I turn my own head to meet his gaze. “I love you. I love you. I love everything about you.”
“Because I just rocked your fucking world?” His dimples pop. He looks so freaking hot right now, freshly fucked, and with love oozing out of every pore that I can barely stand it. He’s still inside me so I rock my hips to feel him deeper. I feel him watching me. My eyes flutter closed. He rocks into me again. I hear him laugh. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “Can’t even give me a straight answer huh?” He pulls out and rolls to his side next to me. I roll to my side too, so we’re face to face—heart to heart. I stare into his eyes and just breathe, coming down from my post orgasm high. I smile at him as he watches me.
Maverick cups my face in his hand. “You say you love me. Why? Why do you love me? How can you love me? Convince me,” he says, curiosity lighting his face. He doesn’t think I’ll be able to do it…with good reason, too. A year ago I would have no idea how to respond. I don’t think I even knew what love really was. He still thinks I don’t. But I do. I trace his lips with my fingers and bring my hand down to rest over his heart.
“I love you because behind the steel plates, narrowed eyes, and perpetually convincing ‘tough guy’ act you put up, you are soft—soft in all the places that matter. I love you because when you love something, you do it with all of your heart. Halfway or a quarter of the way isn’t an option. It’s all or nothing. I love that when you make up your mind, that’s it…the decision is made. I wish I could have an ounce of that ability, but I don’t need it when I’m with you because we balance each other out. I love that when you start a hobby, it becomes your passion. Passion is rare, and I can’t even calculate the amount that hums around you at any given moment. I love the way you look at me like you know exactly what I’m thinking, even when you don’t. I just love the way you look at me—like my eyes or face will fix something inside you. With a man like you, I feel helpless to contribute anything to our relationship. It drives me crazy. Then I realized I don’t have to match you stroke for stroke. All I have to do is love you. And I do. I love you. More than I even thought possible. Being away from you is torture. I want to fight with you and make up with you and live life with only you. I don’t need you in my life, Maverick. I want you in it to make life worth living.”
I’ve shocked Maverick Hart. He’s wide-eyed and gaping when I finish. Holding my head in his hands, he kisses me. Long and deep, just lips and breaths.
Into my mouth he whispers, “Thank you, Win.” It’s his only response other than his kiss. And I’m glad I finally had the nerve to admit it.
I should have told him that the second I figured it out. I know his thank you is all-encompassing and I don’t ask him to explain. When he breaks our kiss, he trails his hand over the side of my body, gliding over my hip and ending between my legs—his fingers rubbing the insane wetness between my thighs. I prop my knee up so he can look.
“It’s like truth serum,” Maverick says. “I like me in you.” He watches as he fingers glide in and out easily. A small sigh escapes my lips, drawing his gaze back to my face.
“I love you, Windsor.”
I lean in and kiss his nose and then his lips. “I love you, T.H.”
My words give him pause, his mouth stops working against mine. A few heartbeats pass, and he begins the kiss again, forcing me to lie back on the pillows as he buries himself inside me at the same time.
His face in my neck, he pushes in and out of me slowly, making love to me instead of fucking me senseless. I’m already hypersensitive so it doesn’t take long before my thighs tingle and I’m clenching around him. He muffles my cries with his lips, watching my eyes as intense waves of pleasure cause me to shiver. He comes seconds later. There are no words between us as his warm body lies on top of mine, our chests heaving, trying to catch our breath.
He licks my neck and inhales by my ear, breathing me in. I’m his. We stay connected as he rolls us to our sides. We fall asleep that way, joined as one and as close as we can possibly be. He’s mine. In all ways.
*****
“I still can’t believe we’re in Vegas. You’re crazy. You know that?”
Maverick chose the one destination that I never would have expected. He’s a recovering alcoholic for God’s sake. Embracing the mindset that he can do anything he wants to do without being tempted, and in order to prove to me that he’s in control of himself and his actions, he chose Sin City. The city of addiction of varying degrees. It’s also one of the few places where people are drunk on the streets at eight a.m…from the night before. I put all of the glittery cocktail dresses he bought to good use at Cirque du Soleil shows and eating at upscale, delicious restaurants. It’s our last night here, and it’s Sunday. I figured Sunday would be a less crazy day here, but I was wrong. I think Saturdays and Wednesdays hold the same appeal.
“Oh, come on. You have to go to Vegas at least once in your life. Plus, what better way to convince you of your magic pill capabilities,” Maverick says, taking my hand and leading me through the insanely loud casino lobby.
I’m still wary about his drinking. How could I not be, with Kathy as my mother? Surprisingly enough Maverick’s told me she’s stopped drinking, too. I try not to talk to her about her issues just to avoid conflict. I guess Maverick didn’t avoid anything during his time spent visiting her and Bill. He’s like a go-between now. I’ve never had that before and it’s…nice. I still don’t think any one person can be a magic pill. Until he proves me wrong, I’ll trust him to do what he thinks he needs to do.
