Page 23 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rumor has it, I woke up with nothing but regret and a plan.

Ainsley

I’m a little hungover, but not drunk.

Instead, I’m ravenous.

Not for food—heavens no. The thought of eggs makes me vaguely nauseous and mildly offended.

I’m ravenous for him.

For the way he smells when he’s still half-asleep and warm. For the low sounds he makes when he forgets to guard himself. For the peace I only feel when I’ve got my palm flat on his chest and my body tucked into the places he makes soft just for me.

I open my eyes slowly, light bleeding in through the sheer curtain like it’s trying not to be rude.

He’s still asleep.

Flat on his back, one arm thrown above his head, mouth slightly parted, face relaxed in a way that only happens when he thinks I’m not watching. His chest rises in steady, even breaths, and the blanket’s already halfway down his abs.

I bite my lip.

Because damn.

Every inch of him looks carved. Sharp. Intentional.

Except for his hand resting near mine. That part is soft. Open. Vulnerable.

That part kills me.

I shift quietly under the covers, careful not to wake him yet. My fingers find the hem of the blanket and slip it down further—just enough.

I don’t do this for forgiveness. Or to prove a point.

I do it because I want to.

Because last night, he sat next to my ridiculous kiddie pool meltdown like it was sacred ground.

Because he didn’t demand a confession I wasn’t ready to give.

Because he deserves to wake up knowing that I remember every inch of him. That I choose him—even hungover, mascara-smeared, and full of unresolved trauma.

My hand drifts lower, under the sheet. Lightly, just a whisper of contact over the ridge of his stomach.

He shifts slightly but doesn’t wake.

Good.

Because I want this moment to be mine first.

I move carefully, lips brushing over his chest. A kiss. Then another. My mouth trailing down slowly, reverently, like I’m memorizing a path I already know by heart.

His abs tense under me, and I smile against his skin.

Still asleep.

Still him.

I slip lower, under the sheet, between his legs. My hands on his hips now. My mouth replacing my fingers with slow, deliberate kisses.

He stirs.

A quiet inhale through his nose.

I keep going.

Warm. Wet. Slow.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep and disbelief.

His hand finds my hair under the blanket, not pulling, just holding.

“Ainsley—”

“Shhh,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to look up at him from under the sheet. “Let me.”

His eyes are barely open, blue and burning.

And then I take him into my mouth, slowly, greedily, like I’ve been craving this exact moment since the first time he said my name in the dark.

He groans low, hips shifting, his hand tightening in my hair as I work him deeper, faster, until his control unravels into gasps and curses and that broken sound he only ever makes for me.

And when he finally lets go, when his body jerks and his hand fists in the blanket and he says my name like a damn prayer?—

I climb back up.

Curl into his side.

Press my lips to the hollow of his throat.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

He exhales a shaky laugh, pulling me tight against him.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs.

“Ravenous,” I correct.

And he doesn’t argue.

His hands slide down my sides, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. I can feel his heart hammering against my chest, still catching his breath from what I just did to him.

“Your turn,” he murmurs against my ear, voice rough and determined.

Before I can protest or deflect or make some joke about morning breath, he’s already moving. Rolling me onto my back with careful precision, his mouth finding the hollow of my throat.

“Maverick—”

“Shh,” he echoes my earlier command, lips curving against my skin. “Let me.”

And mercy, when he says it like that—low and certain and like he needs this as much as I do—I can’t do anything but nod.

His mouth trails lower, over my collarbone, down to the swell of my chest. Deliberate. Worshipful. Like he’s mapping territory he owns but never takes for granted.

I arch into him, fingers threading through his hair as he takes his time. There’s no rush in his movements, no urgency—just this steady, consuming attention that makes my breath catch.

“You taste like trouble,” he murmurs against my ribs, and I can feel his smile.

“Good trouble or bad trouble?”

“The kind that makes me forget why I ever thought having self-control was important.”

His hands skim down my sides, thumbs brushing over my hip bones as his mouth continues its slow descent. I close my eyes and let myself fall into it. Into him. Into the way he touches me like I’m something precious instead of something that’s been keeping secrets.

When his mouth finally finds me, warm and certain, I gasp and arch into him. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there, and for these few minutes, I let myself forget about everything else. About Carter. About the plans forming in my head. About what I’m going to do today.

Because today, I stop playing defense.

He knows exactly what he’s doing—knows exactly how to make me come undone with that perfect combination of pressure and rhythm that drives me absolutely insane. I bite my lip to keep from being too loud, but he lifts his head just enough to say, “Don’t.”

“The neighbors?—”

“Fuck the neighbors,” he growls against me. “I want to hear you.”

So, I let go. Let myself make the sounds he pulls from me, let myself be loud and desperate and completely at his mercy. My back arches off the bed as the heat builds low in my stomach, spreading outward like wildfire.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, the vibration of his voice sending shockwaves through me. “Let go for me.”

