Maverick runs his hands up and down my arms, goosebumps in the wake of his touch, bringing me back to the present. “You’re very pretty,” he tells me, his eyes locking on mine.
I wet my lips, a heaviness in my stomach.
Maverick’s hands go up to my shoulders, to my neck. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests his palms on the side of my throat. His touch is cold, sending a chill down my spine. I shiver, involuntarily, and he smiles.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks.
I press my thighs together in his baggy sweats, desperate for some friction, despite all the sex we’ve had this week already. I shake my head. I don’t want to go home.
This is comfortable. This is…like a movie. This is just like my mother.
“It’s okay,” he whispers as if he can read my mind, his hands sliding down my back, pressing me against his hard body. I can feel his cock on my stomach. He bends his head down, so he’s whispering in my ear, his hands massaging up and down my back. “It’s okay to want it, Ella. The things you want. It’s okay for you to stay here with me.”
I close my eyes, inhale his scent. My breasts brush against his chest. I want to wrap my arms around him, but I don’t. It’s easier when it hurts. When it’s gentle, it’s…
I can’t get attached. I can’t do that again.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he continues, telling me what I need to hear. “You’re not sick, or twisted or wrong, Ella.”
But I am.
He pulls me closer, wraps his arms around me and holds me against him. “You’re allowed to like it.”
My arms still hang by my sides. I hear his words, but I don’t believe them. At the same time…I want this. I want his affection. His anger.
I want more of it.
I’m sick. I’m twisted. I’m wrong.
I don’t care.
Slowly, I lift my arms. Gently, I wrap them around his back, aware of the wounds he won’t speak of there. He seems to stiffen at my touch, as if he’s expecting me to scratch him again. Draw blood.
But after a few seconds, he relaxes.
“How do you want it?” he asks me quietly, his mouth still at my ear.
I keep my eyes closed, just feeling him. Breathing him in. I’ve only ever had it one way, really. I don’t want to change that. I say the same words I said to him in the forest beneath that beautiful moon. “Make it hurt.”
I hear him swallow.
“Let go,” I urge him, running my hands lower. I wonder if he needs to hear what he just told me. He’s not sick or twisted or wrong. He presses closer to me. “Just let go, Maverick.”
“I’m sorry, Ella,” he whispers against my skin. “This is just a game, right?”
I’m about to ask him what he’s talking about, but I don’t need to. He pulls me off the bed and backs me against the wall so fast, I don’t have a single thought from one position to the next. His hands are on my shoulders and there’s anger back in those beautiful eyes.
“Sit,” he commands me, stepping back, letting me go.
I hesitate, for one single second, and his eyes narrow.
I can do this.
I sit.
“Lie down,” he orders, standing over me, watching me carefully.
I lie on my back.
He crouches down, pulls off my sweatpants. I ball my hands into fists, keep them by my sides. He tosses my borrowed pants away, and my ass is against the cold floor.
He walks in a circle around me. “Bend your knees.”
My face warms, but I do as he asks. He comes to stand by my feet, observing me.
My knees are together, but it doesn’t matter. I know he can see me.
Even still, he nudges my knees apart with his own knee, spreading me wide. My inner thighs ache, but I stay that way, hands by my side.
I close my eyes.
I feel the floor shift, and his hands are on my thighs, spreading me even wider. The cold air hits me there, and a second later, so does his breath. He blows against me, spreads me apart with his fingers.
My clit aches, and I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to like it.
But I do.
And when his tongue runs down the length of me, I whimper, my knees falling inward, toward his head. But his hand on my thigh keeps me spread open, and he licks me again, softly.
Agonizingly slow.
Then he blows against me again, the cool air making my hips arch.
He presses a hand on my belly, under my shirt, keeping me still.
His tongue works my swollen clit, and one finger teases my entrance. I try to move, to shift his finger closer, but he presses harder on my belly. Then he kisses me, his lips coming together, tongue flicking through.
I feel heat building in my belly, right underneath his hand.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. He presses two fingers into me and I whimper as he glides in and out of me, my pussy clenching against him.
He groans as he licks me, his tongue swirling one way and then the other. Soon, I’m just drowning in the feel of him. My thighs tighten, my pussy, too, and even he can’t hold me down when I come. My butt lifts off the floor and I moan his name, Maverick, and he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow until I come back down, literally and figuratively.
I’m panting, one hand I realize is on my breast. I don’t let go, but he kisses me one more time and then pulls his fingers out and lifts his head.
I open my eyes.
They lock with his.
His face is wet with me, and I can’t stop the smile on my face. My knees are still wide, and he glances down at me. I resist the urge to squirm under his gaze.
When he meets my eyes again, he simply says, “My turn.”
And then he flips me over before I can say a word, pulling me up with one arm around me to set me on my knees. He shoves my shirt up, a few seconds later, I feel his cock against my ass. He circles the tip of it against me, precum warm and wet on my skin.
He’s got one hand on my lower back, the other I assume on himself.
“Arch your back more,” he instructs me.
I do, but I’m holding my breath.
Just thinking about where this might go makes my entire body tense. And Maverick is not the kind of guy to ask for permission.
He dips his head down, bites my ass. “Relax,” he says softly.
I’m anything but relaxed. Not there.
I close my eyes, try to do as he asks.
He’s spreading my thighs wider, and I hear him spit on me, right on my still-throbbing pussy.
He slaps my ass, hard, and I cry out, eyes flying open as I brace myself on my palms on the cold, hard floor.
“You still want it to hurt?” he asks me, his spit dripping down from my already-soaked pussy.
I bite my lip. Nod my head.
He slaps my ass again. “That wasn’t an answer. Use your fucking mouth before I use it for you, Ella.”
I gasp at his words, but I realize it’s not from being hurt or upset. It’s something worse. I…like it.
“Yes,” I tell him quickly, before he can slap me again. “Yes, I want it to hurt.”
“That’s better, baby.”
And then, without warning, he guides his cock into me and slams it all the way to the hilt, forcing me to fall forward on my arms.
His hand goes to my hair, threading it through his fingers and jerking my head up. My neck is arched, and I can barely breathe.