Chapter 8 Mckenna
EIGHT
MCKENNA
“I didn’t realize you were living here through renovations,” I say, announcing my arrival to Mav’s new place.
“I don’t mind the mess. Besides, the upstairs doesn’t require as much work and I hardly ever eat at home so…” He shrugs. “Just, watch your step.” He points to the lip of a stair.
Behind him, I note the toolboxes, the scattered nails, and the endless dust.
“Pizza and Cokes are out back.” He gestures toward the back of the house.
“Okay.” I follow him through the brownstone, which is, unsurprisingly, an identical layout to the band’s place next door.
When I step onto the back deck, I grin at the Adirondack chairs and the small table with a pizza box and a six-pack of Coke cans.
“This is perfect,” I say, dropping into a chair. “I’ve been studying all week and just want to relax and feel the sunshine.” I close my eyes, turning my face skyward.
“How’s the studying going?” Mav takes the seat beside mine.
“Either wonderful or terrible. The fact that I can’t tell is alarming.”
“I’m sure you’re retaining more information than you think.”
“God, I hope so. I don’t want to have to take the Massachusetts bar exam again.”
Mav cracks the tops of two Cokes and passes me one. “You’re gonna pass, Mckenna.”
I clink my can against his and take a sip, not bothering to respond. Deep down, I pray like hell that I’ll pass on the first try but…a lot of people don’t. Instead, I change the subject. “What are you thinking?” I tilt my head toward the screen door to indicate his renovations.
“Well, I’m doing the kitchen first.” Mav reaches below the little table to grasp a binder.
Surprise rolls through me that we’re really meeting to discuss his renovation project and his invitation to come by for pizza wasn’t just a ploy to get me in his space.
That, and he’s organized enough to have a binder.
I like this version of Mav. He’s still playful and charming but with a more serious edge that shows his maturity and commitment to the future.
I shift closer to him and he walks me through his thoughts for the kitchen design.
I point out a few of my personal preferences—like installing a pot-filler faucet over the stove and a garbage disposal in the kitchen sink.
I also suggest adding a small sink at the other end of his kitchen island since it’s nearly ten feet long.
We move onto colors and before I know it, over an hour has passed.
My stomach grumbles, loudly, and Mav smirks.
“I better feed you,” he remarks, popping the lid on the pizza box. “It’s cold now.”
I shrug, reaching for a slice. “I like cold pizza.”
“Me too.” He takes a slice and bites into it.
I curl my feet underneath me and relax in my chair, munching on the lukewarm pizza and feeling more at ease than I have in weeks. Months.
“This is peaceful,” I remark after a few minutes of silence.
Mav glances at me. “Do you ever sit outside at your place?”
I shake my head. “I should though.”
“It’s quiet. Sometimes, I used to write lyrics on the back deck.”
“How are your lyrics going?”
“Not bad. I’m working on a new song and…well, even if nothing comes of it, it feels good to get words on paper. It helps me clarify my thoughts and feelings about things.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, taken aback, again, by the seriousness in his tone.
By how forthcoming he is with a topic he once felt too vulnerable to share.
While Mav has always been deeper than the playful, life-of-the-party persona he shows the world, I’ve never sensed this level of measured earnestness from him before.
The silence that stretches between us is comfortable. We eat our pizza, chat about daily life, and watch the sun set. It paints the sky in beautiful strokes of orange and peach.
When I stand from my chair, I’m relaxed and at ease.
I smile at Mav. “Thanks for dinner.”
He stands and dips his head in a nod. “I’ll walk you home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Want to.” He presses his fingers to the small of my back, indicating that I should go first.
I walk through the brownstone, envisioning the kitchen plans he showed me and explained in detail.
“This is going to be gorgeous, Mav,” I say as we descend the front steps.
“I hope so. I’m happy to have the project. It’s good to keep my mind busy. Between this and the new album, I don’t have time to consider my old vices.”
“Plus, there’s the bowling league.”
He chuckles. “And bowling. By the way, you’re incredible, beauty. I’m more than impressed.”
“Thank you.” I dust off my shoulder, grinning at him as I lift the latch to my gate. “If that strike impressed you, you should see me play the violin.” I laugh. “I was as far from popular as you could get in high school.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s the truth. I bet you were super popular.”
He smirks and dips his head. “I was voted class clown.”
“Hot and funny. A winning combination.”
Mav chuckles. “Sometimes.”
