Page 71 of Maverick
I swallow hard, and nod.
I get out the glasses, pour two glasses of wine.
I’m not a big wine person, but I know that she is. From conversations we’ve had, from her sharing stories about her home in Sonoma.
Her parents have a small vineyard, and they make wine occasionally as a novelty for their friends.
I told her unequivocally that that was rich person nonsense. And she reminded me that other classes of people enjoy making moonshine.
Yet again, people are the same, just in a different font.
But I enjoy the wine while sitting there with her more than I ever have enjoyed wine before. Enjoy a plate of cheese more than I ever thought possible.
I enjoy the moment with a purity that I can’t say I often experience.
Then, when we’re finished, I pack back up, bring her back up onto Jake with me, and we ride. Nowhere in particular. Just all over. It’s like our heartbeats meld into one as she clings to me, as we race across the fields.
She moves her hand beneath my shirt, and I clench my jaw. Then, still holding on, she moves her hand out of my shirt and down to the front of my jeans.
“Holy shit, girl,” I say. But she’s not listening to me. Maybe my words are lost in the wind. She undoes my belt, her fingers are practiced, dexterous. Probably all the times she’s put a saddle on and taken it off. Good with her hands.
She undoes the button on my jeans, my fly, and pushes her hands down, grabbing hold of my cock, squeezing tight as the momentum carries us forward.
I can honestly say I’ve never done this. I’ve never even thought about it. Getting jerked off while I ride a horse is completely insane, and completely awesome.
God, she makes me feel young in a way I never was. She makes me feel insane. And bold. Manic and completely put together, all at once.
The white-hot pleasure ignited in my veins is a whole firestorm that I never want to end. She’s sweet, but wild. Together, we’re a bit dangerous.
And nothing has ever felt more fitting. More right.
When I come, it’s with the scenery flying by. And for a moment, I lose sight of everything. For a moment, there is nothing but this. Nothing but her.
Her hand, my body, my need, fulfilled in one great, glorious, triumphant gasp.
When we arrive back at the barn, I right my clothes before we encounter anybody. There are a few boarders milling around the stable, and she has to bury her face in my shoulder to keep it together.
I didn’t feel this much like a teenager when I was one.
And as absurd as it is, I can’t wait to get her alone. I need to. I need her.
Desperately.
I should be satisfied, but all this did was build up my desire even more.
That was just a tease. Getting Jake put away is a form of torture, and I make her do part of it just so I can watch her move. After that, we drive back to the house, and we barely make it inside. Then I’ve got her pinned up against the wall, the pictures there rattling. I don’t look at them. I don’t want to think about anything but this. I don’t want to think about anything but her.
She’s mine. She’s everything.
I strip that lovely dress off of her body, throw it onto the ground. And there she is, wearing a white lace bra and matching underwear, delicate and lovely. I like her in everything. A sports bra, this, nothing.
She works for me all the time.
I wrap my arm around her waist, lift her up, and encourage her to wrap her legs around me. Then I carry her up the stairs. I’ve never taken her to bed in my room. But I want to now. Because I want my sheets to smell like her. I want to be surrounded by her. I want to be with her.
It’s edgy and raw and restless. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. A driving sense of possessiveness that has never been part of my sexual relationships. Ever.
Her eyes go wide when we enter the bedroom, and it looks like she might say something, but she kisses me instead. I lay her down on the bed, gripping the straps of her bra and pulling them down, exposing her breasts. I suck one nipple deep into my mouth, and she arches up against me. She’s so sweet. Every single part of her.
