30. Clara
CLARA
RED VELVET
Maverick doesn’t ask me twice. He adjusts his hands on my thighs, holding me in a bruising grip, and starts down the hall without a word, carrying me as though I weigh nothing.
I bury my face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in. My lips find his pulse, leaving featherlight kisses against his warm skin. His beard brushes against my cheek as I nuzzle higher, nipping his earlobe—soft, deliberate.
A low growl rumbles from his chest, sending a thrill straight through me. “Fuck, sunshine,” he mutters, voice rough and even. “Keep doing that, and we’re not gonna make it to the bedroom.”
I’m not opposed to that idea. Every inch of me aches for him, and this hallway feels like the longest stretch in the world. I open my mouth to tell him so, but before the words come, we reach the bedroom door.
Thank god.
He nudges it open with his shoulder and strides inside. As soon as we reach the bed, he lowers me, dragging my body against the hardness of his during the descent. His gaze roves over every part of me, as if he’s trying to memorize it—the hunger in his eyes matching mine.
I reach for the waistband of my leggings, but his palms press down my wrists, stilling me.
“Let me,” he says in an almost reverent tone. “I want to undress you. I want to take my time worshipping you until you forget everything but my name.”
He lifts one of my wrists, pressing a tender kiss to the inside. My breath catches at the gentleness of it, the contrast between his rough hands and his soft mouth.
“Will you let me do that, baby?” he whispers.
God, why is that so sexy?
“Please,” I breathe. I stare up at him, letting my eyes soak in every detail of his face.
The morning light spills through the window—the soft glow highlights the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw.
The soft specks of gray in his beard catch the light, and God, all I can think about is how I crave to feel that coarseness against my thighs.
His lips quirk into something between a smile and a promise as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my leggings.
With reverence, Maverick slides them down my hips.
His eyes never leave mine—not even when he leans in and trails open-mouthed kisses along my calf, each press of his lips making me ache more.
A soft whimper escapes me when he nips the sensitive skin on my inner thigh. But he doesn’t move higher. Doesn’t give me what I need. My hips lift off the mattress, chasing contact.
“You can’t rush me, sunshine.” His voice is a low growl, thick with restraint. He gives my other thigh the same teasing attention while my core throbs with neglect. “I told you I want to take my time.”
“Take your time later,” I plead. “I need you.”
“You need me?”
“I need you.”
“You have me.” His words are a vow, and I feel them in my bones.
He leans forward, nuzzling the damp fabric covering me before dragging his nose along my soaked sex. The groan he lets out is guttural. “You’re fucking soaked, baby.”
I sit up long enough for him to pull my sweater over my head and toss it aside. His hand slides behind me, deft fingers unclasping my bra. With a gentle push to the center of my chest, he lays me back down.
“Fuck. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, cupping my breast. His palm is calloused, rough against my sensitive skin.
A cry escapes my lips when his thumb and forefinger roll and pinch my nipple, the sharp pleasure making me arch into him.
His tongue flicks out right before his mouth envelops me.
I rake my fingers through his dark hair, holding him to me as he gives each nipple the same devoted attention.
He alternates between sucking and tugging my nipple between his teeth, threatening to send me over the edge .
My legs wrap around his waist, and I grind my hips against the hard planes of his stomach.
“Maverick, please.”
He trails kisses up my chest, capturing my lips with a hunger that knocks the air from my lungs. His tongue sweeps across the seam of my mouth, and I open for him, moaning when he deepens the kiss. He grips my neck, devouring me like a man starved.
I fumble for the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. “Take it off,” I pant.
He obliges, reaching one hand behind his back and yanking off his shirt in one smooth motion. My eyes roam over his chest—broad, muscled, and dusted in dark hair, with a trail leading south into his jeans. He’s everything. And I want all of him.
His hands stroke my thighs, tapping them in a silent request. When I release him, he shifts down, kissing my stomach as he goes. He pulls my panties off with aching slowness and spreads my legs wide, resting them over his shoulders.
I should feel exposed. Embarrassed. But all I feel is want. I’ve never felt this intense need before—this aching desperation.
“Stay still for me, baby,” is all the warning I get before his mouth is on me.
I cry out, my body curving as his tongue flicks my clit, sucking it between his teeth.
One of his hands splays across my stomach, pinning me to the bed, while the other slides between my legs—two thick fingers plunging inside me.
He curls them just right and groans against me like I’m the one unraveling him.
He adds a third finger when he feels me tightening. “That’s it, sunshine. Come for me.”
The orgasm rips through me. I shake beneath him, crying out his name.
He kisses my thighs, then locks eyes with me as he brings his soaked fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. “Fucking delicious.”
Jesus.
