Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
His hold tightens when I try to move. “I’m really jacked up, Clover.”
“How do you mean?” I roll my hips, loving the way it feels to have him inside me again.
“I don’t know if I can stay in control the way I need to if I’m on top.” His jaw works, teeth grinding together, though not from anger. He’s embarrassed . . . uncomfortable, maybe. “It’s better for you like this.”
I think about the sex we had back in August. It was incredible. The first time was in my bed, the second on the kitchen counter, and the third time was in the middle of the night. I’d pulled him on top of me, but he shifted us so I was straddling him again. Even when we ended up sixty-nining after the shower, I was on top—which makes sense considering his size and me needing control. But this is different.
“Okay.” I nod my understanding. “What are you afraid will happen if you’re not in control?”
“I’m too amped.” His eyes fall closed when I shift again. “I could hurt you. Not on purpose, but I could.”
I skim the edge of his jaw. “How would you hurt me?”
“I’m a lot to handle, which you already know.”
“Mmm . . .” I follow the ropy muscles in his shoulders. “I’ve handled you fine so far, wouldn’t you agree?”
His gaze shifts to mine, hot and desperate. “You’ve been on top. You’re in control.”
“So why don’t I stay on top for now, and you can help guide me?”
“Okay.” He laces our fingers together. “But if it gets to be too much, tell me, okay?”
“Of course, and you’ll do the same?”
He nods once. I have to wonder what his past experiences have been like to make him so worried about hurting me. But it seems to be part of who he is. Even back when we were two people acting on attraction and nothing else, my pleasure was paramount. His self-awareness makes him an exceedingly conscientious lover—maybe more than he realizes, and maybe to his own detriment.
I move over him, taking him in deep and rising again, watching his expression, the tightness in his jaw, the strain in his neck. He’s holding back.
I unlace our fingers and drag mine down his cheek. “You always take such good care of me,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss him. “I want to do the same for you.”
He makes a sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl, but one hand settles on my hip and the other rests on my thigh, fingers flexing.
I lace my hands behind his neck. “Show me how you want me to move.”
“This is good. You’re good like this.”
I suck his bottom lip between mine. “Show me, Maverick. I’ll tell you if it’s too much, but I already know this isn’t enough for you.”
He drops his chin, forehead coming to rest in the crook of my neck. Eventually he cups my ass and starts to lift and lower me, slowly at first, gently, but a dozen strokes in, his rhythm begins to falter.
“Don’t stop.” I bite his earlobe. “I want more of you. I want to feel you for days.”
His hold on me tightens, and I brace my forearms on his shoulders, telling him how good he feels, that I want him deeper, that I need him to fuck me harder.
“I don’t know . . . It feels too fucking good. I can’t—”
I grip his chin in my palm and encourage him to meet my gaze. “I’m not made of glass, and you’re not going to hurt me. Let go so I can too. I’m greedy for another orgasm, and I’m so close, Maverick.”
I watch the shift happen behind his eyes, the uncertainty usurped by need and desire.
“I want to be under you.” I bite his bottom lip and let it slide through my teeth.
He flips us over, his huge body hovering over me, hips sinking into mine, but he’s still holding back.
“This is exactly what I needed.” I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my heels into his ass, pulling him deeper on a low moan.
His forehead touches mine. “If it stops being good, tell me.”
I pull his mouth down. “It won’t, but if it does, I promise I’ll tell you.”
He nods once and slides his forearms under me, hands curling around my shoulders, arching my back and pushing my hips into the mattress. If I thought I was full before, it has nothing on the way I feel now.
He moves in long, slow strokes that hit deep and make my body sing. His gaze stays locked on my face, cataloging my expression, paying attention to my moans and sighs and gasps.
I run my fingers through his thick, damp hair, pushing it back, but it falls into place again, cutting across one eyebrow. A fine sheen of sweat breaks across his forehead as his thrusts gain speed and momentum. With every fill and retreat, he goes deeper, his hands anchoring me under him, preventing me from sliding up the bed and into the headboard, which incidentally, is hitting the wall with a repetitive thump-thump-thump.