Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
MIA
“You’ve been quiet since we left headquarters. What’s going on?” Maverick asks back at the cabin.
“Nothing.” My voice sounds far away, like I’m floating above it. A flash of anger tightens my core. I bite my lip.
He shifts uneasily.
“I need to use the restroom,” I excuse.
When I return, overnight bag in hand, the kitchen stool squeaks as Maverick jumps to his feet. I notice the subtle way he favors one leg.
“What are you doing?” he growls.
“Leaving. I’ve caused enough trouble.”
He grimaces, face reddening. His mouth works, but he doesn’t speak. He waits.
Rage rises in my chest.
“You’re just like everybody else,” I explode, dropping my bag and pacing. “Another handler in boots.”
His face storms, but he still says nothing, standing strong, swallowing my fury.
“I should’ve known.” I simmer. “My parents hired Lone Star—hired you—to pry into my life. To spy on me. God!”
The floorboards whine and squeak as my boots hammer across them. “And to think I confided in you. I trusted you. Maybe Edwin’s right. Maybe I’m mentally incapacitated.”
“Mia,” he says low and dangerous.
I pause mid-stride, exhaling sharply.
Tension thickens the air until I can’t breathe.
“Mia,” he repeats, softer.
I shake my head, hands balled at my sides, cheeks heated.
Maverick doesn’t move, doesn’t defend himself or make excuses. Instead, he holds space for me, even when I rant and yell—accuse him of things I know aren’t true.
But it’s easier.
Far easier than saying goodbye.
Tears stream down my face, and my shoulders droop as I try to hold it in.
When he crosses the distance, when he wraps me in his steel-band arms, I break hard against his chest, trembling and sobbing.
Curling my fingers into his shirt, I plead, “Please, Maverick. Don’t let them take me away. Don’t let them take me from you.”
I want him to say, never. To lie to me and make me feel better. Instead, he holds tighter, burying his face in my hair.
And that’s when I know that I have to take a piece of him with me. No matter how much it hurts. Even if it wrecks me. I can’t leave without him.
“Please, Maverick,” I sob, clinging to him. “Pretend you love me. Show me how that feels, just once.”
He pulls back, dark eyes wild. “I can’t do that, Mia.”
“Why not?” My voice trembles.
“Because it won’t be pretend.”
The words are lightning.
Then, he’s on me.
Hands gripping my face, mouth seeking. Walking me backward. My shoulder blades hit the wall, head cradled by one hand. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, a growl rumbling through his chest. Passion ignites, wildfire behind my ribs.
He lifts me off the ground, and my legs wrap around his waist, hands gripping his neck.
“Need you,” he grunts.
The backs of my eyes sting as he presses me hard against the wall, his firm length digging into my thigh. I gasp as he changes the angle, deepening the kiss.
A savage look fills his eyes, his hands roaming my body, claiming every inch.
“We should stop,” he grunts.
“No.”
I rest my head against the wall, devouring him through tear-moistened lashes, etching him forever in my memory. The smell of pine. The heat of rock-hard muscles. The obsidian eyes that strip me down to my soul.
“But if I take this from you—”
“You can’t take anything from me, Maverick, unless you say no.”
That’s when he decides, mouth crashing into me again, hands fighting with my clothes as we head down the hallway. He lowers me onto the mattress, face stern and beautiful, body straining to hold back.
Our gaze never breaks as I slide out of my jeans and shirt. Then, my bra and panties. He matches me item for item—denim and cotton, leather and steel—until nothing lingers between us but air.
His chest is broad and rippled, abs taut and defined. Threads of silver web near one hip, trauma branded in flesh. But it’s his firm, veiny length, so taut it looks angry, that steals my breath.
“You’re stunning, Mia,” he says, raw-voiced, eyes sliding over me.
He pauses, swallowing hard.
Then, “I’m clean, and I have condoms.”
My throat tightens, goosebumps lining my skin. We’re really doing this.
“No condoms,” I pant. “I’m clean, too, and I need to feel you.”
He moves with the agility of a puma. Muscles dancing beneath skin as he presses me into the bed, bracing with one arm—enough weight to reassure me I’m not alone.
His kiss is ignition. His calloused hands slide over my hips and waist. Then, up to my breasts. I gasp, his thumb sliding over one pebbled nipple. The breath hitches in his throat as he dips his head, burying me in the heat of his wicked mouth.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, arching toward him. He swirls and devours, sucks and nips as his other hand descends lower, sliding between my legs.
“Mia.” His voice is devotion. His fingers, a dangerous invitation, sliding and swirling. His thumb circles my clit, and I quiver. Need acute, I grind against him, begging.
His eyes meet mine—heat and fire. Fingers claim me as I gasp, squirm.
“Easy,” Maverick says against my mouth, hot breath brushing my cheek. “Trust me, Princess.”
My eyes slide shut. Heat curls and twists, melting into his touch. Warm lips feather down my ribcage, trailing fire. Excruciating. Slow.
He slides lower. I tremble, a live wire at his touch.
Shouldering between my legs, his head dips. I dissolve into bliss. Breath racing. Body unraveling.
And, God, how he moves. Slow. Savoring. Claiming.
His thick tongue is wet velvet, pushing me to the edge. My hips buck, desperate. He’s on me, inside me … circling, stroking.
Until I throb—dizzy, aching, unhinged.
Desire hums through me. Pleasure sharp as a knife’s point.
Then, I shatter.
The world falls away.
My voice echoes through the cabin. No control.
Just the cowboy with dark eyes and steady hands.
He palms my cheek—seeing—truly seeing me. “You okay?”
“More than okay,” I whisper. “Better than—” I can’t speak.
“Oh, yeah?” He chuckles huskily. “Need a break?”
“No, Maverick,” I whisper, clutching his neck. “I need more—you.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then, don’t stop.” I stretch up, capturing his mouth.
He rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. His thick cock digs into my leg as I straddle him.
“Want you to ride me, Mia. Take what you need from me. I won’t hold anything back.”
Our eyes lock. I rise, grip his girth, and slowly inch over him.
Too much. I grimace.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me back.
“Slow and easy, Princess. No rush.”
I stroke his cheek, love radiating from my eyes.
This time, I savor him, sliding up and down. Exploring. Accepting. Trusting.
His hands draw me lower as desire builds. Steadying me when I squeeze my eyes tight.
Exhale.
Drawing us closer.
Until we breathe, move as one.
I whimper, body shaking. Pain and passion unite. I lean forward, hearts pressing together, lips tangling as I fly free, spasming and breaking.
He drives deep with a throaty cry, burying waves of warmth.
Afterward, I trace the circle tattoo on his chest, wrapped in tenderness. I’ve never felt so cherished—so seen. I almost don’t know how to hold it. Still, I can’t let go.
The bedroom is dark, like a lantern’s been extinguished. The world outside has slipped fully into night.
Maverick cradles me in his arms like nothing could tear me away.
And yet, it’s still there between us—the inevitable.
I rest my head on his chest, the loud thud of his heart against my ear. It could almost convince me there’s a way through this.
His hand comes up, cupping my cheek, his fingertips brushing the wet track of my tears. He tilts my face toward his, and that’s when I see his eyes are red, too. He wants me to see it.
He swallows hard. “This circle’s us now,” he says, like a promise—though uncertainty threads his voice.
I can’t speak. I only nod, nestling against him.