Chapter Seven
It was early Wednesday afternoon, and the flow of patients arriving at the hospital remained steady but not overwhelming. I was leaving bay twenty-one, updating the chart of a young man who’d come in with stomach pain, when Maverick popped into my head.
This was something that was happening with increasing frequency.
He’d come over the night before. Like I had on Monday, I came home to find him on my couch, waiting. I still wasn’t sure how he was breaking into my house, but I assumed he had a skill for picking locks. I knew I should have been concerned by this, but when he touched me, it was hard to be concerned about anything .
I wondered if I’d come home to find Maverick waiting for me that night, too.
Truth be told, I was hoping for it.
We hadn’t really discussed the nuances of what we were doing. I wasn’t sure if I should expect him every night or even that night. In spite of the fact that we had each other’s phone numbers, we weren’t using them. I couldn’t say why not, but there was something about the anticipation of waiting that added to the excitement of what we had.
And what we had was better than I imagined it could be.
It was a little wild, a lot of fun, and easy .
I found I was enjoying the zero pressure of it all.
At some point, we would end—but for the time being, the only expectation was great sex.
And we were really good at that.
“What do you think of the new doc?”
Abbie’s question penetrated my thoughts. I looked up from my chart, stowing away my musings of Maverick as I approached the nurses’ station. The question hadn’t been directed at me, but I was curious about the chatter on Dr. Grant. I hadn’t had much interaction with him since his first day, but we’d crossed paths a few times. He seemed nice enough; but whether or not he was any good was still up for debate.
Conrad shrugged. “He seems competent. Average bedside manner, but quick on his feet.”
I smiled at his assessment. Conrad probably had the best bedside manner in the entire hospital. It was not a shock to learn Logan didn’t quite measure up in that department.
“What about you?” I asked Abbie, inviting myself into the conversation. “Have you worked with him yet?”
“Yeah,” she said with a smile and a nod. “He seems great from what I can tell. Yesterday, we ran into each other at the coffee cart, and he bought me a cup. We talked for a minute. He’s not married, and he doesn’t have any kids. I thought that was really surprising. I mean—I know we’re all thinking it. He’s hot, right?”
Conrad and I exchanged a knowing glance.
“Sure. Yeah, he’s a looker,” I admitted cautiously. “But, Abbie, tread lightly there.”
Her cheeks brightened with a blush as she laughed softly and waved my comment away. “Totally. I mean, this is Campbell County, not Grey’s Anatomy .”
“Jenna? Could I get an update on my patient in bay ten?” asked Heather as she approached.
She was in her usual navy-blue scrubs, but without her lab coat, her stethoscope draped around her neck. Her long, dark hair was half back and half down, and I knew this meant she was busy but not rushed.
She hated her hair on her neck when she was in a hurry.
“Sure thing,” I replied, tapping at the screen of my tablet.
I relayed my notes, then added it had been thirty minutes since I last checked in. Wishing to see the patient one last time, to determine whether or not she felt comfortable discharging her, we headed to bay ten together. It only took a couple of minutes for Heather to conclude the patient was good to go.
Before Dr. Patterson moved on to her next patient and I went to sort the discharge documents, I took advantage of our moment alone to ask, “What do you think of Dr. Grant?”
She shrugged. “He’s good, but I’m not going to get used to him.”
Taken aback by her response, I pressed, “What does that mean?”
“I’ve looked into him. His track record is odd. He’s been at four hospitals in the last five years, and I can’t figure out why. Whatever the case may be, I’m not foolish enough to think CC Health will be the place he decides to plant roots. We’ll see how long he lasts.”
She didn’t say more before she moved on to her next patient, and I thought about what she’d said as I went to complete my task. It was pretty strange the way he’d hopped around. The general consensus was that he knew his stuff, and the Chief seemed pretty excited to have such a tenured doctor on the staff. People had all sorts of reasons for moving from place to place. I wondered what his were.
An hour later, when an ambulance rolled in, it was Dr. Grant who raced toward the stretcher with me.
“Jenna,” he greeted with a dip of his chin.
I didn’t have a chance to offer more than a small smile in response before I caught sight of the little boy the paramedics were trying to save.
All at once, the gossip about Logan Grant was completely irrelevant.
The only thing that mattered was the life of the patient in front of us.
I was in a good mood. It had been a great day.
Not every day was about saving lives. In the ER we fixed people. We patched them up, addressed their ailments, diagnosed sicknesses, made them feel better—on a good day, at least. Everything wasn’t life or death.
