Page 62 of The Consequence of Loving Me

My mind races for a few moments longer before I make a mistake. A mistake I’m willing to face the consequences for because there’s nothing else I can think of at the moment.

“You don’t even know the definition of selfish.” And with that I close the distance between us. I push him against the wall and kiss him, attacking him with my mouth. I’m still so angry, but I take it out on his lips.

I expect him not to kiss me back, to push me away and say something to make me feel guilty for wanting him like this.

But he doesn’t do that.

As soon as my lips assault his, he’s ready, as if he’s been waiting for this longer than I have.

We attack each other in a frenzy I can’t explain. Our chests collide together. My teeth bang against his. Neither one of us can decide where we want our hands to land. I thread my fingers through that dark hair at the top of his head and yank him closer to me, pulling him down so he arches over me. I rub my body against his as our lips move together in a crashing symphony.

His hands wrap around my waist, fisting the fabric of my sweater in his fingers. “Holy fuck,” he says, his lips running down my throat in a slow descent that fires off so many nerve endings in my abdomen. His teeth clamp down on the skin of my shoulder, causing me to moan desperately, my hips arching against his.

I grab the strong line of his jaw and guide his lips back to mine, already missing how they fell against mine in perfect rhythm. When given the opportunity, I take his full bottom lip—where his scar sits—and bite down. I pull it out as he lets out a moan himself. My teeth let go, but I go back for more and kiss the spot where my teeth just were. My tongue caresses the jagged line, committing it to memory. If I thought I could paint it before, it doesn’t compare to how I could now. Now that I’ve had the chance to become very acquainted with it.

The strong hands on my waist slide underneath my sweater. They tighten against my skin before Maverick lifts me up, spinning us, then pushes me against the wall. I’m now face-to-face with him without having to pull his neck down. My legs twist around his hips, gripping him so hard there’s no way he could get rid of me at this point.

His deep eyes stare at me for one long, agonizing moment. I wish I could be in his head right now, but the thought leaves as soon as his lips are back on mine. He kneads at my ass and I suddenly wish I didn’t have leggings on. I want to feel his skin against mine. If I didn’t have them on right now, I’d be able to feel the flex of his muscles against my inner thighs.

It’s something I desperately need.

“You taste better than I could have ever fantasized,” he murmurs.

My thighs clench around him.

32

Maverick

“Have you been thinking about me, Maverick?” she whispers. Her legs are wrapped so tightly around me that it hurts to breathe, the soft skin of her thighs rubbing against my hip bones.

“Even though every part of me didn’t want to,” I respond, pulling her hair so her throat is exposed. My mouth licks and nips at her creamy white skin. As difficult as she is in person, I thought it would be hard to get a reaction out of her, but it’s the opposite. She sighs and moans with every press of my body against hers.

Her hands fly up to my chest, pushing against it—hard. “Oh my god, Selma.” Her eyes are wide—regret etched in every single line on her face.

I miss the feel of her legs around me as soon she unravels them. I help her catch her balance as her bare feet thud against the carpeted floor. I don’t move my hands from the small of her waist.

I force her face to look at me by grasping her chin lightly. “Selma and I aren’t a couple anymore. You know that.”

Her perfect mouth opens widely. Her jaw works open and then closes as she tries to figure out what to say.

And I understand why—because it feels odd for me to even say, a part of me still not used to the words.

Ever since Selma and I broke up, I told myself I wouldn’t allow myself to put my hands on Veronica for months—if given the chance. I didn’t want to come off as that douchebag who bounced from one chick to another. But that was obviously another lie I told to myself to feel like I was doing the right thing.

Now I know that doing the right thing can go to hell if it means I get to taste Veronica again.

It’s all I’ve thought about since the night we played spin the bottle.

Selma and I are over. I was faithful to her, always. That has to count for something. And I know I should give it time before I try whatever this is with Veronica, but I’m not strong enough to follow my own advice.

I knew the moment before my lips first pressed against hers, during that game of spin the bottle, that I would never be able to forget it. And I did it anyway.

Now, I can admit I need her lips on me just as badly as I want to unravel the tangle of lies she tells herself every night to cope with her trauma. Desperately. Passionately. Without any thought of the consequences.

“So, I’m the god damn rebound?” She crosses her arm over her chest, glaring at me like I’m the first person on her shit list.

The pout on her face is adorable.

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