Chapter 6 - Sadie
What am I doing? Kissing a man fifteen or twenty years older, an Iron & Blood member, while my ex-club is being raided? And yet, I can't find it in me to care.
"Are you sure about this?" I whisper, my fingers still gripping his cut like it's a lifeline.
His eyes, dark and intense, search mine. "I should be the one asking you that. After everything you've been through..."
A smirk tugs at my lips, surprising even me.
"I want this," I say with more certainty than I've felt about anything in years. "I want you."
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement mixing with the desire in his expression.
"Here? In the Iron & Blood reunion room?"
"I don't care where," I breathe, pressing closer to him. "As long as you claim me."
Something flashes in his eyes - possession, hunger, maybe both. Without warning, he scoops me up, his hands strong and sure as he places me on the edge of the massive wooden table. My heart hammers against my ribs as he steps between my legs, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from my face.
"No one can find out about this," he says, his voice low and rough. "Not yet."
"I'm good at keeping secrets," I assure him, reaching for the hem of my borrowed shirt. My hands tremble slightly as I pull it up and over my head, leaving me in just a simple black bra.
I watch his face nervously, suddenly painfully aware of the bruises that mottle my skin - yellowish marks on my ribs, purpling ones on my shoulders. For a moment, I'm embarrassed, certain he'll be disgusted by the damage Jake left behind.
But Maverick surprises me again. He leans forward, his lips finding the darkest bruise on my collarbone. The kisses are gentle, reverent almost.
"Beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, moving to the next mark. "Every inch of you."
My breath catches as he continues his path downward, his stubble scraping deliciously against my sensitive skin. When he reaches the edge of my bra, his eyes flick up to mine, asking permission. I nod, and his hands move to unclasp it, letting my breasts fall free.
"God, look at you," he breathes, and there's nothing but admiration in his gaze as I sit before him, half-naked and vulnerable. He cups one breast gently, his thumb brushing over the nipple until it hardens. "Perfect."
The cool air of the room against my heated skin makes me shiver, but Maverick's hands and mouth are warm, setting fire to every inch of me he touches. My fingers find their way to his hair as he lavishes attention on my breasts, his tongue teasing one nipple while his fingers work the other.
"Maverick," I breathe, arching into his touch.
He looks up at me. "Say it again."
"Maverick," I repeat, loving the way his name feels on my lips.
His hands move to my hips, tugging at the pants I borrowed. "These need to go."
I lift my hips, helping him slide them down my legs. Now I'm left in just my underwear - simple black cotton that's seen better days. Again, I feel a flash of self-consciousness, but the way he's looking at me chases it away.
"You too," I manage, pulling at his cut. "Not fair that I'm the only one undressing."
A slow smile spreads across his face as he shrugs off his cut, followed by his shirt. My eyes widen at the sight of him - broad shoulders, muscled chest covered in intricate tattoos, a trail of dark hair leading down below his belt. I reach out, tracing a tattooed phoenix that spans his left pectoral.
"Beautiful," I echo his earlier compliment.
His belt is next, then his jeans, until we're both in our underwear, breathing hard and looking at each other like we're seeing something precious.
Maverick leans down to kiss me again, more urgently this time, as his hands explore my body. His touch is gentle over my bruises but firm everywhere else, like he knows exactly what I need.
When his lips leave mine to trail down my neck, my collarbone, between my breasts and down my stomach, I can't help but whimper.
"Okay?" he asks, pausing at the edge of my underwear.
"More than okay," I assure him, fingers tightening in his hair.
He continues his path, pressing kisses along the edge of my underwear, then down my thighs. The sensation of his mouth against my inner thighs makes me writhe on the table. I can feel how wet I am, how ready, and when his lips press against the damp fabric between my legs, I nearly come undone right there.
"Maverick," I gasp, my head falling back as sensation overwhelms me.
The world narrows to just this - his mouth, my body, the heat building between us. For the first time in years, I feel truly present, truly alive. The past doesn't matter. The future doesn't matter. There's only now, only us.
As the last pieces of clothing fall away, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. It's not that I'm inexperienced - growing up in a biker club meant there were always men with wandering eyes and hands, and I've had my share of encounters.
But this is different. Maverick looks at me like I'm something precious and touches me like I might break if he's not careful.
"You okay?" he murmurs, his hands resting on my thighs.
"Yeah," I breathe. "Just... no one's ever..." I trail off, not knowing how to explain that no one's ever made me feel this way - like I matter, like this is about more than just fucking.
Something in his eyes tells me he understands.
"Let me show you how it should be," he whispers, lowering himself between my legs.
The first touch of his mouth against my pussy sends electricity through my entire body. My fingers tangle in his hair as he works his magic, his tongue moving in ways that have me gasping his name, arching off the table. The pleasure builds, wave after wave, until I'm trembling on the edge of something monumental.
