Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Solenn
I should have left him out there. I should have shut my curtains, turned off my lights, and let him drown in the same kind of suffering he had unknowingly put me through.
I should have let the rain soak through his expensive suit, let the cold settle into his bones the way heartbreak had settled into mine.
But I couldn’t. Because despite everything—despite the betrayal I thought I had witnessed, despite the unbearable ache in my chest—I wasn’t capable of ignoring him.
Not when he was kneeling outside my family’s home like a man with nothing left to lose.
My fingers hovered over the doorknob as I took a deep breath, trying to steady the chaos inside me.
The sound of the rain pounded against the roof, mixing with the distant murmur of my family in the background.
I knew they were watching. I knew they were waiting to see if I would cave.
But their opinions didn’t matter right now.
The only thing that mattered was the man standing on the other side of the door.
With a quiet exhale, I unlocked it and pulled it open.
Maverick lifted his head instantly, and the sight of him nearly stole the breath from my lungs.
His dark hair was dripping, strands sticking to his forehead.
His sharp features were tense, his jaw clenched, and his lips parted as if he wasn’t sure whether I was real or if his mind had conjured me up in desperation.
His suit was soaked through, clinging to his body, but he didn’t seem to care.
He just stood there, still and waiting, his piercing eyes searching mine for something—anything—that meant I wasn’t going to slam the door in his face.
I swallowed, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be. “Come inside.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. As if he was afraid this was some cruel trick.
Then, slowly, with the kind of caution I had never seen from him before, he stepped over the threshold.
Water dripped from his clothes onto the floor, pooling around his expensive shoes.
He was freezing, his skin pale from the cold, but he didn’t shiver.
He didn’t speak. He just looked at me like I was the only thing that existed at this moment.
I turned away, walking toward the hallway closet and pulling out a towel. My fingers trembled slightly as I grabbed it, and I hated that. Hated that even now, my body still responded to him. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned back, extending the towel toward him. “Here.”
He didn’t take it.
I frowned. “Maverick?—”
“Say it,” he interrupted, his voice low and rough like he had been holding something back for too long.
I blinked. “Say what?”
His gaze didn’t waver, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Whatever it is you need to say to make me leave.” His voice was quieter now, but no less intense. “Tell me you don’t want me here. Tell me I don’t matter. Tell me you don’t love me.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Love.
He had never said it before. Not once.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
His jaw tightened as he took a small step closer, his presence overwhelming. “Because if you can’t say those things, Solenn, then I’m not leaving.”
I hated him for this. For the way he always could break down every wall I tried to build.
For the way, he could undo me with nothing more than a look.
I wanted to scream at him, to tell him that he had no right to stand here like this, to act like I was the one who had hurt him.
I wanted to push him away and never let him back in. But I couldn’t.
Because the truth was, I did want him here.
I dropped the towel.
He saw the decision the moment it settled in me.
And then—we snapped.
I grabbed his ruined shirt and pulled him toward me at the same time his hands fisted in my hair, his lips crashing against mine in a way that wasn’t soft or careful or hesitant. It was desperate, raw, consuming. The kind of kiss that tasted like anger and longing and surrender all at once.
I barely registered the way he pressed me back against the wall, his body solid and unyielding against mine.
I barely registered the sharp gasp that escaped me when his teeth nipped at my bottom lip, the sting followed by the soothing stroke of his tongue.
My fingers fumbled with the buttons of his dress shirt, yanking them apart, and pushing the soaked fabric off his shoulders.
His skin was ice-cold. I pressed my palms against his chest, needing to feel him, needing to ground myself in something real.
His breath was ragged as his hands trailed down my body, gripping my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. His lips left mine, moving to my jaw, then lower, his mouth hot against the cold skin of my throat. He exhaled sharply, his voice barely more than a growl against my pulse. “Upstairs.”
The word sent a shiver through me, and I didn’t argue.
He lifted me with ease, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my fingers burying into his damp hair.
He carried me up the stairs like I weighed nothing, his grip possessive, his body radiating control.
The second we reached my bedroom, he kicked the door shut behind us, and before I could take a breath, he was on me again.
I gasped as my back hit the mattress, his body covering mine, his weight pressing me down, grounding me.
His lips traced along my collarbone, down to the curve of my shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
My hands roamed across his back, nails digging into muscle, pulling him closer even though there was no space left between us.
His name escaped me like a prayer, and it was all he needed.
The rest of our clothes disappeared.
Hands explored, learned, claimed.
Lips devoured, demanded, begged.
Breaths turned into gasps, into moans, into whispers that held too much meaning and not enough all at once.
Every touch was urgent, and frantic, like we were trying to memorize each other. Like we were desperate to make up for every second we had lost.
And when he finally pushed inside me, when we finally became one, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. No fear.
Only this.
Only us.
Maverick Spencer had ruined me.
And I had let him.
Because the truth—the terrifying, undeniable truth—was that I didn’t want to exist in a world where he wasn’t mine.