He runs a warm hand down the side of my body and stops on my hip. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or are you going to make me guess?” I think for a second that making him guess will be a fun game, but think better of it.
“I’ll tell you later. I just want to have fun now,” I say leaning up to kiss him on his lips. He shakes his head. I wedge my tongue in between his lips in protest. There’s no fight. He opens up and lets me in with a loud groan. He shifts me a little and I shut my eyes a little tighter when I feel the pain return.
“You fucked someone else,” he whispers in between kisses. I pull away, stunned at what he’s said.
I shake my head and say, “No!” at the same time. For him to be able to pinpoint exactly where I’m hurt is amazing. The fact he’s acting like he wouldn’t care if I did have sex with someone else is even more disconcerting. He disconnects our lips and waits for an explanation. I sigh. “There was someone in between my legs today,” I say, thankful for the dark. He can’t see how furiously I’m blushing.
He takes a few steps away from me and looks at me like I’ve burned him. “I knew it.” He pulls the ends of his hair, something I now know he does when he’s frustrated. I could let this go on all night. But I won’t.
“Stop it,” I say. I’m angry he thinks I would do anything with anyone else, my chest rises and falls rapidly. Does he not see himself? It’s like a death wish for any man who comes after him.
He stares at me blankly. Hurt crosses his face.
“Gretchen, Maverick. Gretchen was the one between my legs.” His eyebrows pull inward, and his mouth forms a grimace. Confusion etches every surface of his face. I laugh. “Come here,” I crook a finger a few times. He hesitates, but walks over to me very slowly. I peer left and right to make sure we’re absolutely out of eyeshot of anyone and grab his hand. “Trust me,” I say.
I guide his palm to the hem of my dress. His eyes are fixated on his hand, like he can’t believe what’s happening. Eyes wide, he lets me be in control.
“Don’t move,” I tell him. He swiftly nods.
I flip his hand over so his fingers are up and I bring two fingers to my sex. His eyes flutter closed as I use his fingers to trace the lips, avoiding the center, and also the sore side. A guttural noise escapes his throat as his forearm muscles bunch, wanting to take control. I know he won’t and the power he gives me makes me so freaking hot.
“She waxed me,” I breathe, so incredibly turned on I might just burst into flames. “She also hurt me.” I pull his fingers closer and circle them around the sensitive area that joins my sex with my leg.
His eyes open and meet mine, then dip down to watch his hand and my hand joined, under my dress. The sight alone is almost enough to send me over the edge. His hand twitches and I know his control is waning. You can’t ask that much from a man who has his fingers near a wet hole.
“It’s just you, Maverick. This,” I move his hands around the smooth area, getting closer to the center, “it’s yours and yours alone. I’m just sort of out of commission for the night,” I admit ruefully. I know for a fact my face is a shade of red. I bite my lip. The music is blaring in the background, but I can still hear his breathing.
“I thought that was you, Mav,” a woman slurs from behind him. I try to jerk his hand away, but he keeps it firmly planted right where it was a second ago. His huge frame masks the fact that I’m even standing in front of him, luckily. He turns his head to the side. “I’ve been trying to call you,” the female voice bites out.
“Yeah. I’m a little busy right now,” he says. He is quite busy, though my curiosity is insanely piqued. I glance around his shoulder and find a tiny blonde in a cop costume. Irritation courses through me. I see the way she’s looking at him…and me. Her face falls a little when she sees he isn’t going anywhere.
“Later then?” she asks. I have to balk at that. Maverick is standing here, obviously with me and she asks “later”? Seriously. Women have no self-respect. Then I remember his hand is on my sex in a public facility. I’m not much better than she is. At least she knows exactly what she wants. Him.
I look up to his face. I desperately want to know how he’s going to respond to her, if at all. He sighs. Pulling his hand away, and tickling every sensitive area as he does, he wraps his arm around my waist. Cop chick is still standing there, waiting for him to respond to her. Waiting for the time of day.
“Not later, no. This is my girlfriend,” he says, nodding his head to me.
Her eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. She doesn’t believe him. Or she doesn’t know what the term “girlfriend” means. I’d place a wager on either. She takes a step closer and stares directly at me. It’s more than a stare; this bitch is scrutinizing me from head to toe. I pull at my hem, suddenly extremely self-conscious. I have to remind myself that he just called me his girlfriend and she is the other woman.
“Have a good night, Nic,” he says loudly. And she is dismissed. I wince at his tone. He was polite at first, I give him that.
She lets out a high-pitched giggle. “You’re serious?” she asks. “Maverick has a girlfriend? So what hotel do you take an official girlfriend to?” She air quotes on the word “girlfriend”.
My cheeks are red. I know it. I feel hot from my head to my toes, and I know it’s obvious to anyone who sees me. I’m jealous this stranger knows things about Maverick. How many pieces of him are scattered around Virginia Beach? The US? The world? I feel sick.
Maverick laughs. It’s caustic and bitter. “Jealous?” he asks.
My stomach flips again. This is the cocky Maverick I met at a bar. The one who oozes sex and knows it. This is how he treated me before he knew me. She folds her arms under her huge fake boobs. I notice she doesn’t say she’s not jealous.
“She’s my girlfriend. She stays at my house,” he says, finally putting her out of her misery. He pulls me tighter to his side. He has no idea that I am so put off by this reminder of “bad” Maverick, that I might just tell him I don’t want to see his freaking house. But I do. Of course I do. I’m just so baffled by all the feelings I have in this moment. Being with Maverick is like sharing him with everyone. There’s no flying low on any radar. He owns everything surrounding him.
Blonde cop rolls her eyes. “Right,” she mutters, turns on her pointy boot heel, and stalks off. I watch her perfect figure vanish behind the curtain and wonder how many other women behind that curtain there are. I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale a pent up breath.
“How many,” I ask. It’s simple. I shut my eyes because I don’t want him to see how much I truly want to know this answer. He must know. He must have a black book somewhere with all of his conquests. If there isn’t a name, there must be a number. He did remember this girl’s name, so does that make her agoodone? I groan when I realize where my thoughts have taken me.
Stone pops his head around their curtain. “Drinks are here. Want one, Windsor?” he asks, a perfect gentlemen. A freaking façade. Both of them are scrupulous actors. I see how easily Maverick turns it on and off.
“Yes please,” I say sweetly, breaking from Mavericks grasp. Even though my crotch feels like it’s on fire, I don’t break my stride or let on to the pain. I sit next the nun and pour a huge cup of vodka with a tiny splash of Sprite. Morganna looks at me oddly.