"Maverick," I breathe, my voice catching. "I need..."
He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire, lips glistening. "Tell me what you need, princess."
"You," I whisper. "All of you."
He rises, covering my body with his, careful not to put weight on my bruises. His lips find mine in a kiss that tastes of both of us together, and it's the most intimate thing I've ever experienced.
"You sure?" he asks, his voice rough with restraint.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his hips, drawing him closer. "I've never been surer of anything."
When our bodies finally join, it's like coming home to a place I've never been before. He moves slowly at first, giving me time to adjust, his eyes never leaving mine.
It's intense in ways I wasn't prepared for - not just physically but emotionally, too. There's a connection here that transcends the physical, that makes me feel seen in ways I never have before.
His movements are measured and controlled, his eyes watching my face for any sign of discomfort. But I don't want careful right now. I want to feel alive, to feel everything.
"More," I whisper against his lips. "I need more."
He hesitates for just a moment. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," I assure him, my hands gripping his shoulders. "I trust you."
Those three words seem to unlock something in him. His pace quickens, his restraint giving way to passion. I arch into him, meeting each movement with one of my own. The feeling is incredible, but I want more, need more.
"My neck," I breathe, guiding his hand upward. "I like... pressure."
His eyes widen slightly, but there's no judgment there, just understanding. Gently, his large hand encircles my throat, the pressure light but present. The sensation sends a new wave of pleasure through me, the slight edge of danger making everything more intense.
The table beneath us creaks with our movements, but I barely notice, lost in the overwhelming sensations. His size, his strength, the way he fills me completely - it's everything I needed and didn't know to ask for.
"Sadie," he groans, my name on his lips sounding like a prayer.
His hand on my throat, his body moving with mine, his eyes holding me in place more effectively than any physical restraint - it's all too much and not enough at the same time.
When I finally fall over the edge, it's with his name on my lips, my body arching against his.
When I come back to myself, I realize he's still holding back, still watching me with heat in his eyes. His muscles are tense with restraint, his breathing ragged. The look on his face - a mixture of desire and something deeper - makes my heart race all over again.
"You're incredible," he murmurs, his hands gentle on my hips. "But I'm not done with you yet."
Before I can catch my breath, he turns me carefully, mindful of my bruises, positioning me over the table. The polished wood is cool against my heated skin as he presses against me from behind. His large body cages mine, not threatening but protective, making me feel sheltered rather than trapped.
"Is this okay?" he whispers against my ear, his voice rougher now, less controlled.
His hand traces the curve of my spine, a feather-light touch that makes me shiver with anticipation.
"Yes," I breathe, arching back against him. "Please."
His hands find mine, fingers intertwining as he gently guides them forward on the table. The gesture is oddly intimate - more so than our naked bodies pressed together.
Then he's there again, claiming me in this new position, and the sensation is entirely different - deeper, more primal. I bite my lip to keep from crying out too loudly, aware that we're still in the clubhouse, that anyone could walk in at any moment.
The danger of discovery only heightens everything, making each movement more intense. His chest presses against my back, careful of my bruises even now, his breath hot against my neck as he moves. One of his hands releases mine to tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to send shivers down my spine.
"You're amazing," he whispers, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "So perfect. So strong."
The praise washes over me, as intoxicating as his touch. Men have called me beautiful before, sexy even, but never strong, never amazing. It's as if he sees parts of me that no one else has bothered to look for, and the thought makes my chest tighten with emotion.
This is nothing like the mechanical encounters I've had before, nothing like the empty physicality with club hangers-on who saw me as just John Miller's daughter, a status symbol to be claimed.
This feels like connection, like recognition of something fundamental. Something I didn't know I was missing until now.
The table keeps creaking beneath us, the sound mingling with our heavy breathing and half-swallowed moans. My fingers grip the edge of the table, knuckles white with the effort of grounding myself against the sensations threatening to sweep me away.
"Maverick," I breathe, his name a plea, though for what, I'm not entirely sure.
He seems to understand anyway. His hand slides around to where our bodies meet, finding that sweet spot that sends me spiraling into another climax, this one even more intense than the first. I barely register his ragged groan as he follows me over the edge, his body tensing against mine as he finally surrenders to his release.
His arms wrap around me, holding me close as we both tremble with the aftershocks. For a long moment, we stay like that, joined and breathless, neither of us willing to break the spell.
In this strange, suspended moment, I feel something I thought was lost forever: belonging. Not to a club or a name or an identity imposed on me, but to myself. And maybe, just maybe, to him.
Reality will come crashing back soon enough. The raid on the warehouse, Jake, Marcus, the Outlaws, the Iron & Blood - all of it waiting just outside this room. But for now, in the arms of this man who should be my enemy, I feel something else I also thought was lost forever: hope.