Page 20

Ava

W e crash through the hotel door as a culmination of tangled tongues and bated breaths. This is a terrible idea. I know that, but I can’t stop. I need to know what it feels like to be Mav’s. Really his, even if it’s just this once.

The back of my knees hit our shared bed, and we tumble down.

“Let me see you.” Mav’s voice sends a wave of lust through my body.

His hands find the hem of my shirt, and he tugs it over my head.

His hands slide over my body, and I feel myself come alive.

The worries that usually cloud my head are suddenly gone.

All of them are quieted by his touch. My head feels airy anticipating what is to come next.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do this. To see you like this.” His breathing is as uneven as my own.

Little does he know, I know exactly how bad he has wanted this because I have been fighting the same feeling.

Ever since he walked out of the shower, he’s been all I could think about.

Every bit of what I learn about him only drives me to want to be closer.

I’ve never wanted someone like this. It’s all-consuming.

Every piece feels a bit better when he touches me.

The innocent touches we shared in the past are one thing, but this… This is anything but innocent.

His hot breath dances against my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

My hands find the back of his hair, and I comb my fingers through it.

You would expect a man like him to be emotionally hardened.

His job is one of the most dangerous in the world; he’s been through hell, yet everything about him feels soft in a way.

His lips start to move from my breasts down my stomach. He peppers kisses along my skin, sending goosebumps over my skin. Mav takes his time, and my body feels like an engine revving up, begging for some sort of friction. When he reaches my hipbone, my breathing becomes labored. “Mav, please.”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Him. In whatever form he’s willing to give me tonight.

“You. More of you.”

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of sinister.

“That can be arranged.” He unbuttons my pants and drags them down my body, tossing them to the side because we definitely will not be needing those tonight.

His hands roam down my thighs, stopping just above my knees to spread them wider for him.

His focus is trained on my thigh as if something has caught his eye.

“What?” I ask. His thumbs rub over the same spot of my inner thigh over and over again.

“I like you like this. Branded with my belt buckle.” I sit up just enough to see that his belt buckle left little indents on the inside of my thighs.

I’ve been so worked up, I didn’t even notice it was digging into my skin.

The only thing I’ve been able to think about is him.

The thought of being branded by him isn’t as off-putting as it should be.

In fact, I think I like the sound of that a little too much.

I liked being called his wife way too much.

It wasn’t so much that he stood up for me.

No, it was that he claimed me as his. As untouchable.

I’ve been on my own for so long, I almost forgot how it felt to belong to something.

To have someone to count on. Sure, I have friends, but this kind of claim is different.

It’s making me one of his own and doing it loud enough for the world to hear.

He gets on his knees, a sight worthy of a lifelong memory, and kisses each indent. It's so close to my pussy that I buck up at the feel of his breath against my panties. My body feels wound so tightly that it will take next to nothing to make it snap.

I slip out of his touch to sit up. He stands in front of me on the bed, and I rip his clasped buttons open, one by one, until his shirt is completely open.

He strips the shirt off his shoulders and chucks it in the same pile as my jeans.

I begin to push the white T-shirt up, exposing pieces of his chiseled core.

My hands brush against it as I pull, and I feel his body harden beneath my touch.

His erection strains behind his starched jeans.

“I want to see you,” I plead.

He pulls the white tee over his head, leaving him with jeans and a belt buckle. He’s a walking wet dream for anyone with a cowboy fetish. Coincidentally, I was today years old when I realized I had a cowboy fetish because everything about this man is doing it for me.

My hands start to work at his belt. “I thought you dry humping me was hot as fuck. But watching you claw at me, trying to get me naked, is going to make me come in my pants.”

“If looking at me undressing you is all it takes, we need to work on your stamina, cowboy.”

“I have plenty of stamina, but looking at you while you look like this? That’s something I couldn’t have prepared for.” The glint of lust in his eyes makes the moment so much more heated.

“Can I?” I ask, looking at him as I undo his belt the rest of the way and begin to unbutton his pants.

“If you don’t soon, I'll probably beg. ”

“I’d love to see you beg for me.” It’s only half a joke. Seeing this man, who is afraid of nothing, on his knees for me makes me feel a whole new level of powerful.

“Speak the word, baby, and I will get on my knees for you anytime you ask.”

Fuck me. My pussy throbs at his words and the implications of them.

My fingers loop around the top of his boxer briefs, and the swell of his cock makes me feel a bit of pride. I’ve never really felt sexy or like I’m something special, but to be the reason for a reaction like this? I suddenly feel like I am glowing in my skin.

My breath hitches when his cock springs free. His free hand immediately begins to stroke it, and I can’t take my eyes away. I’m locked in on the way his hands grip around the girth.

“Do you still want to touch me?” he asks, his lids growing more hooded by the second.

Unable to speak, I nod my head, and my hand shakes a little as it circles around him.

My hand, much smaller than his, can’t quite grip all the way around.

