Page 124 of Speak

“I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

When he steps out of his slacks it looks like lightning bolts going down his strong thighs.

It’s when he turns to check the temperature of the water I hold in my gasp. He has bullet scars on his shoulders and his ribs. A tattoo of an old ship on a turbulent sea covers the scars like mine covers my own. I reach out to touch and when I do, he tenses for only a moment before relaxing against my touch.

He clears his throat, still not facing me. He just holds his hand out behind him and when I take it, he tugs me into the shower with him. He scrubs me clean and then himself. It’s a quick shower and when he reaches between my legs to clean me up, he thickens immediately. It seems the response I have to him is the same for him when it comes to me.

When we step out of the shower, Damon is there with a warm towel. He doesn’t linger, giving us time together. Mav’s room, obviously the master bedroom, is spacious and oddly empty. Yes, it has a bed and a dresser and two nightstands but there’s hardly anything here. It doesn’t look lived in. It looks like a set for a Home & Gardens catalog, as though he went to a store, saw the display and said, “I’ll take it as is.”

The lack of warmth makes me a little sad.

Maverick rummages around one of the drawers and pulls out a shirt of his and tugs it over me. Green eyes bounce all over me as though he’s trying to remember every detail or he doesn’t know where to look or both. It’s the first time his gaze is soft when it’s in my direction and it makes me uneasy. I don’t know what I’m expecting. I don’t know where to go from here.

“I’m… I’m not an easy man to live with, probably. I’m not very kind. I’m a selfish motherfucker and I tend to voice my opinions even if they’re unwanted. It’s hard for me to open up to others and I enjoy the quiet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully be kind to you,” he visibly swallows and I follow the bobbing of his throat as he searches for the words. “Damon has made me aware you are... I… he believes I live in a world of black and white. Wrong and right. I don’t know if I can- Christ, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, angel.”

I arch a brow and tilt my head to the side.

“You do things to me I’ve never felt before. You make me act on impulse and you piss me off so fucking much.”

I grimace.

He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words to articulate whatever it is he’s trying to say, his tattoos stretching along with him and I follow them down the expanse of his abdomen to where they disappear into the towel wrapped around him. I love his body. It’s not young and ripped like Jonas' wide receiver body. But you can see how he puts in the hard work for his physique. His legs are strong, thick and defined by his lightning bolts, the V is toned and has a six pack, leading up to his pecs, his collarbones protrude only for his traps to be the main reason as to why they protrude. The veins in his forearms travel along corded muscles in his biceps and triceps.

He's a masterpiece.

He grins as he catches me staring. If anything, he looks like an MMA fighter. Which would make sense. Of course he’s strong. He has to fight people if they fight back. Of course he runs. He’s been trained to hunt and catch bad guys.

My clit tingles at the memory of how he chased me and held me down. I’m his bad guy. I groan inwardly. How am I horny again? I’ve done nothing but get fucked since I woke up and yet I want more?

“I’m trying to say I want your lilacs and purples.” There goes my pussy again. “I’m trying to say I know I’m not- fuck, I’m terrible at this. I like you here. I want you here. I loved knowing I was coming home to you. I’ve never driven over the speed limit without my lights flashing overhead and my sirens blaring. I’ve never even attempted to provide aftercare. In the three years I’ve been teaching at Rayne-Moore, I’ve never brought a woman here. It was always one and done. With you I want more. I want totry.”

Wet. I’m so fucking wet again. I tilt my head and motion to the closed door at Damon and Jonas.

He shrugs. “They know how to treat you where I fail… I didn’t grow up watching my father treat my mother properly, not at all, actually. She left when I was a child. My father never really got over my mother leaving. We had a rocky relationship and then he died. I… I’mlearning. Okay? You may have to be more patient with me because all of this is completely brand-new territory for me.”

I nod and press on my toes to kiss him, which he responds by kissing me back. It’s still tender but it’s not all-consuming. It’s a kiss that’s quietly begging me to love and trust in him without any of the extra words. It’s a silent plea, a redundant silent plea because I already love him. Love the way he makes me feel and what he brings out of me. It’s carnal and visceral and pure lust.

After he brushes my hair and goes to find a pair of panties for me to wear and comes back with them, putting them on me, we go down and have dinner with my other guys. It’s our first dinner together and it’s a little awkward at first but he holds my hand or grips my thigh underneath the table every now and then, as if making sure I’m truly beside him. I don’t think this man has ever had a family meal and granted, I’ve never had one around a table that wasn’t made to fit fourteen or more people, I’m sure Jonas feels the same way. Damon ignores all of our awkwardness, the brilliant psychiatrist he is, accepting all of this completely as if it’s just second nature.

Our new normal.

It's when Maverick looks at me over a glass of wine, moss-colored yes, winking at me that I feel some semblance of home with him. It’s the other thing I feel that I hate.

I love Maverick Harrington, this much I know.

I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust him like I trust Damon and Jonas and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

But there’s only one way to find out.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Raven.

“Ah, yes, Miss Monroe, thank you for coming to see me. I would like for you to be my TA,” he says, somewhat loudly in case any students have lingered outside in the classroom before shutting and then locking the door behind him. I came straight here after my Art History lecture. I peel off my panties and sit on his desk, the wood cool against my bare cheeks. Maverick’s peridot gaze darkens to emerald, eyes hooded as he takes his seat behind his desk. “Spread your legs wider, Siren, or I’ll spread them for you.”

I barely slide them open just a little wider to see my handsome professor’s lip curl upwards in distaste but I know he loves this. He gets off on making me do things that please him. Forcing me. And so do I.

“You always have to be a bad girl for me, don’t you? You can never just be my good, obedient student, can you?”

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