29. Maverick
29
Maverick
I ’m falling for you, Maverick.
The last thing I expected when I came home was to discover blankets and candles, baskets and better organization, small touches of a woman. Things that didn’t even cross my mind but made perfect sense.
Now Sophie stood in the kitchen, making something fascinating to watch. Gone was the insecure woman from earlier, and in her place was a confident woman who seemed at peace. A smile rested on her lips, seemingly permanent by how it hadn’t faded, and her waves were wild around her.
And her words kept echoing in my head.
I’m falling for you, Maverick.
Sophie was single-handedly throwing every single one of my rules out the window, and I didn’t even care. Didn’t even think to stop it, because it felt right and it felt good.
Fast-paced was how I lived my life, and this relationship was no exception.
“What are you making?” I asked, not because I cared about the food—fuck, I couldn’t even think about eating after she made my whole world tilt—but because I needed to hear her voice. Needed to bottle it up in my head, hold onto it like a lifeline before I went the next week without her.
“ Arepas. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.” She pressed the dough between her fingers, rolling it methodically, like muscle memory. Her movements slowed for a beat—just enough to tell me she was remembering, too. The way I’d stood in this same kitchen, making my own grandmother’s recipe for her, letting her in.
“What is it?”
“Basically a dough stuffed with a filling. It’s actually a traditional dish from my grandfather’s side of the family that my grandmother learned how to make in order to impress his parents. He was Colombian, but my grandmother immigrated here from Spain. Spanish through and through. So, she taught my mother, and I grew up making this with the both of them,” she told me.
Leaning forward on my elbows, the marble cool against my skin. I listened intently to every word. “You’re Colombian?”
She nodded. “Only about an eighth. I did one of those DNA tests a few years ago. I’m mostly Spanish, though.” I watched as she expertly filled the dough and pressed it together to seal in the filling then checked the temperature of the cast iron skillet on the stove.
Sophie continued, setting the arepas aside as she finished each one. Heat still licked through my veins from the way she’d said it, the way I’d said it back. My fingers traced the marbling in the counter, restless, my thoughts already turning over solutions —excuses—to keep her here, to make sure a fucking state line never came between us again.
“Honest question?” I said.
“Sure.”
“What are you going to do once Chavez has been taken care of?”
Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, do you plan to stay at your job? Or even in Newark?”
She sighed. “That’s a million-dollar question, darling. Short answer is that I don’t know. After Callie and Liam moved here, I’ve been wondering what my next move would be. My previous captain really fucked things up and my whole work dynamic changed after he left. I don’t really love it there anymore, but I don’t know how I could afford moving back here, nor am I certain that I’d transfer to NYPD.”
She carried the platter of arepas to the table then grabbed a bottle of wine from the wine cooler. Seeing her so at home here in my penthouse made me feel warm inside.
“What happened with your previous captain?” Curiosity weighed on me, these parts of her life that I was suddenly craving to know.
A humorless laugh escaped her. “Did you happen to see what transpired with Callie and Liam?”
I recalled Paulie’s brief explanation of her friends. “Not really.”
She hummed. “Let me set the scene for you. Callie dated a man named Owen Fisher. Shortly after they got together, she and I went to an annual Christmas gala where NPD and NYPD basically throw an extravagant event and invite the elite to raise money for law enforcement.” She opened the bottle of wine, poured two glasses, and handed me one. I took a grateful sip as she continued, leading me over to the table. “Well, at the gala that year, Callie and Liam hooked up.” Sophie paused to take a large drink of wine.
“Fast forward to the next fall. Owen and Callie were still dating, she was miserable, but she was hyper-focused on this one serial killer case—her first case, actually. You see, Callie’s a perfectionist, and the fact that it was her only cold case drove her crazy. It was really fucking sad watching my best friend fall into depression and alcoholism because it haunted her.” Sophie turned her attention to dishing the arepas , but I didn’t miss the sadness in her eyes. “I swear this is all relevant to the story, Mav.”
