Chapter 6 He’s A Pervert #3
Maverick raised an eyebrow, his face still inches from hers, but the sudden tension in his jaw and the dark, possessive look in his eyes made it clear he was pissed off.
“Did you compensate Ivan like this?”
Rose could barely gather her thoughts.
“We never did anything more than hold hands,” she managed. “My family is conservative, and Dad forbade me from sleeping with anyone before marriage.”
Maverick’s expression changed immediately.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face.
“Your father is a very smart man, Mrs. Bishop.”
The way he called her ‘Mrs. Bishop’, so intimately and rough, sent another shiver through Rose.
She stared up at him, trembling slightly beneath the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her again.
Then he seemed to reconsider and pulled back just enough to give her room to breathe.
Rose barely had time to steady herself before he leaned toward her again.
His lips brushed hers, and the familiar warmth immediately brought memories of the previous night rushing back. She instinctively tensed, but he kept her close, lingering against her lips before slowly moving away.
His mouth traced along her jaw and toward her neck.
Rose’s breathing grew uneven as his lips lingered against her skin, each slow kiss sending another shiver through her. He moved from one side of her neck to the other, completely absorbed in the reaction he was drawing from her.
She knew there would probably be more visible marks on her skin by the time he was finished—enough to make her face burn if anyone noticed them.
She struggled to catch her breath, and a soft sound escaped her lips.
“Ah…”
His lips grew more urgent. One hand gripped her jaw, tilting her face upward as his mouth descended on her neck with a hunger she’d never known.
He sucked and nipped at her skin in rough, greedy strokes, tongue slipping over bruised spots before biting again.
Beneath Maverick, she became a trembling, breathless mess.
When she could barely gasp, he shifted his focus to her shirt.
As if unwrapping a long-awaited gift, he unbuttoned it one stud at a time in swift, eager motions.
The fabric fell away, exposing skin still marked by last night’s kisses.
Without missing a beat, he returned to those bruises, his mouth trailing fresh heat across them before gliding down her ribs and collarbone.
At her breasts, his gaze darkened with desire.
She sought his eyes but found only his ravenous attention on her curves.
Shame rushed her cheeks, and she lifted her hands to hide herself.
He caught her wrist, pinning it above her head, thumb brushing her palm, and whispered raspily in her ear: “Keep your hands there. They won’t stop me from kissing you.
If they do, I’ll have to tie you up—and I won’t be this gentle. ”
Their eyes locked—her confusion mirrored in his.
She wondered when he’d ever been “gentle.” Then he bent down again, lavishing one breast after the other with hungry kisses and suckling strokes.
Each touch sent delicious shivers through her, his fervent exploration driving her need to heights she never imagined she could reach.
His gaze pinned her down, dark and unblinking, before his mouth descended. He took her in—every curve, every breath—then closed over the swell of her breast. One, then the other, back again, teasing the soft flesh with his tongue, his lips, the scrape of teeth.
Rose arched beneath him, trembling, her body answering his hunger with a heat she hadn’t known she could bear.
His hand slid down her thigh, pulling her leg wide as he settled between her hips, his weight pressing her into the couch. His mouth never left her skin—kissing, licking, tasting—while his hips rocked against hers, the friction maddening.
He avoided the peaks of her breasts, though she could feel how badly he wanted them, how his restraint was fraying. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt as his lips trailed lower, over the dip of her belly, into the hollow of her navel.
Her shirt had fallen open, buttons undone, and now his mouth was everywhere—licking, sucking, leaving damp trails and the faintest bites, each one sending a jolt through her.
She could only feel him: the heat of his skin against hers, the wet press of his tongue, the sharp sting of his teeth, the way his body moved against her like he was memorizing every inch.
He eagerly devoured her skin, his mouth trailing up the swell of her breasts over and over again.
Impatience bubbled within her, and she finally blurted, “Why aren’t you taking my nipple in your mouth?”
Her tone blended frustration with pleasure, a tantalizing sensation so close yet just out of reach, leaving her delirious.
He lifted his head to meet her gaze, a mark of desire etched on his face. His thumb grazed her nipple, flicking her left one before twisting it gently between his index finger and thumb. Locking eyes with her, he brushed against her other breast, sensing her growing impatience.
“Please,” she urged, her voice a soft plea.