Page 92 of Face Off
I bury my face in the crook of his neck and muffle my moan as I explode in bursts of color. I squirm against him and he lifts his hips a quarter of an inch, rubbing against me so I don’t leave anything behind.
Before I can understand where I am or how I got there, my shorts are off and I’m naked on top of him. The air is cool on my sweat-soaked skin, and the world comes back into focus.
Maverick is watching me with one palm wrapped around his cock. He pumps himself twice before he stops to rip open the condom and roll it down his length.
I sit up on my knees, hovering above him, and our eyes meet.
“Take me to church, Emmy,” he murmurs. His hands run up my thighs and squeeze my hips. “Please.”
“I didn’t think you were a religious guy,” I whisper, and I sink down on him in a bleary fog.
“I’m not.” Maverick bites the soft skin near my shoulder as I take him another inch deeper, and my breath catches in my throat. “But I imagine you’re what heaven feels like, so I’m a converted man.”
The only sound in the room is the gentle slap of his hips meeting mine until I’m fully seated on him. Until I’m full and warm and drunk on the shape of his smile and the flash of heat in his eyes.
He takes his time snaking his left hand up my body, touching and teasing me until he reaches my neck. He closes his fingers around my throat, tighter than last time, and I give him a silent nod that tells him it’s okay.
“You’re incredible,” he says, thrusting into me.
“You’re saying that because your dick is inside me.”
“I’ve thought it since the first time I saw you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am not.” Maverick lifts me off of him in a single swoop and lays me on my stomach, my ass in the air. “I’ve thought about your curves. Your legs. All your strong muscles and your razor-sharp wit, and I’ve been dreaming about you for days.Fuck, Emmy. You’re perfect.”
Perfect.
I’mperfect.
Another word no one’s ever called me, and I hold it close to my chest.
He slams into me, and I lose my mind. It’s possessive.Claiming, and exactly what I wanted. Maverick is unrelenting, thorough, and he touches me everywhere he can reach.
His movements turn ragged, and a soft groan tells me he’s close. He reaches around my hip and presses on my clit with his thumb.
I look at him over my shoulder, desperate to see more of him, and I wish I hadn’t.
He’s beautiful, with his hair sticking up in all directions and his parted lips. With labored breathing and the pink marks on his skin that are going to turn into little purple bruises.
All because of me.
“See something you like?” he asks with a sly grin.
“No.” I shake my head. “Not a damn thing.”
“I love it when you lie.” He tips his head back toward the ceiling, and the muscles in his arms strain. “How close are you? I’m hanging on by a fucking thread.”
“Close. Just keep doing—fuck, Maverick. Right there.”
“One more, Emmy girl. Give me one more.”
I hate that my body responds to him.
I hate that a second orgasm sneaks up on me, his name a moan on my lips.
I hate that I smile when I hear him follow me over the edge,Emmy, Emmy, Emmya whispered prayer in my ear as his legs shake and his hands fall away from my body.
