Chapter 8
Maverick
The Waffle Den is warm enough to fog my breath the second I step inside.
Mabel looks up from behind the counter and locks onto me like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“Well,” she says, voice bright with trouble, “if it isn’t Lovesbury’s grumpiest ex-bachelor. Two days in a row. Should I start charging you rent?”
“Table,” I mutter.
She presses a hand to her chest like I just proposed.
“Oh, he wants a table. Look at you, Rodgers. The auction actually found you a woman.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t start.”
Mabel’s grin only gets wider. “What? I’m proud of my town. We fix a roof and accidentally domesticate you. Everybody wins.”
“Two burgers,” I say.
“Of course,” she chirps. “Same as yesterday?”
“No,” I mutter. “Make it double.”
Her brows lift. “You did something that wore you out?”
I give her a look.
She holds it, unbothered, then grabs two menus and jerks her head toward a booth by the window.
“Come on,” she says. “Sit before I tell the whole diner you’re blushing.”
“I’m not,” I grumble, following her anyway.
She slides the menus onto the table, still smirking. “In case you need more energy, I’ll bring coffee too. You look like you need it.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sure you are,” she says, and heads back toward the counter.
I shift in the booth, eyes going to the window without thinking.
And that’s when I see it.
Nova near the bank entrance.
A man’s hand on her wrist.
Pulling.
My body goes cold.
My body moves before my brain finishes the thought.
The bell over the diner door jingles behind me. Cold air bites my face. The world narrows to one thing.
His hand on her.
Bootsteps crunch on packed snow. Slow. Heavy.
I stop close enough that he can hear me breathe.
“Step away from my woman,” I say, voice flat.
His head turns.
He’s got that smug, cheap kind of confidence, the kind that’s only brave when he thinks he has control.
Then he sees my face.
His grip falters.
I take one more step, and the air changes. Quiet. Sharp.
“Now. If you want to live,” I add.
He swallows, then forces a laugh like he can talk his way out of this.
“Your woman?” he says, eyes flicking over Nova like she’s property. “Buddy, she was my woman a few days ago.”
Nova goes still. I feel it in my bones.
He smiles wider, getting meaner because that’s what weak men do when they’re cornered.
“She ran off with my money,” he says. “Now she’s playing mountain princess with a guy way out of her league.”
His gaze slides over her. “Guess she thought she could upgrade.”
Nova flinches.
That’s the last mistake he makes.
I don’t think.
My fist connects with his mouth with a crack that echoes off brick.
He stumbles back into the snow, hands flying to his face. Blood spots the white.
Nova gasps my name.
I don’t take my eyes off him.
He looks up, shocked, then furious, then afraid when he realizes I’m not finished if he keeps talking.
“You’re crazy,” he spits, voice thick. “You’re gonna regret that.”
“Leave,” I say. “Never come back.”
He scrambles to his feet, wiping blood off his lip. His eyes flick to Nova again.
“You think he’s gonna keep you?” he sneers at her. “He doesn’t even know what you are.”
I take a step.
He backs up. Fast.
“Yeah,” he says, pointing as he retreats. “This isn’t over. You hear me?”
I don’t answer.
I just watch him until he turns the corner and disappears.
Only then do I look at Nova.
Her face is pale. Her eyes are wide. Her wrist is red where he grabbed her.
I move in close, hands gentle as I check her arm.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does, blinking like she’s trying not to fall apart.
“You hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head once. “Just… scared.”
“You’re safe. I’m here.”
Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something, but I’m already guiding her toward the diner.
“Let's get inside,” I tell her. “Eat.”
“Maverick, I…”
“Nova.” I make it a warning and an anchor all at once. “Inside. Now.”
She hesitates for half a second, then nods and moves.
I keep my body between her and the street until the diner door shuts behind her.
Then I follow.
Mabel takes one look at us and her face hardens.
“What happened? she demands.
“Nothing important.”
I don’t take my eyes off Nova as she slides into a booth, still shaking.
I lean down, bracing my hands on the table near Nova’s shoulders, close enough that she can feel me without me caging her.
“You’re not going to the bank alone,” I say quietly. “Not again.”
Her throat works. “I just wanted to deposit the money.”
“We will,” I say.
I brush my thumb over the inside of her wrist, gentle. “We eat. Then I’m walking you back over there. You deposit every dollar. And after today…”
I hold her gaze.
“…you don’t leave my sight again.”
The cabin is quiet now.
The kind of quiet that sinks into your bones.
