Page 17 of Maverick (The Bull Riders #3)

Impulsively, I move up to my knees and wrap my hand around his shaft.

Then I lean in and taste him. A zip of need moves through me as his flavor hits my tongue.

I’m consumed by him. By my desire for him.

I part my lips and take him into my mouth, as deep as I can.

My enthusiasm isn’t matched by my skill, and my gag reflex engages, but I don’t move away from him.

I don’t want to. His hand is tight in my hair, and he thrusts his hips upward, almost reflexively, and I shift to try and accommodate him.

But there’s something in the struggle that I find hot.

Something about it being hard, something about showing him just how much I want it by how deep I’ll take him, even if it makes me gag.

And he seems to feel the same.

I lift my head, breathing hard, and then take him in deep again, and I push myself further this time, taking as much of him as humanly possible. He’s huge, and it’s not easy, and I love it.

He’s pulling my hair now, the intensity of it all-consuming.

It takes a lot to command all of my attention.

But he’s got it. His hand is in my hair, pulling, his cock is in my mouth, perfect.

My heart is hammering hard, that place between my legs slick and greedy.

My nipples are so tight and hard, and I’m just so aware of them, which is something I can’t usually say.

Every part of my body is lit up. Every part of me.

He’s got my mind, my body, my soul, all attuned to him.

All absolutely engaged with every bit of him.

Maybe I’m not the best at this. But for once, I don’t feel like I need to be. I just need to be, and that is a revelation all by itself.

He slides out of my mouth, and I move down to the base of him, looking up in a straight line, and he growls, pulling me up toward his mouth, kissing me hard as he pushes me down onto my back.

“Enough,” he says.

He tears my pajama bottoms off, along with my underwear, in a smooth motion, leaving me naked in front of him.

His hands are rough on my knees as he forces my legs wide, as he leans in and licks me, right where I’m greedy and wet for him, as he begins to devour me, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other holding one leg out wide as he lifts me up against him.

And I’m lost. It’s the most intense, brilliant feeling I’ve ever experienced.

He’s consuming me. Devouring me. Eating me like a starving man, and I love it.

I’m whimpering, my hips flexing against his mouth, and then he shifts his hand, pushing a finger deep inside of me as he continues to pleasure me with his mouth.

Then he pushes in a second one, and I arch my back up off the bed, looking for something to grab onto.

I end up holding his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his skin.

He pulls me harder against his mouth, fingers relentless as he strokes the inside of me.

I come hard, certainly harder than I ever have on my own, and I’m begging him to relent.

To move away from me. He chuckles against my clit, then circles it with the tip of his tongue.

“I’m not done yet,” he says. He turns his head and bites the inside of my thigh. “Don’t interrupt me while I’m eating.”

I whimper, and he keeps on pleasuring me.

He flexes his fingers, stretching me slightly as he thrusts in and out of me, as he continues to lick me, suck me.

I feel myself climbing to the heights again.

I shudder against him, and he swallows down every drop of my pleasure as he growls.

I feel myself being pushed up the mattress, my head hitting the headboard as he continues on in this onslaught, this absolute attack of pleasure.

Without thinking, I grab my own breast, pinching my nipple as he licks me, as a third orgasm grabs me and shakes me, my legs trembling as I cry out his name.

Finally, he moves away from me, grabs the box of condoms, and tears it open. Condoms go everywhere. The box is torn in half, his cheeks are red, his chest pitching violently with each and every breath. I see a muscle in his jaw jump, tension radiating from him.

My eyes drop down to his cock. He’s hard, straining, and I reach out to wrap my hand around him, but he grabs my wrist and stops me mid-motion. “I won’t last,” he says, breath hissing through his teeth.

“I don’t care,” I say.

“I fucking care,” he says.

He tears open the condom, and I watch with rapt attention as he rolls it down over himself.

I’ve never seen a man move like this before.

He extends his hand, and I can see that it’s taking all the power that he possesses in his body to go slow.

To be gentle as he drags his thumb over my cheekbone.

As he leans in to kiss me. It’s soft and gentle, and yet I can tell that there’s nothing soft or gentle in his whole being right now.

He’s trying not to scare me. Trying not to push me back and take me.

I open my mouth to tell him that I wouldn’t mind if he did, but then he’s taking the kiss deeper, his tongue tangling with mine. I can’t do anything other than just let this happen. I can’t do anything beyond letting him claim my mouth. Take me. Kiss me.

Then he’s between my legs, the blunt head of his arousal pressing against the slick entrance to my body. I’m so wet, so sensitive from my orgasms, and he slides in almost easily. He holds my hips, pushes in deep, growling low and fierce as he fills me. He presses his forehead against mine.

He pauses, just for a moment, a breath, a lifetime.

Then, he begins to move.

Claiming me over and over again. I hold onto his face, his forehead still against mine. Our lips are so close they almost touch, but never do. I can feel him, every inch, moving in and out of me with each stroke. It’s so much more intense. So much more intimate than I imagined.

The idea that I almost gambled this away makes me feel ill.

Because I realize as Maverick has his way with me, that it had to be him.

At least for this first time, it had to be him.

The object of my desire, of all the forbidden fantasies that I tried not to have.

It’s him. There’s something about him. I wish there weren’t.

But there is. And he’s the only one who could satisfy this restless ache inside of me.

The only one that could’ve shown me this.

Over and over again. I never want it to end.

Impossibly, I feel another climax building inside of me.

It doesn’t make sense. I shouldn’t be able to come again, and yet I do.

Pushing my fingers through his hair, pulling hard as I cry out his name, as he loses control, his movements becoming erratic, hard.

As he fucks us both up into the headboard, as we unravel together.

Then we lie together for a while.

Covered in sweat, breathing hard. Just a breath of togetherness.

A moment of stillness. Until he moves away from me.

He doesn’t say anything. He walks away from the bed, down the hall.

I assume he’s going to the bathroom. I don’t say anything about the water being shut off.

But it is shut off, and I don’t know if he remembers that.

For some reason, I’m afraid to speak, and that fear only increases when he returns to the bedroom, his face grim.

He doesn’t say anything as he collects his clothes.

And I don’t know what happened to my words.

I don’t know what happened to me. Because normally I wouldn’t let this happen.

Normally ?

There’s no normally. I’ve never done this before, and I feel every little bit of my inexperience as he gets dressed wordlessly. My bed is wrecked, my pajamas are thrown all over the room. He just had his cock inside of me, and now he’s moving around the room like I’m not there.

Like I’m a ghost.

Or maybe like he is.

I’m searching for words. For something. This is in the afterglow that I was hoping to find. Was there something I was hoping to find? It’s not like I was thinking ahead.

It’s not like I fantasized about having a relationship with the man, but I did buy an awfully big box of condoms, and the way he’s acting right now, it’s apparent to me that this is probably the only time I’m ever going to have him. Why? What’s wrong with me?

Am I just not good enough? Like always?

Oh God.

Maybe the sex was bad for him. I don’t know what sex is like for men. It seemed intense and wonderful to me. But maybe I read everything wrong.

I’m spiraling while he’s getting dressed, and then I manage to say absolutely nothing before he turns around and walks out of the room. I’m left alone, entirely.

And when the door to the house closes and he leaves me there with no water and no words of affirmation, I very nearly dissolve.

But I’m Stella Lane, and I don’t do dissolving.

I don’t get despairing. I make a new plan.

Even if that new plan is stupid.