Page 16 of Maverick (The Bull Riders #3)

But the way he’s looking at me now feels a lot like desire. And I don’t know anything about him. Nothing.

All of my guesses about who he is and what he wants could be wrong.

That makes him feel like a stranger, makes me feel like I’m falling. Like I don’t have a good gauge on anything that’s happening. On what might happen next. I don’t even really know what happened before. And that is the most stunning realization of all.

Because I couldn’t see his eyes. I wonder if it was by design. Then I see his eyes drop. Oh. He definitely sees my nipples now.

His eyes rise up and meet mine. And right then, I see it.

Something like regret. His jaw is held tight, his teeth clenched together, and the regret is like a deep sorrow.

But then, just as quickly as I see it, just as quickly as I feel it resonating in my body, it goes away.

Replaced entirely by that intensity. He reaches out, grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You can tell me if all you want is for me to fix that pipe.” His eyes go past me, to the box of condoms. We both know why it’s there.

“That’s not all I want,” I say, the words thin, my chest frozen with a breath building at the center that I can’t quite take.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, and he releases his hold on my chin, moving his hand to the back of my head and bringing me in hard.

The kiss is almost punishing. And I accept it.

It’s nothing like the kiss I shared with that guy in the stables at my parents’ place.

That impulsive, driving curiosity that made me lean in when I should have just walked away.

This has nothing to do with curiosity. Nothing to do with discovery, or the gaining of sexual experience. It’s not about the things that normally push me into new situations. The discovery, the thrill. It’s about him.

About the undeniable chemistry that’s been building between us. Chemistry that I didn’t recognize as something specific until this moment. But it is.

It is, we are. He is. Everything.

His mouth is hot and firm, the whiskers on his face rough as he opens his lips and slides his tongue against mine. I whimper, arching against him, feeling my desire go from theoretical to radical with just one slick pass of his tongue over mine.

He releases his hold on my head, his hands moving to grip my waist, fingers digging into my skin as he holds me hard. He’s kissing me, but our bodies are pressed together. He’s keeping just a little bit of distance between us, his mouth making magic over mine.

I’m dizzy with it. Undone.

It’s like I’m unraveling and being knit back together all at once. His kiss makes me dizzy. Makes me needy. Greedy for more. Then he nips my lower lip, and I gasp.

That little sound seems to bring him back. He moves away from me for just a second, breathing hard.

“You’re working for me.”

“Yeah. Kind of. But I don’t need to. I have a house, I have a place to stay. I could leave tomorrow if I wanted to.”

He nods. “Okay. And you understand that I don’t need to collect that… The bet. This has nothing to do with the bet.”

I nod. “No. I know.”

I wonder if he’s being careful with me because he knows I haven’t done this before.

I wish he didn’t know that. I wish that I could play that off.

Tell him I was lying. But I probably need him to treat me like a virgin so that he doesn’t absolutely wreck me.

But I don’t want to feel like I’m at a disadvantage.

Like he’s doing this with training wheels.

I don’t want him to go easy on me. Or for this to be some kind of a gift that he’s bestowing on me. A sex lesson.

What I wanted was for some guy to just do it so that I didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

You never just wanted some guy. It was always him. You wanted him to win that game.

I shove that thought to the side. He said it himself. It has nothing to do with that night. Nothing to do with that bet. Maybe it is because he’s just a man, and he saw those condoms, and now he’s turned on.

Maybe because he can justify it, and make it feel like it’s not a morally shady situation, and obviously, in spite of the fact that he likes to play like the villain, he cares about that.

He doesn’t say anything more. So I do.

“I want you.” I lift my hands, push them through his hair.

My hands are shaking, and even bracing myself on him isn’t steadying them.

I can’t believe that I’m touching him like this.

He’s so close to me now that beautiful face right there.

How could I have ever missed that there was gold in his eyes?

I just saw them as dark, like the rest of him.

Dark and fathomless. And he is fathomless.