His hand covers mine, and as he begins to stroke, a small bead of precum makes its way to the top.

I think it’s my turn to come. Something about this experience feels incredibly intimate.

Not just sexually. When my eyes drift up, I see his are already locked on mine.

My thighs begin rubbing together, desperate for some sort of attention on my clit—literally anything.

“I think I’ve got you wound a little too tight. Do you want me to take care of that?” he asks.

“Yes. Please. ”

He drops back to his knees and grips my panties. “Lift your hips, baby.”

My body immediately responds; the rush of the air from the room tells me just how wet I am.

I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” He holds up my no longer dry panties, and I see where I’ve soaked them through.

“Does your pussy want me this bad? You should have asked me sooner, baby.”

My thighs snap shut, the pulsing of my clit becoming too much. “Fuck, Mav.”

He tosses the panties to the side, and his big, calloused hands close over my knees to spread them wide and push them up.

“I’m going to get a little taste of you now,” he says, and I have to keep my gratitude to myself because if I have to go another second without him, I think I might implode.

His touch starts gentle and slow. A small kiss to my hip bone, and he works his way down. When his full lips meet my clit, a zing of pleasure shoots through me and I can't hold back the moan.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear how much you want this,” he murmurs against me, the heat from his breath skits against me. My hips roll, needing more.

When he kisses my pussy again, it is no longer slow.

It is a man on a mission to make my body fucking explode.

His tongue dives into me, and I relish the feeling, desperate to have something to fill me up.

He moves back to my clit and I feel his fingers breach my slick entrance, gliding in with no resistance.

“Fuck, Mav. Yes. That’s it.” His fingers curl into my G-spot, and I feel the familiar tingle of an orgasm brewing—a tension building higher and higher .

“Do you want me to fill you up?” he asks, and I nod reverently. That’s all I want right now. To feel full of him. “Can you be a good little wife and ask for it?”

I’ve loathed being called his wife, loathed the entire situation since the moment we woke up in Vegas, but at this exact moment, I can’t remember why. Because when he calls me his wife? My body likes it. Loves it. It wants to comply with whatever he’s asking.

“Please, fuck me. Fill me up,” I beg.

“God, hearing you beg, Ava. It could make a man come undone.”

“Maverick, fuck me, right now.”

His answering grin sends sparks through the air.

Almost like I didn’t know what I was asking for.

He steps away from the bed, and I have to stop myself from asking where the hell he thinks he’s going.

But when he walks back to his jeans and pulls out a wallet, I get it.

He comes back to the bed as he rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth.

His eyes look a little erratic, like he’s as crazed as I am at this moment. At least I am not alone in that.

My eyes stay locked on his cock as he rolls the condom down. It’s not usually something I find sexual but watching him touch himself feels inherently sexual.

“You’re sober, right?” he asks. I feel a little dumbfounded because I never had a drink in my hand.

“Uhm, yeah. I didn’t have anything to drink. Why?”

“Because when I fuck you this time, you’re going to remember it until your last breath. Do you hear me?”

My eyes stay locked on his as I nod slowly. “Yes.” My heart hammers beneath my ribs. I’ve never felt so turned on in all my life; I’ve never been so desperate. All I want right now is for Maverick to make me his.

He grabs my waist and scoots me back just far enough for his knee to get on the bed. Then his hands move us both up until we’re in the center.

His lips find mine, slowing the moment down.

I taste myself on him, and it sends a fire through me.

I feel the head of his cock brush against me, and my knees fall open around him.

His lips never leave mine as he begins to thrust forward.

Filling me. Stretching me. The feel of him has me moaning against his lips.

His hips snap forward as he seats himself fully inside me.

“Look at me,” he says as another thrust racks my body. He props himself up on one hand, and starts circling my clit with the other. My back bows off the bed as the sensation of him filling me and playing with my clit becomes almost too much. Almost. My eyes stay locked on his.

The moment feels like much more than it should be. Part of me wonders if he feels it too. The connection. I’ve felt it so many times with him: opening up about our pasts and him forcing help upon me when I'm too stubborn to ask. It’s like a piece of me has known him long before we met.

“God, you feel good, Ava.” Hearing my name on his lips feels sinful. Too good. He repositions himself and grips his hands behind my knees, angling me in a way that has him perfectly hitting my G-spot.

“Right there, Mav.” A bead of sweat drips off his brow. This man is putting in his best work, and my body loves it. My hands reach for him, wanting to be closer because I am seconds from falling over the edge.

“Come for me, Ava,” he says as his hand works my clit in perfect synchrony with his thrusts.

My body starts to tighten and I can feel the scorching flame start to burn through me as I reach up to drag Mav’s face back down with me.

Tangling his tongue with mine, I come hard for him.

His release finds him seconds after. Our chests heave together as we catch our breath, and his forehead rests on mine.

I’ve been sure of a lot of things in my life, but right now? I’m not so sure I’ll ever have enough of Maverick Ryder.