“It’s nice –” I try to say but he cuts me off, his mouth pressing down on mine, his hands going for my waist, my breasts.
I’m pushed backward, walking fast until the backs of my legs hit his bed and then I’m pushed down and he’s standing above me, ripping off his shirt.
This sight never gets old.
He’s already breathing hard, his hard chest rising and falling. His eyes rake all over my body, making every inch of my skin hum and buzz with anticipation. This man doesn’t even have to lay a finger on me and my body is already primed to let go.
“I’ve missed you,” he says roughly.
I swallow, his words hitting my gut and making it warm and fuzzy, making it matter more than he can know.
“Good,” I whisper. I’ve missed you, too.
He grins, giving his head a quick shake. “I’ve said it a million times already but you, my little minx, you are absolutely unreal. How the fuck did I ever get so lucky?”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” I tell him. “Just timing.”
“There you go, being all wise again.”
“Are you just going to stand there and look at me or are you actually going to do something?”
He laughs, bites his lip. Takes off his pants.
His gaze turns predatory as he stands above me. All muscle. All beast. His hard, thick cock in his hand.
“Beg for it.” The words come out as a growl.
I lift my top over my head. I’m not wearing a bra.
I run my hands slowly over my breasts, stomach, down below the waistband of my tights.
“This is me begging,” I murmur.
I pull off my tights and kick them to the floor.
I’m not wearing underwear either.
His eyes spark and then he practically leaps onto the bed, covering me with his body, making me feel as small as a mouse under him.
At first I think I’m going to be crushed, then instantly devoured, but he pulls back and moves slowly, deliberately. He positions himself so he’s lying on top of me, his warm chest pressed against mine, his elbows planted on either side of my head. He peers down at me in such a way it unnerves me, hitting me to the meat of my bones. His eyes are both hazy with lust and startlingly clear, filled with a deep longing I can feel pull at me. But there’s something new to them I’ve never seen before. A flash of fear.
“What is it?” I whisper while he runs his finger down the side of my face, over my cheekbone, down to my lips.
Then a faint smile crosses his lips, and though the fear in his eyes doesn’t waver, it softens it.
“Riley.” His voice is rough, low, coarse. It brings out a flurry of goosebumps all over my bare skin.
He doesn’t say anything else.
And because his gaze is so disarming, I can’t think of anything to say either. We just stare at each other, eyes connected, bodies connected, hearts connected. It’s a feeling bigger than the both of us.
And then I understand it. I get his fear. Because I feel it too.
Tenderness is the unknown.
He keeps his eyes on mine, burning with lust and I’m so turned on already from our eye fucking, that I’m wet. “Riley,” he groans as his fingers find my clit, teasing it, his eyes never breaking from mine. “You’re drenched, sweetheart.”
I give him an anxious smile. All this eye contact and unsaid words has left me rather nervous. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Just the way I like it,” he says gruffly as he grabs my hips and pulls me closer. “Waiting and ready.” I bring my leg up, hooking it around his waist, keeping him against my hips. I’m starting to get impatient, the ache inside me increasing with each slick stroke of his finger.
“Slow,” he whispers to me as he reaches for his cock and runs the crown of it up and down my clit, pausing to dip it briefly inside before bringing it back up. The sound is so loud in this room, so wet, it’s graphic.
And he wants it slow. He keeps repeating the word, over and over as he kisses me everywhere, hot little bites. “Slow as we can go.”
My eyes close, surrendering myself to this torturous tease. He’s not pushing in, it’s just a lazy slide, back and forth, but I feel myself opening for him anyway, my body starving for more.
“You like that, little minx?” he murmurs, his voice so thick with need that I can’t even answer him. I nod, relaxing back into the pillow. I’m both relaxed and tense at once, surrendering and spurring him on as he rubs against me, over and over again.
This is so fucking decadent.
I swallow hard, making a noise that’s nothing short of begging, though I know he likes that. My heart is starting to pound in my head, my skin is hot and tight, my nipples are hardened pebbles in the cool air as his skin brushes against them.
With a slow exhale, he grips my hip as he pushes himself inside me from the side. He’s bare and thick and long and I love the fact that we’re not using a condom, that we both trust each other enough.
And just as he said, he does it slowly.
So slowly that I’m starting to buck with impatience.
“Easy,” he murmurs, his voice throaty with need. “We have all the time in the world right now.”
He’s right. I take in a deep breath, trying to calm myself, to stop that need to climax, that quick chase of release. I try to focus on every single thing that’s happening, from head to toe, just letting it all sink in. It feels good, then it feels too much, then I don’t even know what I feel because all I feel is Maverick. He’s taken over my whole world.
I groan, stretching around his thick cock, loving how hard I can clench him. He loves it too. His breath is getting shorter, more labored, which makes me grip him even harder. I love these little sounds he makes, the way he says my name like a prayer.
“Want me to go faster?’ he asks, groaning as he speaks.
“No,” I say, licking my lips. I look at him. “This is good.”
It’s better than good but other words are escaping me right now.
He nods and watches me intently as he pushes in further. His lips part as he sucks in his breath and his forehead creases in lust and awe, like he can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how good it feels.
