Page 25 of Maverick
Standing at the stove, I shot a look over my shoulder. The cheeky grin on his face told me that I didn’t need to say a word about how bad of a decision that would be. Bloating and food comas didn’t make for a functioning athlete. “Do Ineedto list all the reasons that won’t help you?”
“No…” he grumbled.
“Do you want a drink?” With the way my Daddy senses were on fire, I wouldn’t have normally offered, but one wouldn’t hurt—and I wanted to see where his limits were.
While Maverick mulled over his answer, I plated up our chicken Caesar salads and carried them to the counter. “I… don’t know.”
Smiling, I set his plate down. “Do you want me to make the decision for you?”
Maverick let out a sigh of relief. “Could you?”
“Of course I can.” I retrieved two bottles of water from the fridge, then slid my stool closer to him, letting my left hand fall to his thigh. “Eat up, princess.” And when he lifted the first bite to his mouth, I tacked on, “That’s my good girl.”
The precious boy whimpered around his fork. “Can I at least feed myself before you take me apart?”
“Take your time. But we’re not having sex tonight.”
That had him sputtering on his water. “What? Why?”
Where his shorts had ridden up, my thumb stroked the sensitive skin high on his leg. He only wriggled and tried to urgemy hand upward. “Something tells me you need a different kind of release tonight.”
With a pointed glance at his crotch, Maverick muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Think again.”
I only laughed. He’d had a bad day; I could let him get away with being a little mouthy. We ate quietly, with only the sounds of scraping cutlery being the only thing in the room. I kept my left hand where it was and eventually, he stopped trying to move it. Bowl empty, Maverick sat back in his chair, easing into my arm as I finished eating. I massaged the muscle beneath my palm, switching to the other leg when he nudged me to do so. The moment I finished eating, I hauled him into my lap, his back against my front. The stool complained under our combined weight, but I didn’t care.
With both my arms around him, he finally relaxed. He let out a long, deep breath, and his head fell onto my shoulder, his fingers twisting into mine. “Please don’t make me talk about it,” he pleaded, tracing the vein on the back of my hand with his thumb.
“I’m not,” I assured him, pressing my lips to his shoulder. “But I am trying to decide if you need the hot tub or an ice bath.”
“Don’t you think I’ve been tortured enough for one day?” he groaned. “Don’t make me get in an ice bath right now.”
“They’re good for you.”
“So is broccoli and I don’t particularly care for that either.” He stood and flipped around to straddle my lap, letting his arms fall around my shoulders. When he batted those dark lashes at me, I knew I was done for. “Please, Daddy?”
I scoffed, tightening my grip on him. “Okay! I didn’t know I had such a brat on my hands.”
“I’m not a brat!” His cheeks were bright pink now. “Just your little… princess.” He whispered the word, as if the walls were going to tell on him, ducking his head to his lap.
My fingers danced up his sides, eliciting the mostadorable giggle from him. He attempted to bat my hands away, but I was stronger. “Stop—I’m ticklish.”
“Stop what? This?” I dug in harder. Maverick squirmed and bucked in my lap and despite the rulesI’dset, my cock took interest. The boy then leapt backward, shoving our plates aside and hopping onto the counter in an attempt to get away from me, but I was no match for him.
I stood and pressed close between his spread thighs, tickling his ribcage harder. He threw his head back, howling with laughter and gasping for breath. His pretty eyes sparkled, a complete one-eighty to what they looked like when he showed up. I’d have done anything not to see tears there ever again.
"St-stop!" he panted, scrabbling at my hands. "I'm gonna pee!"
I continued for a moment, until his legs squeezed around my hips—we hadn't talked aboutthataspect of control quite yet. He wriggled on the countertop, fighting to catch his breath. "Do you want help with the dishes?"
I leaned in and pressed our lips together. Maverick let out a contented hum, warm breath washing over my skin. "I've got it, princess," I told him, deepening the twin spots of color on his cheeks. "Go use the bathroom and we'll get you into that hot tub."
“Yes, Daddy.”
Once he'd disappeared into the hallway, I gathered up the dirty dishes, rinsed them, and stacked them in the dishwasher. As I did, I glanced out the kitchen window. Clouds had been rolling in all day, but it had been nothing more than a tease. My granny used to say it was "enough to make you mad," and I think that had been exactly what happened on the field. Well, that combined with Maverick's long history with Reese.
Eventually deciding to take the risk on the rain, I pulled two glasses out of the cabinet and some juice from the fridge. I still didn’t think it was a good idea for Maverick to drink, but that didn't mean that I couldn't make itfeellike he was drinking a relaxing cocktail. I'd felt the way his thigh muscles twitchedbeneath my hand as we ate. The poor guy was tired, and likely sore. I knew I felt it—we all did. That sort of ache didn't go away the longer you played; you just learned how to deal with it.
By the time Maverick returned to the kitchen, I'd started the dishwasher and our two drinks were sitting on the counter. "What are these?" he asked, grabbing one of the glasses and giving it a suspicious sniff.
