Page 11 of Maverick
When betting your virginity ends with it being rejected, miserably and hideously.
“I can feel your anger blaring at me like the fire of the sun,” he says. “Turn it down a little bit so I can sleep.”
“Turn down how annoying you are,” I mutter.
“Can’t do that,” he says.
He’s unrepentant. But then, that shouldn’t surprise me. He’s always come across that way. Arrogant, unfriendly, entirely himself, and unconcerned with being anything else.
I don’t know if I hate him, want to make out with him, or just envy him. Because I’ve never been any of those things.
I caresomuch. Not enough to keep doing what my parents want in the shadow of my sister, but enough to try and prove that I’m good enough on my own. Of course, they don’t care about this. Which is part of my problem.
I cross my arms over my chest like I’m in a coffin, my eyes closed tightly.
I don’t want to deal with the reality of this situation. In the morning I’m going to feel even dumber than I do right now, and I don’t want to deal with it.
“Sweet dreams, Stella,” he says.
His voice echoes in my head, and I do my very best not to dream of him.
It doesn’t go well.
Chapter Three
Maverick
When I wake up in the morning, it’s on a gasp.
Like that last breath a person takes in before they die.
It’s because I hear someone moving around the kitchen. Making coffee. Domestic noises.
I’m staring at the inside of my hat, and that’s when last night comes back to me.
Stella Lane. That stupid girl.
Pretty. Very, very dumb.
I take my hat off my face, and see her standing against the counter, wearing tight sleep shorts and a waffle print long sleeve top. For a moment, I just want to lie there. I want to indulge in the sound of her making coffee and in the shape of her ass. Because it’s been a long time since… A lot of things.
She’s a virgin. She told me that last night.
She’s also reckless, dumb, and naïve. The virgin thing at least explains that. And actually, explains why she thought it was a good idea to bargain herself away for the evening, because onlysomebody who hasn’t had anonymous sex before would jump straight into that. Well, that wasn’t true.
Plenty of people could convince themselves that was a good time. I’ve done it. Not for ages.
You can lie to yourself. You can convince yourself that you’re not leaving pieces of yourself wrapped up in every blanket you roll out of after one of those encounters, but it’s a fucked-up mess. I know the difference between sex for the sake of it and sex because you’re building something with another person. Not that all casual sex is bad, it’s just…
Betting yourself in a poker game is a bad idea. And it’s a risk especially for women. Because God knows those men might not be worried about her pleasure at all.
The very idea of either of those men having her bent over the counter in the morning, hand pressed between her shoulder blades while they pump inside of her, staring at that gorgeous ass…
“Good morning,” I say, anything to stop myself from having that fantasy.
“Oh,” she says, turning around, and dammit, it’s not any better to look at her from the front. I can see her nipples through that top, and…
She’s got that athletic build that I like. A nice balance between toned and soft. She’s an athlete. A damn good one. Her ride last night notwithstanding. I wonder if that’s what created the whole situation. Clearly, she was pissed off about that, though it seems like betting your body is an overreaction.