“Oh God,” he moans, his grip tightening on my hips, sliding up to my waist, to my breasts where he pinches my nipples. “Fuck…you’re so fucking perfect. Unreal.”
I might feel perfect right now while his cock is sliding deep within me but I don’t feel unreal. I’m one hundred per cent real. I’m here. I’m living this, I’m feeling this, I’m loving this.
“I’m real,” I whisper to him.
“Do you promise?” He’s watching me, watching himself, watching us, where his cock sinks into me, his shaft wet with my desire. He’s entranced by the sight, the slow push in, the slow pull out. “Because,” he trails off, breath hitching, “this feels like a dream.”
Each rock of my hips, each thrust of his, pushes him in deeper, makes us connect like magnets. The way his abs clench as he pushes inside, the tiny beads of sweat that gather over his tattoos, the dampness on his brow. I reach around and pull his ass toward me, wanting more, and he drives in so deep that the air leaves my lungs.
My head goes back again and I’m surrendering to him. He’s in me, in so deep, and I don’t ever want him to leave. This feels beyond right.
This might be the calm before the storm. This might be the storm, too. He can be both those things for me, the peace and the chaos. He can be my everything if he wants to. Even if he doesn’t.
I don’t want this to ever stop.
Something goes off inside me, a whirlpool in my core that’s slowly increasing, spreading, heating up. It’s going to take over me, it’s going to pull me under, and I’ve never wanted to come so badly in my life. There are no ropes restraining me and yet I feel like I’m being held back, desperate to be free.
“Almost,” I whisper, my voice choked with my sudden hunger for him. “God, I’m almost…”
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He responds instantly.
With a throaty growl he starts rutting faster, one hand at my back to hold me in place, the other in my hair, making a fist. Because we’re fucking on our sides, he’s able to slide in deeper than ever, hitting me where my body is dying for release.
He brings my head forward and kisses me, quick and hot, tasting like sweat. My mouth is ravenous against his, messy, the need inside me building and building.
Please, please, please.
I want this forever.
My thoughts don’t even shock me right now, even though I’ve never thought them during sex before. But this is more than just sex. I can’t deny it anymore.
And then we find our rhythm, our bodies coming together in a dance. I wouldn’t say it’s effortless because he’s pounding and pounding me, working me in fevered intensity, his sweat flying, because it is work to fuck like this. And yet there’s a sense of ease with each other, with our bodies, that I can’t describe.
I also can’t keep my eyes off of him, the muscles in his neck are corded and strained as the sweat rolls off of him, his eyes are lost in a fiery haze. His tattoos seem to dance against his skin. The sounds that come out of his mouth with each thrust are primal and raw. He’s an animal.
The bed slams back against the wall, the sheets are pulled loose, my breasts are jostling and I hope we’re not waking his brother but fuck it, I don’t care. Not now. Not when I’m this close.
“I’m coming,” I cry out, my voice ragged, trying to hold his gaze. He holds mine back, his eyes burning, goal reached.
Then I’m twisted and crushed as the orgasm washes over me like an avalanche. But there is no cold, it’s just heat and ecstasy and being buried never felt so good.
“Fuck,” Maverick grunts as the release claims him. His growling, frantic noises, the slap of his sweat-soaked skin against mine, the creak of the bed, all fills my ears.
Then he lets out a long, rough moan, shoulders shaking as he comes.
I’ll never get tired of seeing this, hearing this, feeling this.
This beast of a man brought to his knees.
The pumping slows. His grip loosens.
He collapses against the pillow, his hair damp and dark and sticking to his brow. His eyes take me in, his breath heavy and hard.
“We should have sleepovers more often,” he says, giving me a sated smile.
No kidding.
“So,” I say to him as he pulls out and gets off the bed. “Are you a cuddler? A kicker? A snorer?”
He laughs. “Don’t you want to find out for yourself? Where’s the mystery?”
“Sometimes I talk in my sleep,” I warn him. “But I don’t cuddle.”
He looks crestfallen. “You might change your mind with me. I can cuddle all night. You’re my heater, remember?”
But after we’ve both washed up and gotten ready for bed, I find myself gravitating toward his arms. They’re so big and strong and as they wrap around me, I realize that cuddling might not be so bad after all. At least not with this guy.
“Good night,” he says to me, kissing the top of my head.
And there I go, melting inside like sugar.
“Good night,” I whisper back and his heartbeat lulls me to sleep.
Wind cuts into me like a knife.
I’m standing precariously along a ridge a few feet wide. On both sides the mountain falls away, loose shales at first that turn to sheets of fresh snow that plunge into the void.
I don’t know how I got here, which must mean this is a dream. Dreams never have a beginning, they always drop you somewhere in the middle. And in this case, I’m dropped on a mountain’s spine.
In front of me the spine curves up, leading to a peak but there’s snow blowing around, obscuring my vision.
Behind me there’s another peak, a place I’ve just come from. I can feel it but I can’t turn around to see it.
I don’t want to see it.
