Bitter Sweet Heart (Lies, Hearts & Truths #2)(61)

“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.

“Just tell me if this position is too much.” In one smooth surge, he folds back on his knees, me clinging to his shoulders as he adjusts his hold, cupping my ass so he can lift and lower me, faster and harder.

I can feel the orgasm building as Maverick’s lip curls, and he makes a feral sound. “I’m gonna come,” he warns.

“Yes, please.” I caress the edge of his jaw. “Let me see you.”

His hands curl over my shoulders, his hips lifting one last time as he holds me in place. His eyes fall closed, and I brush my lips over his. “Maverick, look at me.”

His lids flip open and lock on me. “Just let go, so I can too.”

His mouth drops open and then clamps shut with a snap. He shudders violently, and I rock my hips, chasing down my orgasm as I watch his wash over him. I feel him, not just around me and inside me, but on a deeper level—the kind of connection I’ve never experienced before. I suddenly understand it’s what every relationship I’ve been in before now has been missing. It’s always been just sex, but this is transcendental.

I feel simultaneously whole and broken. I can’t and don’t want to un-experience this, but even though this is supposed to be temporary, it’s going to hurt like hell when it ends.

I have to enjoy it while it lasts.

Maverick takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly, indulging in a few strokes of tongue before he releases my lips.

“That was . . . intense. I haven’t come like that since . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head, and his eyes dart away. “The last time I was with you.”

“You want to talk about why you don’t like to be on top?”

He arches a brow. “You really want to talk about my sexual history when I’m still inside you and we’re both rocking afterglow?”

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want to talk about it?”