“Taste yourself, baby,” he growls, crawling up to claim my mouth. I moan into him, tasting myself on his tongue.
“Please, Maverick. I need to feel you inside me.”
His jeans can’t come off fast enough. He strips, kicking them aside with his boxers, and I nearly whimper at the sight of him. Thick. Hard. Veined. A drop of precum glistening at the tip.
I reach for him, wanting to taste him, but he shakes his head. “No, this is about you.”
He steps between my legs, our lips colliding while his cock presses against my clit. My hips roll, grinding against him, and he groans—a feral, rumbling sound.
He wraps my hand around his length, guiding me to stroke him. “You have no idea how hard it is not to bury myself inside you right now. Want to feel you wrapped around me, feel you come around my cock.”
God, yes.
“Condom?” I ask, breathless.
“I have one,” he says, resting his forehead to mine, “but fuck, I want to feel you. ”
“I’m clean. And I’m on birth control,” I whisper. The memory of the STD test and forensic exam assaults me, but I shove it away. There’s no room for that here, not with him, not in this moment.
“I’m clean, too,” he says, his lips brushing against mine with each word.
“Don’t make me beg again, please.”
“You don’t have to beg, sunshine. I’m yours.”
Gripping my hips, he positions himself and presses the head of his cock at my entrance.
Then I freeze.
He feels the instantaneous change—feels the tension, the hesitation.
“Hey,” he whispers, his brows knitted in concern. “You okay, baby?”
I nod, but my body doesn’t relax.
“It’s me, sunshine. Holding you, touching you.” He gazes down at me, taking one of my hands and flattening it against his chest. “Just me.”
I feel the rhythmic, rapid beat of his heart—the steady pounding anchoring me in the moment.
And then he flips us. I’m straddling his lap, his back against the headboard.
“You’re in control,” he whispers against my lips, brushing my hair from my face. “One breath at a time.”
I inhale. Exhale. I lock eyes with him, focusing on the warmth in his espresso gaze.
This is Maverick. I’m safe.
He doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t push me. He waits, allowing me to take this at my pace.
And I love him for it.
When I’m ready, I lift and guide him to my entrance, slowly sinking down on him. His breath catches. My pussy stretches. My body trembles. And when he’s fully sheathed, it’s like something clicks into place.
His hands find my hips, helping me move—slow, rolling thrusts. I tilt my head back and start to close my eyes, reveling in the waves of pleasure he creates.
“Don’t.” A pleading whisper. “Don’t close your eyes. Keep them on me. Know that it’s me inside of you.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I ride him harder, chasing the high.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he praises, his fingers digging into my hips. “Fuck, you feel…”
His voice trails off as he leans in and sucks my nipple into his mouth, never breaking eye contact. It’s slow, sensual, causing goosebumps to ripple across my skin.
“That’s it. Who’s inside you, baby?”
“You,” I cry.
“Say it.”
“You! Maverick.”
That’s all it takes. He bucks up, thrusting deep—and I shatter around him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he groans, holding me down as he thrusts into me. “So fucking tight. Oh, fuck, Clara.” He comes with a roar, spilling inside me.
We collapse together, a tangle of limbs and heartbeats.
He trails kisses across my jaw and whispers into my mouth, “You’re perfect, sunshine. And just so you know, I’ll last longer next time. ”
I laugh, curling into him as he wraps me in his arms and shifts us onto our sides, his warm body pressed to my back. I drift off like that—safe, held, at peace.
The smell of bacon wakes me.
I slide out of bed and pull on Maverick’s shirt, the hem brushing mid-thigh. Padding barefoot down the hall, I find him in the kitchen. He moves with easy confidence as he flips pancakes and sips coffee.
I wrap my arms around him from behind, bestowing a kiss to the center of his back. He stills, then turns. A smile tugs at his lips as he sweeps me up and sets me on the counter.
“I was going to bring you breakfast.”
“Mmm. That sounds nice,” I murmur as my arms drape over his shoulders, fingers trailing the nape of his neck.
“And my breakfast is right here,” he says, peering at me with mischievous eyes while placing a hand between my thighs. “Now that I’ve had you, I’m going to have a real hard time keeping my hands off you.”
A shiver runs through me—just before his phone vibrates on the counter.
Maverick groans and rests his forehead on my shoulder. I brush my lips over his hairline before reaching for his phone, tilting it so we can both see the screen.
An incoming video call.
Riley.
We both look at the screen, then at each other .
“Do you want to take that in the office?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
Part of me wants him to say yes—to not hear what Riley has to say about the investigation. But the stronger part of me—the part willing to claw and fight—wants to stay, wants to know what’s coming.
He shakes his head. “No. You can listen.”
“I’ll go get dressed,” I say, hopping off the counter. “Answer it.”