Page 33 of Maverick (The Bull Riders #3)

But I never got good at sharing the depth of myself. Because I was always afraid of it.

Or at least, I thought she would be.

When we part, her face is red, and I’m sure that mine is too. My breathing is heavy.

My heart rate is spiraling out of control. It’s the thing that she does to me. It’s everything that she is.

“Are we actually going to eat this picnic?”

I swallow hard, and nod.

I get out the glasses, pour two glasses of wine.

I’m not a big wine person, but I know that she is. From conversations we’ve had, from her sharing stories about her home in Sonoma.

Her parents have a small vineyard, and they make wine occasionally as a novelty for their friends.

I told her unequivocally that that was rich person nonsense. And she reminded me that other classes of people enjoy making moonshine.

Yet again, people are the same, just in a different font.

But I enjoy the wine while sitting there with her more than I ever have enjoyed wine before. Enjoy a plate of cheese more than I ever thought possible.

I enjoy the moment with a purity that I can’t say I often experience.

Then, when we’re finished, I pack back up, bring her back up onto Jake with me, and we ride. Nowhere in particular. Just all over. It’s like our heartbeats meld into one as she clings to me, as we race across the fields.

She moves her hand beneath my shirt, and I clench my jaw. Then, still holding on, she moves her hand out of my shirt and down to the front of my jeans.

“Holy shit, girl,” I say. But she’s not listening to me. Maybe my words are lost in the wind. She undoes my belt, her fingers are practiced, dexterous. Probably all the times she’s put a saddle on and taken it off. Good with her hands.

She undoes the button on my jeans, my fly, and pushes her hands down, grabbing hold of my cock, squeezing tight as the momentum carries us forward.

I can honestly say I’ve never done this. I’ve never even thought about it. Getting jerked off while I ride a horse is completely insane, and completely awesome.

God, she makes me feel young in a way I never was. She makes me feel insane. And bold. Manic and completely put together, all at once.

The white-hot pleasure ignited in my veins is a whole firestorm that I never want to end. She’s sweet, but wild. Together, we’re a bit dangerous.

And nothing has ever felt more fitting. More right.

When I come, it’s with the scenery flying by. And for a moment, I lose sight of everything. For a moment, there is nothing but this. Nothing but her.

Her hand, my body, my need, fulfilled in one great, glorious, triumphant gasp.

When we arrive back at the barn, I right my clothes before we encounter anybody. There are a few boarders milling around the stable, and she has to bury her face in my shoulder to keep it together.

I didn’t feel this much like a teenager when I was one.

And as absurd as it is, I can’t wait to get her alone. I need to. I need her.

Desperately.

I should be satisfied, but all this did was build up my desire even more.

That was just a tease. Getting Jake put away is a form of torture, and I make her do part of it just so I can watch her move.

After that, we drive back to the house, and we barely make it inside.

Then I’ve got her pinned up against the wall, the pictures there rattling.

I don’t look at them. I don’t want to think about anything but this.

I don’t want to think about anything but her.

She’s mine. She’s everything.

I strip that lovely dress off of her body, throw it onto the ground. And there she is, wearing a white lace bra and matching underwear, delicate and lovely. I like her in everything. A sports bra, this, nothing.

She works for me all the time.

I wrap my arm around her waist, lift her up, and encourage her to wrap her legs around me. Then I carry her up the stairs. I’ve never taken her to bed in my room. But I want to now. Because I want my sheets to smell like her. I want to be surrounded by her. I want to be with her.

It’s edgy and raw and restless. It’s nothing I’ve ever felt before. A driving sense of possessiveness that has never been part of my sexual relationships. Ever.

Her eyes go wide when we enter the bedroom, and it looks like she might say something, but she kisses me instead.

I lay her down on the bed, gripping the straps of her bra and pulling them down, exposing her breasts.

I suck one nipple deep into my mouth, and she arches up against me.

She’s so sweet. Every single part of her.