Turning to look at him, I bite my bottom lip. It’s still early, barely nine p.m., and I don’t want the night to end. Not yet. Not when it feels so organic and…easy.
Tipping my head toward my front door, I ask, “You want to come in for a…tea?”
He wraps a hand around the top of the gate, the tattoos on his knuckles winking. “Do you still have mint tea?”
I roll my lips together to keep from grinning and nod. “I do.”
“I’d love to.” He pushes the gate open wider and we ascend the steps to the brownstone.
Once we’re inside, I putter around the kitchen, putting on the kettle and grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.
When I glance at Mav, he’s studying me intently.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice quiet.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his eyes clearing.
I bite my bottom lip, giving him a look.
“Just the way you look, right now. Can’t take my eyes off of you,” he admits, his voice low. Husky. “I like watching you in your element, doing daily things. It makes me feel like I’m…home.” He ducks his head, blushing at his admission.
“I like knowing that you’re next door.”
He looks up sharply, his eyes darkening.
“You’ve always made me feel safe, Mav. Even before we were…anything.”
He holds my gaze for long moments before striding toward me, determined. The tension between us snaps, and the air tightens as he nears.
My heart rate increases, my breath stuttering in my throat.
“Mckenna…” His tone is tortured.
I lean back against the countertop, the ledge cutting into my lower back. Mav stops inches from me, his arms bracketing my hips as his fingers catch on the lip of the ledge.
I raise my face to his, studying the warring emotions in his eyes.
“I don’t want to rush this with you,” he admits.
I shake my head, lifting my chin. “You’re not.”
His eyes drop to my lips before catching my eyes again. A silent plea.
I give in breathlessly. “Yes. Kiss me, Mav.”
Kiss me. Show me. Please.
Relief skitters across Mav’s expression. He releases his hold on the ledge and his hand finds my hips, squeezing once in warning.
I don’t protest.
Slowly, his mouth descends. And I tip my head back farther, awaiting his kiss.
His lips land softly on mine. My eyes flutter closed and I nearly moan from the contact alone.
I missed him. Craved him. Never stopped loving him, not for one single heartbeat.
I slide my hands up his chest until I can wrap my arms around his neck. As I pull him closer, he lifts me up onto my tippy toes and deepens our kiss.
His kisses are slow, deliberate, and sensual. As he dips his tongue into my mouth, I open for him like a flower searching for sunlight. We kiss passionately, desperately, next to the kitchen sink for several long moments.
Time stops. Past hurts fade. And all that exists in this moment is us and the possibility of a future. It glimmers brightly and, oh God, I want it. Want it with him.
The whistle of the kettle cuts through the air and Mav breaks our connection, dropping his forehead to mine.
“The kettle,” he murmurs.
I snort and shake my head. I move to turn off the stove but he beats me to it. Once it’s off, I reach for his hand and pull him back toward me.
I hold his gaze for a long moment before I lace our fingers together and move toward the staircase.
Mav follows and I feel his gaze in between my shoulder blades.
When I reach the top of the stairs, I push open the door to his bedroom.
“I’ve been sleeping in here,” I admit. “I just wanted to feel close to you.”
“Mckenna.” His voice cracks as he murmurs my name. His eyes dart behind me to his bed. “Are you sure, beauty?”
I nod, placing his hand on my hip again before I wrap my arms around his neck. This time, I push up on my toes and kiss him. He responds instantly and our bodies relax as muscle memory takes over.
Once upon a time, our chemistry was undeniable. And it will be again, if we allow it.
Tonight, I’m crossing all the lines I tried to draw between us. I’m breaking my own rules. I’m saying yes to everything Maverick Tate is willing to give me.
“God, I missed you,” he murmurs as he pulls my shirt over my head.
“Me too,” I say as my hands push his pants over his hips.
Within minutes, we’re clad in only our underwear, and Mav is laying me down in the center of the bed.
“Tonight, this, it’s for you, Mckenna. I want to make you feel like you’re flying, beauty.”
I frown, reaching for him. “We can—”
“Shh.” He cuts me off, shaking his head. “We can’t cross every line, sweetheart. Not yet.” Then he presses a kiss to the swell of my breast and settles between my thighs.
My fingers brush through his hair as Mav tugs the cup of my bra down to drag his tongue over my nipple before sucking my breast into his mouth. His other palms my other breast before giving it the same attention with his hot mouth. Then, he travels lower.
His lips create a pattern of swirls, of starbursts, down my frame, over my abdomen, my ribs, the tops of my thighs. By the time he tugs my lace panties down my legs, I’m nearly panting.
