight. I wanted to be at his corner. I wanted to see him tonight and here he is. Not only letting me look at him in his most testosterone-filled moments after a fight, but having him see me. As he holds me here. Pinned. Helpless. A horny mess. In love. In want. Fingered and kissed and reckless and palpitating for my jealous Maverick.
I’m starting to shudder and bubble out incoherencies. He says, “Hold my neck and don’t let go of me.”
He takes out his finger, pulls my panties off, and when I grab his neck to frantically climb him, he quickly unzips and thrusts and takes me. We groan. His hands squeeze my flesh as he moves. Pounding into me. So hard, like he needs me to live. Catching my moans with his mouth. Squeezing my ass as he drives into me. It’s pure raw, pure need, him needing to be inside me and me needing him there. Here. Here. Frustrated. Desperate. Faster. Deeper. Our mouths fusing and moving and out of control until my body convulses, and he comes and holds me tighter to him.
This ass is mine. . . .
I lift my head, and he looks wicked. Smiling wickedly. I’m drunk with the sight of him.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I can feel him kiss me.
I suddenly press a little closer, then he whispers in my ear, “That’s right, Reese, dance with me,” and he reaches up to slide his hands down my bare arms, over my shoulders, down my curves as we start dancing.
He just fought. He just got into the finals, and I know this because I was clinging to news from the team like a junkie. Testosterone pulses through Maverick’s body in the usual fighter’s high, and I grab his jaw and press my lips to his, then quickly embrace him and keep moving with him as I whisper, “You’re going to the finals.”
He whispers back to me through the music, “That’s right. And I want you there with me.”
We’re still moving, but he eases back to put a few inches between us and study my face. His face is raw. His eyes are hungry.
There’s something more than desire in his eyes. There’s something primal.
And I think Maverick wants me for Christmas.
And for Thanksgiving. And Easter.
And I think Maverick wants me right now.
On the dance floor.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, the square muscles that are straining his shirt. “Miles was my sponsor in AA,” I say, close to his ear so he can hear me through “Rollercoaster” by Bleachers. “AA prefers for heterosexual men and women not to sponsor each other, but I thought he genuinely wanted to help. He kept telling me that he saved me. And I thought I was in love with him because he gave me a chance to try to find myself. But a real man would’ve told me the truth. That I saved myself.”
“That just makes me want to pull out his testicles and feed them to the asshole.”
He pulls me a little closer, looking down at me in frustration, rawer and rawer as the music hums and beats around us. Bodies move, but the fire inside this building is alive as Maverick presses my body to his.
He lifts his head and scans the second-story balcony of the club, then stops dancing. Lacing my fingers in his, he leads me up the stairs and stalks purposely down the hall, peering into some curtained private rooms. He spots an open blue velvet curtain and he pulls it wider for me, tugging me inside, and I wait. Anticipation and nerves and need and love swirl around me as I stare at his back as he closes the velvet to the tiny private room with its cushioned bench a few feet away.
“Hey.” He comes over and takes one of my hips in his hand, pressing me back against the wall, eyes on my face. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. I don’t like him looking at you at all.”
“I hadn’t noticed he was looking at me, only sensed that you were close—”
He cuts me off, saying, Not close enough.
Lips taking mine. Tongue flashing into my mouth, his hands gripping my ass, squeezing my ass, lifting me by the ass and pressing me to his erection. “He’s looking at you like you’re his. And you’re not. You’re not his, Reese.” He sucks my tongue, commanding and without restraint as his fingers fly down the front buttons of my demure black wavy-skirt club dress.
“Did you wear this for him?” He touches the skirt of my dress, lifting it a bit before dropping it.
“No, I wore it for me,” I lie. “Because it’s soft and comfortable and it didn’t take up too much space in my suitcase.”
He grits his teeth as if he wanted me to say I wore this dress for him—my rebel maverick—and I breathlessly admit, “I bought it today thinking of you.”
“Fuck, I wanted you to say that.” He sets his forehead on mine as he runs his hand up the side of my dress. “You’re right, it’s soft, but your skin is softer and I want to take it off.” He dips his head lower and bites the top edge of my bra. He pulls it down roughly with his teeth, exposing me. Then his mouth is at the peak, drawing it in. Sucking and suctioning, licking and tasting me.
I’m seeing stars.
I reach out to grip his shirt—touch him.
His body is humming from the fight, and he still wants to fight Miles and I know it. He’s gritting his teeth in frustration as he lifts me and all his muscles are around me. I gasp against his throat and drag my mouth over any part of him I can kiss, taste, bite. “Are you jealous?” I whisper.
He looks at me with a bleak frown. “Of course I’m jealous; you wanted a future with Miles.”
But now I want one with you, I want to say.
Now I only want you.
I can’t talk, I’m so turned on. “Not”—I start to bite—“anymore,” I strain out. I hungrily bite his jaw, his chin. I can feel his breath, coming out fast with arousal. I bite his lip and he nips me back and suckles my lower lip, then he shoves his fingers into my panties. “Oh!” I say.
He uses his teeth and tongue to unhook the front of my bra. “It’s just me now, Reese.”
“Yes.”
Ohmyfuckinggod. His teeth. His fingers.
Pure heat blazes in his eyes. He’s gritting those teeth, feral as he looks at me. I snake my hands up to his shoulders, sinking in my nails. I claw them down his backside, then shove my hands into the back pockets of his jeans and sink my nails into his ass to pull him closer. He grinds himself to me, fingering me and pinning one of my arms to the wall and lacing his fingers through mine. He squeezes my hand and gives me a soul-crushing kiss that squeezes around my heart.
I wanted to see him fight. I wanted to be at his corner. I wanted to see him tonight and here he is. Not only letting me look at him in his most testosterone-filled moments after a fight, but having him see me. As he holds me here. Pinned. Helpless. A horny mess. In love. In want. Fingered and kissed and reckless and palpitating for my jealous Maverick.
I’m starting to shudder and bubble out incoherencies. He says, “Hold my neck and don’t let go of me.”
He takes out his finger, pulls my panties off, and when I grab his neck to frantically climb him, he quickly unzips and thrusts and takes me. We groan. His hands squeeze my flesh as he moves. Pounding into me. So hard, like he needs me to live. Catching my moans with his mouth. Squeezing my ass as he drives into me. It’s pure raw, pure need, him needing to be inside me and me needing him there. Here. Here. Frustrated. Desperate. Faster. Deeper. Our mouths fusing and moving and out of control until my body convulses, and he comes and holds me tighter to him.
