Page 67 of Best Part of Me

He adjusts himself carefully, propping an elbow underneath his head so he can peer down at me. “I don’t mind getting sweaty and dirty with you, Sunshine.” He smirks.

The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile. He probably has a line that works for every situation. Because that’s what ladies’ men do. But I don’t care. In this moment, it’s just him and me. No one else exists.

With a thumb gliding against my jaw, Maverick juts my chin up and presses his lips against mine. The sweet scent of sweat fills my nose, and it’s more intoxicating than anything else I’ve ever smelled. There’s an instant hunger for him buzzing through my veins, and my mouth craves to kiss him—longer, deeper. My fingers ache to touch him. I trace the sculpted muscles of his chest through the fabric of his black tee.

Always the black tees. I’m half annoyed and half crazy for him because of this predictable thing.

He twists his hips and shoves a knee in between my legs, and I squeeze him to me. He lowers his head, first giving my forehead a lingering gentle kiss. The sweetness nearly kills me. My lips are jealous of my forehead.Of my fucking forehead. The craving to have that mouth on mine is borderline insane.

At last, he kisses me. Long and painstaking. I slip my hands inside his T-shirt, dragging my fingers down his back where the skin is sticky from his earlier sweat and his muscles are taut. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I suck in a breath as my stomach flips. The hammock gives us no choice but to squish closer together, our bodies confined in this small space. It should be awkward but it’s not. It makes me want him more.

It’s hot and daring. And probably reckless too.

He presses his lips against my neck, and I shiver underneath his kiss. I tug at the hem of his T-shirt, hiking it up his torso, and he breaks the trail of kisses while I pull it the rest of the way over his head. I’m antsy to get all his clothes off, but in the back of my head, I’m fully aware that we may not be alone.

While nestled in the hammock, dangling between two trees, we have some privacy. But we’re still in a public campground. Earlier in the day, it was swarming with people walking, kids riding bikes, and dogs on leashes. At not quite dusk, it’s light enough to have a clear view across the campground.

But in the heat of the moment, I block it out. It’s only Maverick and me. And as I glide my hand inside his pants, eagerly searching for the impressive hard-on I’ve only recently become lucky enough to see, to touch, it’s obvious he’s blocked out the rest of the world as well.

My hand finds the stiff bulge in his pants, and now I’m desperate for him. I need his pants off. Maverick grips my neck in his hold and kisses me. When I shove his pants down his trim hips, he breathes a chuckle against my lips.

“So eager.”

I pant into his open mouth. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Not on your life.”

He clutches my hip and thrusts me against him, anchoring me there.

“Good. Because I don’t think I can.”

“It’s a turn-on.”

His words encourage me to push his pants down farther, and I squeeze his butt cheek.

A teasing finger glides over my ribs, and I convulse at his touch.

“I need you, Mav,” I whisper like it’s a confession. And maybe it is. Maybe my meaning is more than right at this moment. But it doesn’t matter.

Because only this moment matters.

Maverick lifts his head, peering down at me, and my eyes dance over his. I want to know what he’s thinking. I want to know what he’s feeling. But at the same time, I’m scared as hell.

My worries over him thinking I’m good enough for now, or good enough because I’m here, consume my mind, and that’s not what I want to have swishing around in there right now. I’d rather be thinking about how good his firm ass feels underneath my palms, how his lips set my skin on fire, how his rumbling voice causes my toes to curl.

“What do you want? Tell me.”

So giving. So attentive. I can’t help but wonder if this is the kind of lover he typically is. Or is he only this giving with me?

“Your hands on me, your mouth on me, your skin on my skin.”

He wrestles a hand inside the waist of my yoga pants, and the hammock shifts underneath his movement. There’s no hesitation or teasing, his finger slides along my pussy, slipping inside me with ease, and I gasp.

Ask and it shall be received.

“You’ve got my hands.”

“I do. But I need more,” I whine, desperately.

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