I don’t know where to go or what to do. My feet feel like lead, which is what this would probably feel like in real life.
“Riley,” Mav’s voice floats into my head and up ahead the storm pauses enough for me to see the outline of the mountain and the strong silhouette of Maverick. I’d recognize his shape anywhere. It instills a sense of power and wonder in you. It represents all that’s safe and unsafe at once.
He’s holding out his hand for me.
I start walking toward him like I’m on a tightrope, my body off-balance, teetering dangerously close to the drop-off on either side.
Then something grabs me from behind, holding me by the collar, spinning me around.
I gasp, finding myself face to face with Levi. But it’s not the Levi that I remember, not the way he was when he was alive, so bold and full of life.
Just like Maverick.
No, this Levi is blue, dead, with white eyes of snow. They stare at me and though they look blind, I know he’s not.
“How could you,” he says to me, icicles for teeth. “How could you love someone else? Didn’t you learn anything?”
I open my mouth to speak but there isn’t anything to say.
Levi lets go of me, then shoves me backward.
My feet go for the ridge and then it’s gone.
I’m falling, sliding down the icy slope, my fingernails digging into the ice, trying to stop, leaving bloody trails, red stripes on white.
I fall and fall and fall.
Then wake up.
Gasping for air.
I can’t breathe.
I’m in the dark and there’s ice in my lungs and –
“Riley,” Maverick says. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” His hand is at my back, I’m sitting upright, panting, my hands gripping his duvet.
“It’s okay,” he says again, voice soothing. “You had a bad dream. It was just a nightmare. Just breathe, baby.”
Baby. That word brings me around. He hasn’t called me baby in any of my dreams.
I nod. “I’m fine,” I whisper. “I’m fine, it’s just…” I breathe in, out. Riley, keep it together! “Yeah. A dream. Just a dream.”
He keeps one hand rubbing up and down my naked back, the other grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Want to talk about it?” he says softly and as my eyes adjust in the dark, I can see the concern on his brow, his gaze searching my face, his brows as they knit together.
“It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
He leans back into the bed, gently pulling me down with him. “Come here,” he says, his arm going around me, holding me to his chest. I hear his heartbeat, let the heat of his skin sink into me until slowly I’m warmed again.
His fingers play with my hair, gentle, so gentle, his other hand holds onto mine, clasped over his chest. He swallows, a noise that sounds large in the dark. “I’m glad you stayed over,” he says, voice barely audible.
I smile against his chest. “Even though I wake up gasping from nightmares?”
“Even that. Especially that,” he says. “I want to see all parts of you Riley, not just the ones you choose to show me. I want to see the real you, the one you hide away.”
“Who says I hide anything?” I say.
But fuck, I do. And he knows it. He knows it.
“We all hide something,” he says.
“What do you hide?”
He sighs softly. “Everything.”
I think about that for a moment. “Why?”
He lets out a chuckle. “Damn it, Riley. I don’t know. It’s too late for this talk.”
“You brought it up, Mav.”
He sighs and I can hear him chewing on his lip in thought. I have patience. I wait. I don’t push. I want so bad for something raw from him.
Eventually he speaks. “Because…that’s the role I play. I mean, my name is fucking Maverick. It’s not even real. So who am I? Maverick, the happy-go-lucky playboy mountain man, always up for a good time, for a good fuck, for a good laugh? Or am I John?”
“And who is John?”
“John is…John is someone who wants to be taken seriously. John is someone who hasn’t quite…he hasn’t…I haven’t really moved on. From things of the past. I’ve just kind of pushed everything aside and I don’t know. It scares me, to have to deal with that one day.”
“Why can’t you be both John and Maverick?”
“I don’t know,” he says after a few beats. “I don’t think anyone wants both.”
“I do,” I tell him, raising my head and resting my chin on his chest, staring at him in the dim light. “I want both of you. I want Mav, that fun, fearless man, the one with the tattoos, who fucks me like a champ. And I want John, the one who is afraid and doesn’t let anyone know it. The one who wants respect more than anything else. The one who would risk life and limb for people he doesn’t even know. Why can’t I have both?”
His eyes meet mine, so stark in his gaze. “You have me,” he says. “All of me.” He pauses. “Do I have all of you?”
My heart clenches in my chest. The truth feels foreign to me.
“I want you to,” I say slowly. “But…what are we doing?”
“We’re spending time together. Because we like each other. Because we’re so damn good together.”
“But then what?”
He frowns, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t strike me as a then what kind of person.”
“But our jobs, Mav. Are we just going to sneak around forever?”
He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Would it be so bad?”
I start running my finger over the designs on his chest. He has the province of British Columbia outlined, a star where North Ridge is. “It’s better than the alternative,” I tell him. Which would be to not have him at all. I couldn’t deal with that, couldn’t imagine waking up each day and not having this to look forward to.
“So then,” he says, “we just keep doing this. We keep getting to know each other. We keep having fun.”
Fun.
God, that word hurts.
For someone who has prided herself on being a barrel of monkeys, a woman of no fucks given, someone who lives for fun…
That’s not what I want. Not anymore.
I want…everything.
His heart.