Snow drifts slow and steady outside the windows, softening the edges of the world. The fire’s burned low, casting flickering gold across the floor. I shut Nugget in his room an hour ago, and for once, the menace went down without protest, probably worn out from the evening walk in the woods.
Nova’s on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, wearing one of my old flannel shirts, sleeves rolled to her elbows, collar wide enough to tease bare skin.
She hasn’t said much since the diner.
Neither have I.
But it’s not silence that sits between us, it’s weight. Heat. That heavy hum that only grows stronger the longer we try not to look.
I’m in the recliner across from her, beer forgotten on the side table. I keep watching her legs shift under the blanket, the curve of her thigh when she moves, the edge of a smile tugging at her mouth like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
She glances up and catches me staring.
Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.
Just watches me back, calm and steady.
Like we both know what’s coming.
I stand.
And the way her eyes trace the movement tells me she’s ready for this.
For me.
I sink down beside her, close enough that my thigh brushes hers.
Her breath catches, lashes dipping for a heartbeat before lifting again. She looks at me like she already knows exactly what she’s doing to me.
And she’s not going to stop it.
“You tired?” I ask, voice low.
She shakes her head once. “Not even close.”
I reach for the edge of the blanket. “Good.”
Her eyes track every movement as I peel it away and let it drop to the floor. My hand returns to her knee, bare and warm beneath my touch, and I slide my palm slowly up her thigh. Her breath hitches. I feel it in my bones.
“You wearing anything under this?” I ask, voice rougher now.
She shakes her head again.
Christ.
My hand slides higher.
She shifts, opening for me without needing a word. Her lips part on a gasp when my fingers find heat and slick waiting for me between her thighs.
No hesitation.
No question.
She wants this.
Wants me.
I stroke her slowly, teasing. Learning her all over again. Her body arches, soft sounds leaving her mouth, her hips pressing into my hand like she needs more and knows I’ll give it.
But not yet.
I lean in, brushing my mouth over her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” she whispers, breathless. “Here.”
That’s all it takes.
My mouth finds hers. Hot, deep, hungry.
She melts into it, pulling me in by the shirt, kissing like she’s trying to consume me. I haul her into my lap without breaking contact, her thighs straddling mine, her core pressed hard against the erection that’s been straining since the first time she looked at me like this.
She rolls her hips. I groan into her mouth.
My hands grip her ass, guiding her rhythm as she rocks against me. We’re still mostly dressed. Still playing with fire.
But it’s already out of our hands.
Her body knows mine. My body’s starving for hers.
I push the flannel off her shoulders, letting it slide down her arms until it pools behind her.
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Flushed cheeks. Heavy eyes. Mouth kiss-bitten already.
“Bedroom,” I murmur.
“No,” she whispers, breath warm against my mouth. “Here.”
God help me.
She yanks my shirt over my head and tosses it aside. Her palms skim over my chest, fingertips tracing the lines and scars like she wants to memorize every inch.
I reach between us, freeing myself from my jeans with one hand, and she watches, eyes wide with heat, mouth slightly parted.
I sit back against the couch, cock thick and aching, standing tall between us.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She rises to her knees and lowers herself slowly. Her eyes flutter closed as I slide inside her, inch by inch, every muscle in my body fighting to stay still and let her take her time.
She’s so tight. So wet.
It’s like heaven and hell at once.
When she’s fully seated, she opens her eyes and meets my gaze.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she says softly.
I grip her hips, voice ragged. “Then move, sweetheart.”
And she does.
Slowly at first, hips rolling with a rhythm that nearly unravels me. Her hands plant on my shoulders for balance, her tits bouncing with every rise and fall of her body. I take one in my mouth, sucking her nipple into my mouth, teeth grazing until she gasps.
She moves faster. I thrust up to meet her.
It’s raw and messy and perfect.
Her hands tangle in my hair as I kiss her neck, her jaw, her mouth. Every moan, every shudder, every breath that hitches in her throat drives me harder.
I grip her ass, guiding her pace, and she rides me like she’s already mine.
“God,” she gasps, “Maverick—”
“I’ve got you,” I growl.
One hand slips between us, thumb circling her clit.
She shatters a moment later, legs trembling, her body locking around me with a cry that punches all the air from my lungs. I follow with a groan, thrusting deep and spilling into her with a heat that leaves me wrecked.
We collapse together, chests heaving, hearts pounding.
I hold her close, her head tucked under my chin, her body still trembling around me.
She’s mine and I’m never letting her go.