It’s been too long. And I’ve dreamed of this, with him, again.
“You okay, beauty?”
“Please, Mav,” I beg.
“Always, love.” He kisses me there and I sigh in relief, in gratitude.
His large hands clasp my inner thighs, widening my legs, as he buries his face between them. He kisses, nips, and licks deeply, slowly, beautifully. Dragging his tongue through my folds, I buck, needing more friction.
It’s tantalizing and agonizing and perfect. Mav builds me up slowly, allowing the pressure to coil, the need to mount, the desperation for release to reign.
“Maverick,” I cry out, coming apart on his tongue.
His fingers dig into my skin as he grips my thighs, licking and lapping as I ride out my orgasm.
As I level out, panting and sated, Mav slides back up my body. Grinning, he kisses me hard on the mouth.
I taste my own want, my desperate need, on his lips, and smile back. Then, I reach for him, but he moves out of my grasp.
“Not tonight. I told you, tonight is for you.” He pulls the duvet up to cover my naked body. Then, he kisses me again and brushes my hair back from my face.
“Mav, I want to—” I reach for him.
He shakes his head and moves out of my reach. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Sleep, Mckenna.”
His words seem to draw a yawn from my mouth, and I acquiesce, snuggling deeper into the bedding.
Mav’s fingertips curl around the shell of my ear. He presses my earlobe. “I’ll lock up, beauty. Close your eyes.”
“Are you sure?” I ask as exhaustion crashes over me.
“Positive.” He brushes a kiss to my forehead. “Good night, my love.”
“Good night, Mav,” I manage to say before sleep drags me under.
I sleep soundly. Peacefully.
And it all comes crashing down when I wake in the morning to a bouquet of dead flowers and a note on my front porch.
I’m back from the dead, Kenny. And I’ll be seeing you soon.
The dead flowers sit on the butcher block island as I walk around them. Maybe I shouldn’t have carried them inside? What if they’re dangerous?
I bite off half my cuticle. Shit. I pop my finger into my mouth and taste tangy blood.
Well, I couldn’t just leave them on the front porch, could I?
They’re obviously from Bran. They have to be from Bran.
I searched up and down the quiet street in a panic, my eyes darting over the trees, focusing on my neighbors’ windows, but there was no sign of anyone, save for a mother pushing a baby stroller, her toddler blowing bubbles beside her.
Nerves coat my skin, running over my limbs in waves of heat and ice. I glance at the door again. Locked. I already called Mav and I know he’s on his way over.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I move to the kitchen sink, my eyes scanning the yard for—what?
Bran isn’t going to randomly pop up.
But what if he does? What if he’s watching me right now?
I swing back to the flowers, squinting at them as if a small camera with a glowing red light will greet me. It doesn’t. There’s nothing but a bunch of dead stems and falling petals.
Ugh. My stomach lurches. I feel sick. Nauseous. Nervous.
Out of my body. I hate that he has this effect on me. I hate that he can instill me with undiluted fear through a stupid note and a bunch of dead flowers.
“Mckenna!” Knocking sounds on the front door and I jump.
Spinning toward the front entrance, I stare at the door, but my feet don’t move. I can’t move.
My heart beats so loudly, it’s like a rock concert in my mind.
Is it him? Is he here?
I shake my head. I know it’s Mav. It’s Maverick, my husband.
And yet, I can’t bring myself to open the door.
“It’s me, beauty. Open up.” He knocks again.
I suck in air. Hold it in my chest. Slowly release it. I breathe in the scent of coffee beans from this morning. I focus on the blue carpet in the living room. I run my fingers over the kitchen countertop.
And slowly, so-painstakingly-slowly, my breathing returns to normal.
“Mckenna!”
I’m okay. It’s Maverick. I can let him inside. I can walk to the door.
This time, I do. And when I pull it open and see Mav on the front porch, I nearly weep with relief.
His eyes blaze, pure fury. His jaw is set hard enough to crack steel. His mouth twisted in determination.
But when I fall forward into his arms, and the emotions I tried so hard to lock down bubble out of me, his arms are steady. His hold is gentle. He’s…home.
Mav whisks me into his arms and steps inside the brownstone, careful to lock the door behind him. Pulling me closer, he kisses the crown of my head. “I’m here. You’re okay.”
“I’m scared, Mav,” I admit the truth on broken words.
“I know. But we’re going to get through this together. We can get through anything together.”