Chapter 16 Maverick
Maverick
I have no idea how we get back to the cottage.
We stumble through the woods, giggling like teenagers, tripping over roots and each other. She trips once, curses, and I catch her—then keep her, hoisting her into my arms like some overzealous drunk groom wanting to carry her over a threshold.
Horny as fuck and twice as idiotic . . .
“Don’t drop me,” she warns, arms around my neck, grinning. “Don’t fall.”
“I’ve already fallen,” I say to the universe, boldly and without hesitating. “I could carry you around forever.”
In fact—I might! She’s light. And warm. And everything.
“I should carry you across the threshold,” I slur, starting toward the cottage.
“You should carry me to the lake. We can stargaze,” she says, smirking against my throat. “That’s what the hot people do.”
I nearly drop her. “Are we hot people now?”
“Obviously,” she says, deadpan. “We’re gorgeous.”
I laugh and shift her higher in my arms—but I’m sweating. Dizzy. The tequila is catching up with me, made more evident when her mouth latches onto my neck, sucking.
Mmm, feels so good.
“I feel like I’m floating,” she says at last.
“That’s because you’re drunk.”
“Or maybe it’s you.” Her fingers trail along my jaw. “Let’s get naked and go swimming.”
Naked.
Naked, naked, naked . . .
Fuck yeah.
Her wish is my command.
I stagger toward the lake’s edge, letting the water lap at my ankles when I step in, and she laughs when I almost lose my footing—even though I’m carrying her, still.
I set her down carefully, but the moment her bare feet touch the sand, she turns her back to me. “Unzip me?”
My fingers twitch. Stepping closer, I press a kiss to her shoulder before trailing one finger up the soft slope of her spine.
The zipper is small. Delicate. I tug it down with aching slowness, watching as her shoulder blades shift beneath her skin, her breath hitching when I lean in to whisper, “This feels like unwrapping something I didn’t earn. ”
She lets out a soft laugh, but it’s shaky. “Pretty sure you’ve earned it.”
My knuckles graze her lower back, and the satin surrenders—falling in one graceful swoop around her ankles.
Annabelle steps out of the dress with quiet confidence, completely bare beneath it. No bra. No panties. Just smooth, endless skin and the sway of her hips as she turns to face me and begins removing the pins from her hair. It cascades down her back, falling in soft waves.
“You look like a goddamn angel.”
A goddamn angel. How poetic.
Her tits are round. Perfect. Nipples hard as pebbles, and I want them in my mouth, and as I’m about to drop to my knees to press my mouth to her pus—
“Your turn to get naked,” she demands, stepping forward to fumble with the buttons of my shirt.
Our hands tangle—I want to be tangling them on her body. Her skin.
I swear under my breath when the buttons don’t come undone fast enough. She steps forward and helps, fingers quick and greedy, brushing my chest with knuckles that feel like sparks on skin.
My shirt hits the ground, thank Christ . . .
Then she undoes my pants with the same urgency, kissing her way down my chest as she goes, until we’re both stripped bare—vulnerable and lit by silver light.
“Your chest is amazing,” she tells me as her fingers splay over my skin, nails dragging over my stomach. “I want to lick you all over.”
Please do . . .
The lake glimmers beside us, black and glossy under the moonlight, and without a word, I scoop her up again—this time not even pretending to be steady—and walk us straight into the water.
She’s laughing, legs wrapped around my waist, hair tumbling over her shoulders. Our mouths find each other again, frantic and breathless and aching, like every kiss just makes it worse. The cool water hits our skin like a shock, but we don’t stop.
Her back arches as I lower us, her body slipping against mine beneath the surface. She’s slick and soft and so goddamn beautiful I can’t think straight as my palms glide over her gorgeous breasts.
We kiss like we’re starving.
Touch like we’re on fire.
I whisper her name into her mouth, into the hollow of her throat, into every place my lips can reach—until her moans melt into mine and we’re a tangle of limbs and heat and water, the night around us holding its breath.
I am so fucking hard.
Can’t think or see straight.
She gasps when I lift her, water cascading down her bare body, and set her gently on the edge of the dock. Pull her closer, lining myself up to her pussy, taking my dick in my hands and running it up and down her slit . . . teasing her . . . getting her wetter still . . .
She tips her head back, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers trace lazy circles on the inside of her thigh.
“You’re making me crazy,” she whispers, voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water. “God, I want you to fuck me so bad . . .”
“Say it again.”
“Fuck me, Callum . . .” She moans, desperation on the tip of her tongue. “I want your dick inside me.”
Fuck me . . . I want your dick inside me . . .
A groan escapes my throat, loud and guttural as she takes my cock in her hand, guiding it toward her entrance, moving her hips on the dock, inching forward so I can thrust into her.
One inch.
Two.
Then another, and we’re both groaning, moaning, gasping as I rail her on the pier, every movement so fucking intense. Her head tips back, and I kiss her throat, her collarbone, her lips—anywhere I can reach with my mouth.
I lick, suck. Pump my hips and fuck her, my head tipping back as my pelvis thrusts. I am lost in her. Impossibly deep.
I swear I’ve never seen anything more stunning in my entire life. I cradle her face with one hand, brushing my thumb along her cheekbone as I move inside her again and again.
“Don’t stop . . .”
Don’t stop, don’t stop . . .
Drunk on her. Drunk on tequila. Drunk on this insane night and the way she’s made me feel something I didn’t think I had left in me.
I shift, adjust, give her every last inch I’ve got, watching her unravel beneath me. Her lips are soft. Her mouth opens for me like it always belonged to mine.
And then I grunt, hoarsely—the words slip out before I can stop them: “I think I love you.”
They slip out like a secret, hot against her throat as I bury my face there.
She gasps—shudders—and her hips roll up to meet mine with more urgency. Then her fingers thread through my hair, tugging until I look at her, eyes glassy, gorgeous, completely undone.
They lock onto mine. “I love you too.”
I kiss her hard.
Hungry.
We move faster, rougher, caught in the surge of everything we can’t say—so we say it with our bodies instead. With every thrust. Every kiss. Every breathless moan that spills between us.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck . . .
When I come, my body jerks, my breath catching in my throat as everything inside me rushes forward in one tidal wave of sensation. I bury my face in her neck, her skin damp and warm and smelling like fresh air and sweat and tequila and her.
She cries out my name, her legs tightening around me as her own climax crashes over her, pulling me under with her. We cling. We shake. We don’t let go.
The world is a blur.
The dock. The moonlight. The water lapping at our feet.
I can’t stop touching her.
Still want more . . .