Machines ding and lights suffocate the eyes at every turn, no matter the time of day. We’ve played at the slot machines a few times just because I asked him to. I couldn’t go to Vegas and not pull one of those filthy handles at least once. No alcohol or any other addictive substances, other than my body—multiple times a day—have even piqued his interest. Not even at the restaurants where a glass of fine wine is almost mandatory. If it’s bothering him being in this atmosphere, I would never be able to tell. Maybe that’s the point to all of this. It also makes me wonder how much acting he’s doing. Heaven knows he’s at expert level in that department.
A blackjack table catches his eye. “If you’re good at probabilities and have a great memory, you can beat the dealer. I’ve done it before. It just takes a lot of patience and more nerve than most people have. It’s ballsy to try,” he says, winking at me.
Oh, I bet it’s ballsy. Everything Maverick does is ballsy and unbelievable and honestly…unexpected. Now I’m almost certain SEALs function on a different frequency that no one else can tune into. It’s like a cult. Kind of. It’s definitely out of the realm where most people understand. I like that I don’t fully get him. It keeps me on my toes—like this morning when I woke up naked, wrapped in soft cotton sheets, to the sound of a guitar. He sang me a song that rivaled my first song. This time he did it in a pair of boxers, with his impossibly irresistible bed hair tousled. He looked me straight in the eye the entire time. It’s how he conveys what he’s feeling when normal words, in his opinion, don’t make the cut. I melted like I was standing on the face of the sun.
He points out the different games as we amble through the brightly lit aisles, while I flounce in my five-inch heels and a gold sequined dress that is probably more appropriate for Vanna White. It sparkles a million different colors. It really is beautiful…for a Vegas dress, that is. And Maverick loves it. So much in fact, that he removed it the second I put it on tonight and delicately placed it on a chair before screwing me against the huge plate glass window of our penthouse suite. My knees get a little weak thinking about it.
I glance over at him as we exit outside, the buzz of the people around us significantly quieter than the sirens and bells of the casino. He is so dashing in a tailored suit, his muscular form evident even in clothing. Every single woman in a fifty-yard radius stares. They don’t try to hide it either. Some look to be about sixteen and others look like they could be my Grandma’s age. His appeal knows no bounds. No one is attracted more than I am. Not just to his looks, but to what’s inside that perfectly structured body. His broken heart mending a little bit everyday, his will to move on in the face of loss…that’s the most attractive thing about him. He’s a survivor. We’re two souls cut from the same cloth. I swallow down the lump in my throat. My thoughts always wind back to his letter. How strong his feelings about life and taking chances are cause me to understand him better and love him more.
He grabs my hand in his and smiles just for the sake of smiling. He has no clue how appealing he is. Not anymore, at least. He doesn’t even notice the attention he gets from random strangers, waitresses, or even the girl who checked us in at the hotel front desk. When I mentioned it, he shrugged and said it didn’t matter who looked at him as long as I was looking at him too. I laughed it off. The man is all mine. There are no doubts how in love he is. I think that’s the thing—I know how much he loves me…I feel it. That’s what makes it real. That’s what makes me so confident in every aspect of our relationship. I try to form a mental image of my relationship with Nash, paired with mine with Maverick, and it’s insulting to the years I spent thinking Nash wasthe onefor me. Love equals confidence. Bravery. Leaping without looking. Maverick Hart.
He looks both left and right, eyes scanning our surroundings. “I wanted to show you something,” he admits, peering down at me. “It’s just around the side here. We have time before our dinner reservations.” He pulls me against his side and kisses the top of my head.
“As long as I don’t end up getting road rash, I’m game,” I tease. He tried to cajole me into having sex…in his driveway. Oh, did he try. His baritone laugh wraps around me, making me reconsider road rash as a bad thing.
I wrap my arm around his back and look up. His face is blank, but his eyes are full of worry. He doesn’t know I’m looking. He peeks down and sees my case study.
“Everything okay?” I ask, pulling away to see his whole face. He bites his lip and nods.
“Being around this many people. It’s a cluster. My brain won’t turn off,” he explains, like it’s a normal thing every human being feels. He ushers me toward the side garden by the hotel. We took a walk through here the other morning so he knows where to lead under the dim moonlight. It’s less busy here. There isn’t any alcohol or gambling. It makes sense. The path winds around beautifully manicured bushes and trees that I’m sure require some sort of weird tools to keep up a laEdward Scissorhands.
“Are you going to grow claws and cut my name into this bush? Don’t scar your face though,” I say pointing to a large lion shaped topiary.
