Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(58)

He sets me on the edge of the bed, and I shrug out of my cardigan, tossing it on the floor before I move back on the mattress, giving him room to climb up after me.

He settles one hand on my ankle and smooths his palm up my shin, over my knee and along the outside of my thigh. “It feels like it’s been two lifetimes since I’ve been with you.” He drops his head, and his mouth finds mine again.

We stay like that for long minutes, hands roaming, mouths locked in a lazy kiss. I tug his shirt free from his dress pants and slide my hands up his back, the fabric bunching. He’s so broad, and the muscles in his back tense and flex as he holds himself above me, careful not to put his weight on me, except where he’s nestled in the cradle of my hips.

I wrap my legs around his waist and hook one foot over the other, tipping my hips up, feeling his thick ridge pressing between my thighs. I clench at the memory of what it was like the last time we were together like this.

He pushes up on one arm, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he fingers the hem of my T-shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please. Yes.”

He shifts his position, kneeling between my thighs, both hands easing up and under the shirt, exposing my stomach. When he grazes the underside of my bra, he pauses, dips down to press a soft kiss above my navel, and then keeps going.

I raise my arms to make it easier, and he carefully pulls it over my head, tossing it onto the floor.

“Yours too.” I start unfastening the buttons of his shirt with unsteady hands. When I’ve managed to get the top two undone, he reaches behind him and pulls it over his head.

We’ve been naked together before, more than once. But it’s different this time. So different. We’re not two strangers with chemistry. It’s so much more than that. We spent weeks avoiding each other, and then everything shifted. It stopped being about what had happened and started being about what could. Now every touch is steeped in intention and desire.

He dips back down toward my mouth, but I put a hand on his chest. “Let me enjoy the view for a moment, please.”

He chuckles and skims my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re excellent for my ego and very welcome to cop all the feels you want.”

I laugh and bite my lip, running my fingers over his chest, following the smattering of dark hair, skipping over the dips and ridges of his abs to the fine trail that disappears into the waistband of his dress pants.

“You really are incredible, inside and out,” I whisper.

“So are you.” His muscles jump and flex under my touch. And like always, his skin flashes with goose bumps, and so does mine. I smooth my hands back up, thumbs sweeping over his nipples and along his collarbones.

I tug, and he drops his head, lips brushing over my cheek. His gentleness seems so at odds with his formidable size. His tongue strokes out to find mine, and I melt into him. There’s nothing hurried in the way Maverick kisses me. And all the while, his fingers trail up and down my side, skimming the edge of my bra, smoothing over the swell of my breasts, but never going under the fabric.

I run my hands down the broad expanse of his back. When his mouth disengages from mine and he kisses a path along the edge of my jaw, I slide a hand into his dress pants and under his boxer briefs, pushing down while I lift my hips. The thick ridge of his cock glides over my clit through layers of fabric.

He groans into my skin and parts his lips. His tongue sweeps out, warm and wet and soft, followed by the gentle press of his teeth. I push my fingers through his hair, grip the strands, and tilt my head. “Do that again.”

“Do what again?” His voice is a gritty rasp.

“Use teeth.”

He parts his lips, tongue sweeping along my skin, followed by the soft press of teeth. I arch and tighten my hold on his hair. “More, harder.”

“I don’t want to leave marks.” He presses a tender kiss to my skin.

“I have scarves and turtlenecks. You’re not going to hurt me.” I stroke my thumb down the back of his neck. “Again, please.”

He exhales a slow, heavy breath and repeats the sequence: gentle kiss, warm tongue, and the delicious, too-brief sting of teeth. He trails more kisses along the side of my neck and over my collarbone. “You.” His lips move along the edge of my bra. “Are.” He bites the swell through the fabric. “Stunning.” He slips a hand under, fingertips gliding along the edge of my breast. “Can I take this off?”

“Absolutely. Yes, please.” I arch to give him more room, and he frees the clasp with one flick.

He tucks his finger under the strap at my shoulder, tugging down to expose a nipple.

His eyes lift to mine as he lowers his head and circles it with his tongue before covering it with his mouth. And my hands are back in his hair. I tighten my legs around his waist and grind against him, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact, more sensation, just . . . more.

But it’s very clear that Maverick has plans, and they don’t include rushing. My bra ends up on the floor with our shirts, and he cups one breast, thumb grazing the nipple while he sucks and licks the other, alternating back and forth until I’m a writhing, moaning mess.

My clit throbs from all the grinding, and I swear if he keeps it up, there’s a chance I’ll come without him touching me below the waist. I’m right at the edge when he kisses between my breasts and starts to head lower. His hair tickles my stomach as he passes my navel. He pushes up, folding back on his knees. His fingertips skim the waistband of my leggings. “Is it okay if I take these off?”