Chapter Fourteen
Windsor
My mother didn’t eat dinner with us and, damn, it was so delicious. Maverick is a fantastic chef. He doesn’t have to measure anything and only glanced at a recipe twice.
He was a little out of sorts when he came back from his run. I pray to any deity that will listen that my crazy ass mother won’t scare him off. It would be fitting if she did though. He has been so sweet to me since we’ve been here. He knows I need something to balance out the ugly. He brought home two bouquets of flowers when he returned. One for me and one for my mother. Obviously overkill, but who was I to deny my boyfriend motherly bonding with Krazy Kath? I have to keep reminding myself that I’m used to being an emotional bomb when I’m near the beast. Maverick has no clue this is how it is every time we’re together. I’m sure he’s catching on.
Kathy drank herself to sleep before 4 p.m. Fitting. Now Maverick and I are snuggled in my double bed, staring up at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling. No matter which way we lay, we’re touching. It’s only now that I feel gratitude toward number two for buying me a double bed instead of the queen that I’d asked for. This has always been my room. It feels strange now. My mother always lived in this house. Husbands came and went through the revolving door downstairs. I guess I should be grateful I didn’t have to move constantly, like some of my friends with divorced parents. I think she promised my Dad she’d give me a stable home life. I scoff at that crazy notion.
I roll to face Maverick. “I’m going to miss you so much,” I whisper, turning my head to kiss his neck. He breathes out a contented sigh. I can’t help the giggle and then kiss a little more wantonly—my tongue licking, lips brushing, and teeth trailing. He rolls on his side, one hand splayed on my ass, the other behind his head. Of course I’m insanely turned on because Maverick is in a five-mile radius. It’s so unfair, the effect he has on me.
“Where’s your accent?” Maverick asks, surprising me. He is so trying to distract me. I’ll let him…for a little while. I smile.
“Do you wish I had a southern drawl? I’ve never had an accent. I think this state has pockets of country. Does that make sense?” I ask. In the city no one has accents, but in the smaller counties you’d think we were in Kentucky or somewhere where good ole’ boys rule the world. My parents don’t have an accent, so I lucked out. Maverick shrugs.
“The women at the grocery store had thick accents. I was just wondering,” he explains. I lean over and place a dry kiss on his mouth. His hard-on pokes me in the stomach.
“Were you wooing women in my hometown grocery store, T.H.?” I ask, wiggling a little bit to let him know I feel his erection. I see his white smile in the dark. He grazes my earlobe with his teeth. “You were all sweaty and probably all mouthwatering. It’s hardly fair. These women aren’t used to men like you,” I whisper. It comes out breathy, and his gentle licks send shivers directly between my legs.
“I only care about wooing you,” he says, still too close to my ear for me to think straight. “Men like me?” he asks. Does he want reassurance? Surely a man like Maverick knows exactly how people perceive him.
“Consider me wooed. I’m gooey and pliant and completely at your disposal,” I admit, turning my head to catch his lips against mine. I speak against his mouth, “Men like you. The type that are so magnificent and perfect that women aren’t sure if we want to turn around and run for the hills, or strip off our panties and demand retribution for living in such an unfair world.” He chuckles a little. I trail my hand over the side of his neck and over his large, hard bicep. “Put me in the second category.” He groans. I haven’t stopped moving my hand on his body. I’m now grazing over his rippled stomach and further down.
Quick as lightening he rolls me over, his weight pressing me on the bed. Even in the dark his perfect hazel gaze finds mine. “I wish I was as perfect as you think I am. I wish I were good. I’m not. I want to be good enough. For you,” he says, his voice cracking a little bit.
Instead of replying, I kiss him. I was just playing around. Maverick’s words are serious. They hang in the air like an unspoken question. He’s leaving tomorrow for a week and I don’t want him to remember a serious conversation. I entwine my tongue with his. I pull on his thick bottom lip with my teeth. I keep my eyes open because he likes to watch me kiss. I like him watching me kiss him.
I don’t beg him for sex anymore. It will be obvious when he’s ready. He’ll be inside me. He always makes sure I come…at least once. His tongue and hands rival the average guy’s dick. I try not to dwell on how many women he’s practiced on, but it’s hard not to be thankful when I’m screaming his name in complete ecstasy. I do wonder what exactly he thinks will happen after we do the deed. Personally, I think I’ll be so happy that I won’t think straight for a few weeks, and then I’ll make him screw me a million more times until I can’t walk. Then I’ll have to stay in his bed forever. It will be perfect. I wish he knew that. I’m open about everything with him. But something holds me back from telling him these things. My pride wants him to come to the conclusion all by himself. I won’t beg, but I will tease him unmercifully. I get an idea. I break the kiss. I lick his neck tattoo and across his jawline.