But there’s a kaleidoscope of beauty in those eyes, a brilliant universe that I didn’t know was there before.

I trace the line of his cheekbone, down to his jaw, and then to his lips.

Then I drag my thumb along the edge of his lower lip.

He grabs hold of my arms and pulls me against him, kissing me deep and hard.

He growls, his hold almost bruising, and I like it.

I wrap my arms around his neck and luxuriate in the feel of him against me.

How hard he is. How hot. I would never have thought that all it would take was one day of me living in close proximity for us to do this.

But maybe it was inevitable the whole time.

He says it has nothing to do with the bet, and I believe that. But maybe he was supposed to win it.

I’m not big on ascribing meaning to my impulsive behavior. But in this instance, I wonder. I wonder if this was where it was always supposed to lead. If there was nothing that could be done to avoid it.

I don’t want to avoid it, anyway.

It’s not fate. It’s the fact that I bought those condoms when I was in the grocery store.

I can accept that.

He moves his hands away from my arms, pushes them beneath the bottom of my shirt. Shoves the soft fabric upward, his hands going to cup my breasts. His palms are rough and glorious, his thumbs skim over my nipples, and I sigh with satisfaction. Because his touch is glorious. Perfect.

Better than I ever could have imagined. He has a working man’s hands. A working man’s body.

I’ve been surrounded by athletic men my entire life. But there’s just something about a cowboy.

At least, there’s something about this cowboy.

Then I find my shirt being whipped up over my head, and he picks me up by the waist, lays me back on the bed, setting the box of condoms off to the side purposefully as he looks down at me.

He has one hand braced on the mattress, his body just to the side of mine.

I don’t feel exposed. I feel sexy. Pretty, as he looks at me with a kind of hunger on his face I’ve never seen before.

He’s breathing hard, labored. And I reach up and put my hand on his chest, where I can feel his heart raging there. He reaches behind his head and grips his T-shirt, pulling it off in a fluid motion, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His muscular chest and the dark hair there.

I go liquid between my legs.

The fact that I can touch him like this. The fact that he is there for me. That I get to explore him. Touch him. Taste him.

I lean in and I kiss him on the shoulder.

He jerks back like my mouth is a bullet, my kiss piercing his skin.

Then I find myself pinned to the bed, that big body over mine as he leans in and kisses me.

Hard. I’m getting my wish. He’s not treating me gently.

Not treating me like a novice. Not treating me like a silly girl who’s being indulged by a man with real experience.

No. I realize as he kisses me, deep and dizzying, that this isn’t about me.

It’s about him. About how much he wants this and doesn’t want to want it. That’s the tension. The intensity. There’s a resistance inside of him, but he’s decided not to let it win.

He’s decided to let his need win.

Which, in many ways, is letting me win.

It makes me feel powerful. Makes me feel sexy.

I’m not some lesson that he’s teaching. I’m an inevitability for him just as much as he is for me.

So, I wrap my arms around his neck, and I kiss him back.

I press my breasts against his chest, revel in the feeling of the coarse hair rubbing against my nipples.

Without thinking, I hook my leg over his hip, and I find the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against that soft place between my legs.

I’m riding him without even thinking about it, rocking my hips up off the bed, looking for satisfaction as I roll my hips against his.

And he presses down against me hard, that glorious ridge taking me into the stratosphere. Making me see little starbursts behind my eyes. I haven’t come yet, but I’m close. Just from this. From kissing him topless while I can feel the intensity of his need clashing with my own.

My shaking hands move to the button on his jeans, then lower the zipper. He moves away from me, standing. I hear him kick his boots off, and he strips completely naked before me. My first time ever seeing a naked man in person, and holy shit, he’s incredible.

He’s muscular everywhere. All the hard work he puts in etched into that hard body, a testament to the glory of Maverick Quinn. His thighs are thick, lined with muscle, and his…

His cock is glorious. I had a friend once who said that it was fine, but she wouldn’t be building any shrines to penis in her house. I just might. I think it’s beautiful. I think he’s beautiful.