Legend (Real, #6)(62)

“I am wet,” I gasp.

He unbuttons and unzips my jeans and slips his fingers inside, into my panties, and then he groans when he brushes his fingers between my folds. And I’m soaked. My panties are soaked, my folds are soaked, soaked for him, and he says, “I could drink you, Reese, and never get thirsty.”

I brush my hand against his cock and he groans.

“It hurts?”

“Best kind of pain, the one you give me.” His tongue flashes out to rub across my nipple again and I let my fingers wander his shoulders, his flexing arms, and his perfect back.

“I love touching you, Maverick,” I whisper as I arch again and lick my tongue into his mouth. This is only my second time, and I’m curious. I’m alert to the way his breath changes. The way my body softens and weakens and wets for him. The feel of my nipples grazing against the flat wall of his chest. The way my hips seem to lift, wantonly and on their own, upward. Asking for it.

I’m already high and I keep rising and rising as he eases his finger inside me. I bury my nose in his neck, and Maverick presses me closer to him. I’m panting, and he’s breathing deeper than usual.

I bite his throat exploratively and drag my fingers over his tattoo, tracing it in my mind.

“Reese,” he rasps. “When you do that . . .”

“What?”

He looks at me with eyes that look heavy and hazy with desire.

Desire for me.

And I think . . . maybe. Love.

“You’re the only person in the world who gets this tattoo,” he rasps thickly, and then he crushes my mouth and kisses me, ravenous and deep.

We’ve been waiting for this and we’re both so wired, we can hardly speak. Maverick tugs my jeans down my body, gets rid of every scrap on me. And then he gets rid of his perfectly sexy clothes and he is so . . .

Freaking.

Perfect.

Naked.

Hot.

And in f*cking bed. With me.

I don’t even have time to be self-aware. Or time to feel a little too voluptuous. I’m a little firmer and sleeker now, though still curved. But the way Maverick’s silver-metal eyes eye-f*ck me as he comes over to lie on top of me tells me that this man, this man, thinks I’m gorgeous and perfect and amazing and female. The proof of that is, though I have never seen another erection in my life, I’m sure there could not be one as big and hard and greedy-looking as Maverick’s.

He shifts above me so that our bodies are at maximum contact. So I can feel his cock between my legs, and I like the maximum contact so much. Too much. I shiver and fist his hair and breathe rapidly in and out, anxiously, through my mouth. “Oh god, Maverick, I’ve wanted this too much.”

“I still want this too much, Reese,” he says as he goes to his knees, and I watch him, and I know that he can see me watching him—his chest, his arms, his abs, his erection.

Just as he’s watching me. My chest, my abdomen, my hips . . . my *.

We’re impatient.

I start grabbing him to me and he’s high on me, I can feel it in the strength of his kiss, his arms as he grabs my hips and drags me down the bed toward his erection, hard and Maverick’s, and he watches me as he plunges. I gasp, my cheeks hot, my hair getting tangled behind me as I toss my head to one side and then to the other. The pleasure of this man inside me is absolute.

He’s all I want.

He takes my knees and drags my legs around his hips, driving in deeper. So deep my vision goes blurry, and his eyes go dark, almost engulfed by his pupils.

I raise my head and kiss the scar above his eye, where I stitched him up once. He groans, undone, and sets his forehead on mine. He slides a hand between us, rubbing my clit with his thumb.

“Are you letting go for me?” he murmurs.

He buries himself deeper, grabs my hips and holds me down so I have no choice but to take him, deeper and deeper, as far as he wants to go. As far as I want him.

Hands on my hip bones, he moves in me, and I move with him. Like a dance. We go faster and faster. And I never want to stop. I never want to stop moving, watching, tasting, getting f*cked by Maverick Cage in Maverick Cage’s bed.

I always wanted to be loved, and I think he loves me because I’m ready to be loved, and he’s ready too, and here we are.

We’re having hot sex but we’re making love, him and I, and I want to say it. I want to say the I love you because who knows if there’s tomorrow, if I’ll ever get to say it again, if I’ll see him after the season; who knows what happens tomorrow and yet I know now that I have to say it.

I’m coming and I want to bring my heart to an emotional climax too, and when I can only gasp and see colors and stars and Maverick’s gorgeous male face before me, I hear him.

“That’s right, Reese,” he says, kissing my lips until my chest is ready to explode along with the rest of me. “You’re with me now.”

? ? ?

IT’S EARLY IN the morning. Three, maybe, or four. And I’m the Sexpot in Maverick Cage’s Bed. The Lucky Sexpot.

I’m enjoying watching his muscles as he shifts and moves above me.

The clench of his jaw when he’s moving inside me.

The chameleonic shifts in his eyes as we start making love . . . and finish making love.

I’m addicted and drunk with all the ways his lips know how to move and pleasure, torture and reward. He’s f*cked me, he’s made love to me, he’s . . . well, he’s gone down on me.