But when it was—and we won —it felt pretty freaking good.
Especially when it was a child.
Logan and I had saved that little boy suffering from a severe allergic reaction, and the high that came when he stopped vomiting and was able to take a deep breath carried me through the rest of my day.
But when I turned down my street and I didn’t see Maverick’s Harley parked at my curb, my good mood took a minor hit. Rather than overthink it, I let myself hope that maybe he was just a little late.
Thirty minutes later, I was eating dinner alone, trying to keep hold of my good mood. I couldn’t decide if I missed Maverick’s company because I thought he might show up and he hadn't, or if I would have missed him even if he’d told me in advance he wasn’t coming. Either way, in a matter of days, he’d become a part of my life. There was no denying that.
I contemplated sending him a text but then decided not to. I didn’t want him to feel like a booty call, and I wasn’t really sure about our rules of engagement.
To distract myself from my disappointment, I took out my phone and opened my dating app. I’d only glanced at it here and there when I had a break at work, and there weren’t any profiles I was particularly interested in. I did, however, take Lindsey’s advice and struck up a conversation with a couple of guys who liked my profile.
It didn’t take long for me to surmise what they really wanted was to get in my pants.
Seeing as I already had someone in my pants, I didn’t entertain those conversations for long.
After a few minutes swiping and scrolling, I came across a profile that made me look twice.
His name was Josh. He was thirty-five. Never married, no kids, and a defense lawyer. I found this to be intriguing. He liked to travel, golf, and fish—though, nine out of ten profiles had a photo with a guy holding a fish.
I’d begun to think it was some sort of prerequisite.
Josh was handsome with short, cropped hair and pretty blue eyes.
I clicked the heart on one of his photos, putting the ball in his court to respond with a message, and then moved on to the next profile.
Online dating was so weird.
I was almost finished with my dinner when I heard the rumble of an approaching motorcycle. Even though my blinds were shut, and I wouldn’t have been able to see out to the street from the opposite side of the house anyway, I shifted my focus toward my windows, my heart rate picking up speed in anticipation.
When I heard the engine cut off rather than disappear in the distance, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and fought a grin. I then abandoned my phone and my last bite of dinner before heading for my front door. I swung it open in time to see Maverick as he approached my stoop.
He was in holey blue jeans and wore a black cutoff shirt with his kutte. His curls were loose and voluminous underneath a trucker style baseball cap he wore backwards. And dangling from a couple of his ring adorned fingers was a plastic sack.
“I thought you might be skipping out on me tonight,” I said instead of hello.
“Didn’t see any missed calls.”
I stepped aside so he could come inside and admitted, “Well—I guess, we haven’t really talked about how this works, exactly.”
“I show up, it’s on. I don’t, you want my dick, you call. If I got shit goin’ on, I’ll let you know. You do the same.”
“Okay,” I murmured with a slow nod, shutting the door behind him. “Easy enough. I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you sometimes I work nights. It’s usually every third rotation of my schedule. Not a problem this week but, I’ll let you know when it happens.”
“You do that.”
“What’s in the bag?” I asked, pointing to it.
“New locks. Yours are shit.”
I smiled, unable to argue, given he’d broken in. Twice .
If I was still keeping track of checked boxes, which I wasn’t, the fact that he cared would have earned him another one.
The fact that he not only cared but also purchased new locks with the intent to install them was good for another two.
Teasingly, I replied, “If you give me new locks, how will you get in when I’m not home?”
“Key, babe,” he said matter-of-factly.
My smile slipped.
“You’re going to have a key to my house?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me.
“You’ve given me free access to your pussy, and you’re worried about me havin’ a key to your house? You like it better when I break in?”
Dumbfounded, I stared up at him as I tried to think of what to say.
He’d made a good point, but it still felt pretty major for him to have a key.
“I’ve never given anyone a key to my house before. It just seems like a big deal.”
“Not movin’ in, foxy. We get tired of fuckin’, you’ll get your key back.”
I was still trying to decide how I felt about all of this when Maverick let me know we were done discussing it. He did this by looping the bag over the handle of my front door before reaching up to free my hair from my messy bun. He then slid the hair tie onto his wrist, buried both hands in my hair, tilted my head back, and brought his lips to mine.
He was right.
Talking was overrated.
Kissing was better.
Especially when it was Maverick doing the kissing.
