Page 112 of Double Down
“Not in here,” she says, pushing me back so she can rise to her knees, face-to-face. “All of that bullshit stays on the other side of that door. Expectations, judgment, stress, self-doubt—every lastbit. When it closes, this space is ours. Sacred. Only you and me. We both leave our baggage at the door.”
“Firebird, it’s not that?—”
“The other side of that door,” she repeats, punctuating every word with a finger in my chest. “Protect this space with me.”
I try to pull away. Phoenix cups the sides of my head and forces my eyes back to hers.
“Okay, little Firebird.” I give in, because I can’t do anything else. She won’t let me—and I don’t want to. I let her determination be enough for both of us.
I consider asking what she wants, even letting her take control. But that’s not what she’s demanding. She wants me. Only me. So that’s what she’s going to get.
At my core, I’m a selfish son of a bitch. I’m going to take what I want from her—and what I want is control. Not the whips-and-chains kind of control Atticus demands, not the fear Storm craves, not the power Conrad expects to have handed to him. I’m going to show her that I control her body not because she allows it—but because I do.
In this, at least, I’m one hundred percent confident in my abilities.
I press her into the bed and hover over her, my palms caging her face before they glide lower, tracing the delicate map of her sides to the hem of the shirt on her body. I fist the fabric and rip it.
Her breath catches while her pupils blow wide with the act.
That’s right. My little Firebird plays at being civilized, but at her core she’s a savage just like me.
Red lace lifts and defines her breasts to perfection. Under other circumstances, I’d admire the color against her pale skin, how that expensive scrap shapes to her. Right now it’s an obstacle.
I cup both breasts, feel the give, the heat, the rasp of lace—and tear the cups open to the cold air.
“Maverick,” she moans when I take a plump pink nipple into my mouth and suck. Her back arches, and I slide an arm beneath to hold her there.
She releases another cry when I switch sides. Her hips roll, hunting friction, seeking relief. I deny her. She’ll feel what I allow and nothing else.
“Maverick, you asshole, please,” she pants.
I keep sucking while one hand slides down, strips her skirt, then drags her panties to the side. I want nothing touching that pussy but air—until I’m ready.
A frustrated growl rumbles out of her; I smile against her nipple and return to the first.
“Maverick,” she grits now, irritation edging her voice.
Good.
I ignore her.
Her fingers lace in my hair to haul me back to her mouth.
I sit up, break free, catch both wrists and pin them above her head. Defiance lights her eyes as her hips shift again, chasing what I won’t give.
“Do you know how beautiful you are like this?” I ask, voice low. “Pinned under me. At my mercy. I see the fight in you, Firebird. You want control. In this room, you have none.”
She squirms; I trail my hand down her again. Gooseflesh rises; her breathing deepens; a shiver slips through her.
That isn’t her—it’s me. It’s what I do to her body.
“Maverick,” she warns.
I ignore the word and watch the reaction. She’s pissed, but it doesn’t change how she wants me. It doesn’t change the hard peaks of her nipples or how hot and wet she is for me.
She might fight it, but her body is ready to yield.
I hook her ankles onto my shoulders and kneel at the edge of the bed, kissing one dainty ankle before I settle both in place.