I snorted. “Don’t worry about me. I could listen to you talk all day.”
She threw me a grateful smile before taking a seat. “Anyway, there was this detective from NYPD that was requesting those case documents from her, and they got into a bit of a tiff over it. Come to find out, that detective was transferring to our precinct, and wound up being Callie’s partner. Care to guess who it was?”
Grinning, I said, “Liam.”
She snapped her fingers. “Bingo. Callie and Liam, in real life and outside of a fancy event with free-flowing booze, did not get along so well. They butted heads a lot, but there was also a lot of sexual tension between them. I think they both knew it, but neither of them would fucking admit it, and ugh , it was so frustrating watching those two pine after each other.” She sighed, then instructed, “Eat.”
I cut into the arepa , popping a bite into my mouth. I closed my eyes as the flavors burst on my tongue. It was quite possibly the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten. “Oh my fucking God, Sophie.” I half shoveled it into my mouth, relishing in her girlish giggles.
“Okay, you don’t need to exaggerate.”
“Hate to break it to you, babe, but I’m dead serious when I say I’d eat this every night for the rest of my life.”
She rolled her eyes, but I could tell by the flush in her cheeks she was pleased. I kept eating, prompting her to continue. “At the same time, our captain encouraged them to reopen that case, which they did. The killings started up again, and then they were both hunting the killer.”
“What about Callie’s boyfriend?”
Sophie smiled bitterly, her finger tracing the top of her wine glass. “Right. Her boyfriend. He was insanely jealous of Liam, even before anything happened between them. Put his hands on her a few times, but was also cheating on her.”
“He assaulted her?”
She nodded. “Callie faked an engagement to him because she had a hunch something was off. She was right, but it almost got her killed.” She tossed the rest of her wine back, and I stood to get the bottle. “Well… things got really bad and Callie quit her job to move back home in Pennsylvania. Things settled down. The killings stopped. Liam moved back to New York. That was that.”
“Until…” I urged, wondering why she was taking her time with the story.
“Until she spotted her ex, Owen Fisher, on the same day that not one but two of those killings happened… in her hometown. She put the pieces together that he was the killer and was targeting her.” She shuddered. “Callie and Liam were shipped off in WITSEC, and while they were gone, the Feds turned our precinct upside down. We found out that our previous captain lied about submitting the case to the feds when it first went cold, and again when he pressed Callie and Liam to reopen it. Turns out he was doing it with a bunch of cases so our clearance rates were higher, which meant more funding, higher budgets, and so on.
“Unfortunately, it also meant he was embezzling funds out of the precinct to pay for his own cushy lifestyle, leaving all of us behind in a mess. I’m still adjusting to my new captain but I don’t trust him. I certainly don’t trust any of the new personnel, because I know the city is watching all of us like hawks. Which makes it hard for me to make any wrong moves, in and out of my job.”
“Jesus,” I muttered.
“Yeah.” She took a deep breath before diving into her food.
“All because of those two, huh?”
Sophie laughed. “I guess so. Had they not had an affair, things would have been very different. But also, I can’t imagine how Callie felt knowing she was shacking up with a serial killer for a year.”
I winced. No doubt, I had killed more people than he had. Sophie seemed to realize her mistake when she dropped her head into her hands, groaning. The light from the chandelier above us reflected off her dark hair and the silver rings on her fingers.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, Soph. I know I’m a monster.” I ran a finger along the edge of the table.
She put her fork down. “You’re not a monster. You… you’re like me.” I arched a brow. “I just mean, you’re not killing for sport. It’s part of your job.” Her eyes searched mine, and somehow she made me hate myself a little less. Put herself on my level, even though she was leagues above me.
“You really are amazing, you know that?”
She beamed. “Thank you. Wanna watch a movie?”
***
Sophie’s body was nestled between my legs, her back to my chest as we snuggled on the couch and watched some girly movie.