Recently, I wasn’t sure there was anything better than his kiss.
Except sex. Sex with him specifically was out of this world.
My longing for him ignited, I didn’t hesitate to slip my fingertips beneath the hem of his shirt as I sought the warmth of his bare skin. I felt my way around his sides and across his back as his tongue played with mine.
Then, without warning, he tore his mouth away from me and moved so I lost my hold on him. He bent down, wrapped an arm around my thighs, and lifted me off my feet.
This was certainly familiar.
Like the first time, I squeaked in surprise as gravity forced me to fold over his shoulder.
Unlike the first time, as he carried me where he wanted, I didn’t protest.
I might have even giggled a little.
When we reached my bedroom, he stopped just beyond the doorway, and I knew without him having to tell me that he wanted me to switch on the lights.
He always wanted the lights on.
Seeing as he was very nice to look at, I didn’t object.
I flipped the switch, and then he proceeded to carry me to the bed.
He put me down, then took a step back, shrugging his way out of his kutte as he said, “Losin’ my clothes, babe. Suggest you do the same.”
Thirty seconds later, I was naked, on my knees at the edge of the bed, reaching for him.
He still had his hat on when he leaned down and closed his mouth around mine. I draped an arm over one of his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of curls in one hand, reaching for his semi-hard length with my other. I stroked him three times, and that was all it took.
Without breaking our kiss, he nudged at my wrist until I let him go, then slipped the condom into my hand. I took it, more than happy to roll it on him, but he kept kissing me.
“Mav,” I mumbled into his mouth. “I know. You don’t. Expect. Me. To put. This. On. While. You…” I lost track of my sentence when he slid a hand down my backside and reached between my legs, successfully finding my center with his fingertips and the help of his long arms.
I moaned, throwing my other arm around his shoulders as I pressed into him.
“Stop. Kissin’ me. Then,” he muttered between kisses.
This time, I whimpered.
“I. Can’t.”
It was true.
I’d ended exactly one of our kisses.
Our first one.
I couldn’t be held responsible to end any other.
Not when they felt this good.
He practically growled when he lifted his head away from mine, took a step back, and reached for my right wrist. He yanked it until the hand that held the condom was in front of his face, then he took the condom, ripped the packaging with his teeth, and extracted it.
“On your back, foxy,” he demanded before he dropped the wrapper on the floor and rolled the rubber over his hard length.
By the time he was sheathed, I was on my back.
He then grabbed me behind the knees, pulled me toward the edge of the bed, practically folded me in half, then buried himself inside of me.
I was completely at his mercy as he took me hard and fast, the power he used with his legs felt in every return thrust.
It was exceptional.
I held my breasts to keep them still, and the look in Maverick’s eyes when I did so turned me on even more. I stared up at him, tugging at my nipples, and he muttered a curse under his breath as he rode me even harder.
I was going to come—and it was going to be bliss .
“Don’t stop,” I begged, arching my back as I began to lose myself entirely.
He didn’t stop, and the promise of my orgasm got closer to the surface.
“Yes, Maverick—don’t stop, don’t stop,” I gasped, feeling wild with abandon.
“Not fuckin’ stoppin’, babe,” he muttered.
Regardless of his assurance that he wasn’t going to stop, my brain short circuited as my climax began to unfurl, and I couldn’t help it as I cried, “Don’t— stop! ”
“ Fuck ,” Maverick groaned as I clamped down hard around him, beckoning his release on the heels of mine.
He jerked his hips sporadically, and I got to watch as he threw his head back and surrendered to his pleasure.
It was a fantastic sight to behold.
When he was spent, he looked down at me and shook his head.
“What?” I panted.
“You got a greedy pussy, babe. Gets me almost every time.”
I knitted my eyebrows together, not sure how I felt about him calling my sex greedy .
“Not a bad thing, foxy—hot as hell. Makes me want to go again. One time’s not enough.”
My face softened as a smile pulled at my lips.
“In that case...”
I made my sex clench, and his face broke out into a gorgeous grin.
When my sex clenched for a second time, it wasn’t on purpose.
I just couldn’t help it.
“Shit, woman—give me a minute, would you?” he teased.
I laughed, the sound dissolving into a soft moan as he pulled out of me.
“Speaking of things that get me every time,” I murmured as he let go of my legs.
He winked, then headed for the bathroom to deal with his condom while I stretched out my limps. He was gone long enough for me to sit up, toss all my pillows to the floor, and cozy up between the sheets.