“I have an idea,” I tell him. I jump up from my bed, click on a small light, and start digging through my old dresser. There is some seriously creepy clothing from the 80’s—ugly t-shirts with Bob Saget on them, back when he was a father to DJ and Stephanie, and not some skeevy old guy. There is also, in the very back of the bottom drawer, a lacy piece of lingerie. It was my in case of emergency item when I was a senior in high school. Of course it never got used.
“Why does that sound like a horrible idea and a bad case of blue balls?” Maverick growls from the bed. I can only laugh. He already knows what’s inside my head—what I want to do to him. Maybe along with his lie detecting he can also read minds. Nothing would surprise me at this point.
I tell him to turn away and not to look until I tell him to. I slide off my nightshirt and pull the scrap of lace over my head. It hugs me like a glove. I remove my panties because to be the ultimate tease, I plan to show him everything he’s refusing to partake in…and dance on his lap. A little dirty, but I’m sure he can handle it. A box catches my eye. It’s poking out of Maverick’s leather overnight bag. He’s not looking so I investigate further. Because it looks like a box of condoms and I know it can’t be. But it is. A 24 pack of extra large sized schlong wrappers. I feel like I just found my Christmas presents and I’m about to get busted. Shit.
“I’m ready for it. Whatever depraved act you have planned…I’m ready,” Maverick says, his head still turned away. With the knowledge of the condoms my confidence falters a little. Dancing or stripping or doing many of the sexual things with Maverick are things I never, ever did in my past. All of it comes from the need to be creative—no sexual intercourse makes for interesting, hot foreplay. Dampness creeps between my legs at the mere thought. Turning him on equals turning me on.
I yank on the bottom of the stretchy black lace. “Okay. You can look n-o-ow,” I stutter. Real freaking sexy, Windsor. Why did I have to see the box? I would be dancing with the same confidence as the pros at the Spearmint Rhino if I didn’t look in his bag. Crap.
Maverick shifts in the bed and stares at me. He continues staring at me. And he also looks like he wants to devour me…and I haven’t so much as moved an inch. I shoot him a weak smile.
“Depraved enough?” I ask, running my hands down my sides. He nods. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his feet planted solidly on the floor. His abs flex when he moves, and even just sitting there shirtless, they are on full display.
Mustering courage, I bite my lip and sashay up to him, using my best sexy walk. The seventeen year old me who slept a thousand nights in this room would never believe the almost-thirty year old me has this man in this bed. She’d demand photographic evidence.
He reaches both his arms out the second I get close enough to grab. I shake my pointer finger at him. “No, no, no. Touching isn’t allowed,” I say. He makes a big show of folding his hands in his lap and flashing his fucking dimples. No fair.
“You are so fucking hot, baby,” he says. I feel hot. He makes me feel it. I bring both of my hands up and run them through my hair. His eyes cut to my thighs that expose the millisecond I raise my arms. A few more centimeters and he’ll see my goods. I sway my hips back and forth, my bare feet on the wooden floor making the only noise. “Hold that thought,” he growls.
Maverick grabs his iPhone off the nightstand and turns on a classic rock song. Smiling, using both of his freaking dimples again, he sets the phone back on the nightstand. He nods at me. I never stopped moving in the first place. Now I let my hips rock back and forth, swaying and moving to the beat. Rubbing the side of my thigh, I bring my hand in between my legs and caress myself. I bite my lip, but never take my eyes of his.
He lays his hands on the top of his head and watches me in that predatory way as I move. I turn around and bend all the way over, baring myself completely. He lets out a whoosh of air. I peek at his face. It’s a firm mix of indecision and lust. His eyes are glued to my ass, while his chest works overtime to keep up with his rapid breathing. “You like?” I ask.
“You just passed depraved and moved into wicked territory,” he whispers so low I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to hear. “Come here,” he says a little more loudly.
I couldn’t tell him no if I wanted to. His voice sends a shock of wetness right between my thighs. The promise of his hands on me forces one foot in front of the other. I leave the hem of the lace riding high and straddle his lap, facing him. His hard-on is on full display, tenting his black boxer briefs, begging to be touched.
Finding one of the few appropriate places, he rests his hands on my arms. “What are you doing to me?” He lays his head against my chest, buzzing his nose and lips against my skin.