And I do. I fall apart under his mouth with a cry that’s half his name, half prayer, my whole body trembling as the orgasm crashes over me in waves. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, just works me through it until I’m gasping and oversensitive and pulling at his hair.

When he finally crawls back up my body and settles beside me, pulling me against his chest, I feel boneless and warm and temporarily free from the weight of everything I’m carrying.

“I love you,” I whisper into his neck, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

His arms tighten around me. “I love you, too.”

We lie there in the morning light, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.

The room is quiet except for our breathing and the distant hum of traffic outside.

For a moment, I let myself pretend this is just a normal Saturday morning.

That we’re just a regular couple having lazy morning sex and planning to spend the day in bed.

But my mind won’t stay quiet for long.

I think about the conversation I had with Sebastian and Rowan last night after my kiddie pool meltdown.

“We need to go on the offensive,” Sebastian said, voice low and urgent. “This waiting around for Carter to make his next move is bullshit.”

“Agreed,” Rowan nodded. “But what can we do? His phone was a bust, and we can’t exactly break into his apartment.”

That’s when Sebastian interrupted. “Jin Chen.”

“Who?”

“Computer science major. Lives in Hartwell—same building as Carter. Kid’s a genius with anything digital, and he owes Maverick big time.”

“How big?” I asked.

Rowan laughed. “Maverick got him out of academic probation sophomore year when Jin got caught selling test answers. Should’ve been expelled, but Maverick worked some magic with the academic integrity board.”

“Jin’s been trying to pay that debt ever since,” Sebastian continued. “Maverick won’t let him because he says the kid learned his lesson. But if we go to him—if we explain the situation—he’d probably help us out of gratitude alone.”

“What kind of help?” I pressed.

“The kind that can crack into Carter’s laptop, his email accounts, his cloud storage—anything digital that he’s got locked down. And from what I hear, Jin’s got access to the whole building’s network. Security cameras, key card logs, you name it.”

The plan started forming then, crystallizing into something that actually felt doable. Carter might keep his real secrets off his phone, but everyone has a computer. Everyone has a digital footprint. And Jin Chen has fingers that can trace those footprints anywhere they lead.

Now, lying here in Maverick’s arms, I feel my resolve solidifying. I know what I have to do today.

“You okay?” Maverick probably feels the tension that’s creeping back into my shoulders. “You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking about some research I need to do today.” Which isn’t exactly a lie. “For my thesis.”

He shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His hair is mussed from sleep and my fingers, and there’s a satisfied gleam in his eyes that makes my stomach flutter all over again.

“Dr. Paulson still giving you grief about your methodology?”

“Something like that,” I murmur, reaching up to smooth down a particularly rebellious curl. “I might need to try a different approach.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He has that quiet confidence in me that sometimes feels undeserved. “You always do.”

If only he knew what I was actually planning to figure out today.

“I should probably get moving,” I say reluctantly. “The lab closes early on Saturdays, and I want to get some work done before it gets too crowded.”

It’s a lie; the lab doesn’t close early on Saturdays, and I’m not going there anyway. But Maverick just nods and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Don’t work too hard, and remember to eat something. You get cranky when you’re hungry.”

“I do not get cranky.”

He gives me a look that clearly says Sure you don’t , but doesn’t argue.

Instead, he rolls out of bed and stretches, completely unselfconscious in his nudity.

I take a moment to appreciate the view—the way the morning light plays across his shoulders, the flex of muscle as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

“I’ve got to head to the office anyway.” He scrolls through his messages. “Pops wants to video call about some quarterly reports.”

I nod, already mentally preparing for what I need to do. First, I need to find Jin Chen. Sebastian gave me his room number—Hartwell 314, just two floors down from Carter’s suite. Then I need to convince him to help me without revealing too much about why I need his particular skill set.

The beauty of being Maverick Lexington’s girlfriend is that doors open for me that wouldn’t open for anyone else. People owe him favors, and by extension, they owe me consideration. It’s not a card I’ve ever played before, but desperate times and all that.

“Text me when you’re done? Maybe we can grab dinner somewhere.”

“Sounds perfect,” I lie, knowing that by tonight, everything will either be solved or have completely blown up in our faces.

He disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start up. I use the time to get dressed and mentally rehearse what I’m going to say to Jin. How much truth to tell him. How to leverage Maverick’s reputation without making it sound like a threat.

Because here’s the thing about being with someone like Maverick—everyone knows who you are, even if you’ve never met them.

You’re not just Ainsley James, marine biology student.

You’re Ainsley James, the girl who tamed the campus devil.

The one person who can make Maverick Lexington smile. The girlfriend of the king.

And kings, even reluctant ones, inspire loyalty.

It’s time to cash in on that loyalty.

Carter Mills has no idea what he’s unleashed.