When he came back, naked except for his hat, he joined me, sitting with his back propped up against my wooden headboard.
He smelled as he always did—like birchwood, leather, and coconut—but with the added musk of sex.
It was intoxicating.
I rolled onto my side, rested my elbow atop my pillow and my head against my fist as I admired him. His chest, smooth, defined, and without a drop of ink. His arms, strong, alluring, and covered in tattooed sleeves. His big hands, with calloused palms and long, ring-adorned fingers.
For the first time, I noticed how clean his nails were—barely stained from his day job.
He was a tough-guy biker, wild and unbridled, but he took care of himself without a woman having to tell him to do so.
Check .
“Will you tell me about your tattoos?” I asked, breaking our silence.
“Not much to tell,” he replied, looking down at his forearms.
“Oh, come on,” I pressed. “At the very least you put yourself in the chair and asked someone to mark you forever. And they’re quite good. I doubt you got them on a whim.”
His brown eyes found mine and studied me for a moment before he conceded.
“This one’s obvious,” he began, pointing at his Stallion ink.
“Was that your first?”
“No. The snake was first.”
“And how’d you decide on a snake?”
He smirked at me, shaking his head slightly. “Like I said. Not much to tell. Wanted some ink. Saw the snake. Liked it. Wasn’t too big, so I could afford it.”
“Fair enough.” I reached for him then, tracing my fingers along the inside of his right forearm. “And the lion?”
“I wanted somethin’ that represented strength.”
“And your rosary? Was that for your grandma?”
“In a way, yeah. It’s also a reminder that I’m never alone. Got that one before I became a Stallion.”
“When did you get the lion?”
“After.”
I couldn’t pinpoint why, but I sort of loved that he was telling me all of this.
I sat up, lifted the covers away from his lap and brazenly straddled him. His hands went straight for my bare behind, and I grazed my teeth across my lower lip, willing myself to stay in the moment.
“And this one?” I asked, tracing my fingers along his outer left arm and the intricate skull he had there.
“Got that one after my first fat paycheck as a Stallion.”
“And you decided to get a skull because it’s badass?”
He shook his head with a crooked smile. “No. It represents beauty from ashes. Life from death.”
“I like that,” I murmured sincerely.
“What about this guy?” I took hold of his right bicep and ran my thumb along the inside of his arm where his eagle was.
“That was number three. Couple months before I became a Stallion. Represents the maverick in me.”
I tilted my head, studying him, the question of his name between us once again.
“So, is Maverick your real name?”
“What is this, twenty questions?”
For reasons I didn’t understand, he seemed resistant to tell me his name.
I knew Mustang didn’t like to be called anything other than his road name, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.
Enjoying the moment in which we found ourselves, I decided not to press. Instead, I took a different route.
“Think you’ll get any more tattoos?”
“Probably. Need somethin’ on the inside of my left arm. Just don’t know what yet. Gotta like it enough to want it forever. What about you?”
I sucked in a dramatic breath as I reached for his hat. He didn’t protest, and I slid it on, the bill facing out as I replied, “I’m not sure my body is a canvas made for ink. Besides, forever is a long time.”
He stared at me contemplatively for a few seconds.
“Babe?”
“Hmm?”
“Already have to put up with your fuckin’ freckles.”
I scowled, confused and a little offended as I reached up to cover my nose.
He grabbed my wrist, yanking my hand away as he continued, “You put my hat on your head, lookin’ cute and sexy at the same time, only so much a man can take. You can either lose the hat, or stop talkin’, start kissin’, and get me hard so I can fuck you again. Your choice.”
For a moment, I couldn’t move, distracted by the way the butterflies in my stomach seemed to be multiplying.
He thought my freckles were cute.
Relevant or not, that checked a box.
When I thought I had my wits about me, I replayed his ultimatum in my head.
There really was only one choice.
I reached for the bill of the hat, swiveled it until I had it on backwards, then pressed my lips firmly against his.
We made out until he was hard.
Then he fucked me again.
The hat fell off at some point, but neither of us had the wherewithal to worry about it.
I came twice before he got dressed to leave.
Sated and content, I was half asleep when he said goodnight.
This was why I didn’t hear him tinkering at my front door before he left.
But when I woke up the next morning, headed straight for my coffee pot, I found his trucker hat sitting upside down on my kitchen counter.
Inside was my new key.
Apparently, butterflies didn’t require caffeine.