I didn’t really care.
I was just happy to be with her.
I felt… normal. Like I didn’t carry the weight of my family’s wealth or worry about the next person who stepped out of line.
I felt… peace.
Doing something so mundane twisted my insides. I wanted to do this every night with her, wanted her in my space. And maybe she did too—she’d just made my place cozier , after all. But part of me still braced for the moment she’d pull away, like commitment was something she didn’t quite trust yet.
I stroked her hair rhythmically, her soft tresses slipping through my fingers. Her head fell back against my shoulder, and seeing her like this…
My dick was hardening the longer she stayed pressed against me.
She giggled at something in the movie and squirmed a little, creating friction against my lap. Breath rushing out of me, I refrained from flexing my hips into her. She was clearly enjoying herself; she didn’t need me going all carnal on her.
Especially after the emotional day she’d had.
But… fuck it.
I wasn’t going to pretend to not want her.
Pressing my lips to the soft spot behind her ear, I snaked an arm around her midsection under the new blanket she’d bought.
She hummed. “I was wondering when you were going to make a move,” she murmured, still facing the TV.
I paused, splaying my fingers wide across her stomach. “You seemed relaxed.”
“Never stopped you before.”
Something in her tone gave me pause—made me realize how hard I really was falling for her, because the man I was before wouldn’t have cared about giving her time to relax. I would’ve taken and taken and taken until I was satisfied.
“You’re right,” I agreed, throwing her over my shoulder as I rose to my feet.
She shrieked, “Maverick!”
“Don’t act like you mind,” I quipped, smacking her ass as I marched down the hallway to my room. “You’re still at fourteen.”
Sophie stilled. “Fuck,” she swore under her breath. “I’m equal parts scared and turned on.”
I laughed, kicking open my door and stopping at the edge of the bed to toss her onto it. “Good, because I’m not going easy on you.”
Her hair fanned around her head, her cheeks slowly turning pink. It was a delicious fucking sight. A different part—a darker part—of me took over. Flooded my veins, until all I could think about was how much I was going to make her fucking suffer. Just like she made me suffer for the last three weeks.
Like she thought she could escape me that easily.
“Strip.”
One article at a time, she peeled off layers to reveal her perfect body, and I noted just how much thinner she looked. How did I not notice this yesterday? Not that she was any less beautiful, but the fact she felt the need to starve herself to begin with angered me.
“Move to the top of the bed. Head on the pillows, legs spread.” She hesitated, so I dipped my chin, lowering my voice. “ Now, Sophie.”
Pushing herself up, she scrambled backwards until she was positioned as I instructed. I rounded the bed, stopping at my dresser and pulling open the top two drawers. Locating the items I wanted, I slowly turned back. Sophie glanced down at the ropes and leather handcuffs in my hands, then back at me.
She held one wrist out to me, submitting—making me feel fucking unhinged .
I secured one cuff around her wrist, then looped the soft red rope through the hoop on the cuff and secured it to the metal rings attached to the bed posts.
“Pull,” I demanded, hungrily watching as she tested the durability of the knot. “Such a good girl,” I praised. When I confirmed there was no give, I moved to the other side of the bed and repeated the process.
“Mav,” she whispered as I finished.
My eyes flicked to hers. “Yeah, baby?”
“What are you going to do?”
I grasped one of her ankles, cuffed it, and secured it to the bed post, then moved on to her other ankle, until she was perfectly spread in an X on my bed, her pretty little pussy bared and gleaming with arousal.
Humming my approval, I picked up the final item: nipple clamps attached together by a chain. I rubbed her breasts with my fingers; she moaned and arched her back, her nipples hardening. Smiling cruelly, I clamped them both, feeling feral when I heard her gasp, and stepped back to admire my handiwork.
I devoured the sight of her, running my tongue along my bottom lip. Her dark eyes trailed the movement.
Then, and only then, did I respond, “I’m going to worship you.”