She’s a brat. But to me, that’s sweetness. I want fire. I want grit. Everything that she is. This ridiculous, dangerous virgin, who went careening into disaster, I had to rescue her from.

And who has dragged me into one disaster after another ever since.

She’s like a wildfire, all whipped up by the wind. Deadly and unpredictable and serious in her beauty.

And to me it’s perfect. And so is she.

I kiss my way down her body, to that sweet place between her thighs.

I grip the edge of her panties and pull them aside, tasting her deep.

She’s slick and ready for me, all that honey, all that sweetness taking me to heaven.

I tongue her clit, suck it in deep, and she arches up against my mouth.

She would be my last meal, I realize. If given the choice.

No question.

I push two fingers deep inside of her, relishing the feel of her tight body around me. Sending her up to the stratosphere. I need her to come.

And she does. Beautifully.

But that’s not enough. I need more. Before I satisfy myself in her, I need to wring every last drop of pleasure out of her body that I can.

I tease her, taste her, over and over again. Until her cries of pleasure become hoarse. Until I’ve lost track of how many times she’s come around my fingers. All that sweet, salty pleasure on my tongue an aphrodisiac that’s going to have me high forever.

I’m so hard that it hurts, but it’s worth it. The pain is worth it to get to all that pleasure.

In fact, the pain is what makes it sweeter.

I kiss my way up her body, claim her mouth, and then I reach into the nightstand and grab a condom.

Thankfully, we’ve got those everywhere.

It takes all of my self-control to wait. To roll it on and not just thrust into her.

But I can’t do that to her. I can’t do anything that might make her stuck with me. Even though the driving urge to do it is almost impossible to deny.

But I do it. I protect us both, rolling that latex on before I slam myself into that tight, wet body.

And I have to clench my teeth together as the full intensity of the sensation overtakes me. She’s like home. Home, in a way, I’ve never experienced it before. Home, in a way I didn’t believe existed.

I lower my head, press my forehead to hers as I begin to work my way in and out of her body.

She clutches my shoulders, fingernails digging into my skin. “Yes,” I growl against her lips. And she tightens her hold on me. I want her to draw blood. I want to leave scars.

God knows so many other things in my life have. Why shouldn’t this? Why shouldn’t she?

It would be the most beautiful thing. Blinding and brilliant, to be scarred from fucking Stella Lane.

I claim her over and over again.

It’s wild and sweet and dangerous.

Just like us.

And when I come, it’s on a shout. Her own cries mingling with mine as she finds another release.

And then I pull her up against my body, damn the condom and getting rid of it, and being polite about it, and hold her up against me. My heartbeat is raging.

She turns to face me, curls into my chest. I don’t want to let her go. Usually, we have sex, and we go our separate ways, but I feel like if that happens tonight, I might fall apart. It’s the wrong thing to do.

No question.

So I hold on to her.

I hold on to her until her breathing becomes steady. Until I start to doze off.

And when I open my eyes again, the light has begun to stream through the window. Early morning dawn. We fell asleep at… It must’ve been 6 o’clock. And we slept the whole night through.

And all I know is that last night changed everything.

I don’t want to change it back.

I get up and go make coffee, and bring it back upstairs. Right about then, she’s beginning to stir.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Oh.” It takes a moment to realize where she is, and I see the exact moment she realizes we must have slept together all night.

“I have something to tell you,” I say.

“Oh?”

“The pipe came. A little while ago. I didn’t tell you.”

She blinks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to leave my house. I want you to stay with me.”

“Oh. Do you want…”

“I want you to stay with me for the rest of this time. Okay? And then… I want you to come to the championship. I’ll buy you a seat in one of the suites. I want you to come watch me.”

“Maverick…” Her smile is electric. But I love it. I lean in and kiss her just so I can taste it.

“It’ll be perfect,” I say.

“Will it?”

“Yeah. It will be.”

The perfect end to this, I guess. And yet again, when I imagine winning that championship, I have no idea what’s on the other side. But I know that right now I have her.

And that’s enough.