Chapter Twenty
Maverick
By the time I make it back to the estate, the house is quiet.
Two in the morning has a certain kind of silence to it. The kind that makes every footstep sound heavier than it should. The kind that reminds a man how long he’s been awake and how many thoughts he’s tried to outrun.
I should go upstairs.
I should crawl into bed beside Amelia, pull her against me, and let the scent of her hair drag me under for a few hours.
Instead, I go to the gym.
My body aches from exhaustion, but my mind refuses to settle. Too many names. Too many threats. Too many people depending on me to know which move to make next.
I strip out of my clothes, leave them in a pile near the bench, and step into the shower.
The water hits my shoulders hot enough to sting.
Good.
I lower my head and brace one hand against the tile, letting the heat pour over the back of my neck, down my spine, across muscles that have been locked tight for days.
For a few moments, I let myself feel nothing but water.
No maps.
No phone calls.
No dead men wearing old names.
No threat against my family.
Just heat.
Steam.
The sound of water hitting tile.
Then arms slide around my waist, and I freeze.
Amelia.
I know the shape of her hands as they settle against my stomach. I know the softness of her body pressing against my back. I know the way she fits against me as if she has been missing from that exact place all night.
Her cheek rests between my shoulder blades.
Her breath touches my skin.
I close my eyes.
Every hard, dangerous thing inside me goes still.
Not gone…Never gone.
But still.
Her arms tighten around me, and for one suspended moment, I don’t move. I don’t speak. I barely breathe.
I simply let her hold me.
Let her remind my body that it’s allowed to come home, even when my mind is still standing in the middle of a war.
Her lips brush my back.
Then again.
My hand covers hers where it rests against my stomach.
She turns her palm upward and threads our fingers together beneath the fall of water.
The gesture is small, but it nearly breaks me.
After a long moment, she slips around me.
Water runs over her hair, darkening it, making it cling to her shoulders. Her eyes lift to mine, quiet and steady.
No questions.
No hurt.
No accusation for the nights I’ve not come to bed.
Just Amelia.
Looking at me like she sees every crack I’ve tried to hide and has decided not to be frightened by a single one.
She rises onto her toes and kisses me gently
So gentle I feel it somewhere deeper than my mouth.
My hands go to her waist.
I don’t pull.
I don’t take.
I only hold her because I need somewhere safe to put my hands. Her breasts press against my chest as she kisses my jaw.
With each press of her lips and caress of her hands, I hear her.
I’m here.
I know.
Let me help you.
When she slowly lowers herself before me, my breath stops.
Seeing Amelia on her knees for me undoes something I didn’t know was locked inside my chest.
This woman.
My woman.
The one who should be asleep in my bed, safe and warm, not down here beneath the spray of a shower trying to piece me back together with nothing but soft hands and silent devotion.
My body reacts to her the way it always does.
Instantly.
Completely.
There’s no part of me that knows how to remain unaffected by Amelia Moore. Not when she looks at me. Not when she touches me. Not when she stands too close and smells like home.
I’m hard for her before she ever reaches me.
I always am.
It’s almost cruel, the power she has over me without even trying.
One hand slides into her wet hair, not to guide her…simply to touch.
To anchor myself.
To make sure this is real and not some mercy my exhausted mind has created because I needed her too badly.
Her eyes stay on mine as she grips my cock and guides me into her mouth.
Instantly, I’m surrounded by her warmth, and despite my raging hardon, I feel more relaxed than I have in years.
Then her other hand settles against my thigh, gentle at first, before slowly sliding over tense muscle as if she’s learning the places where the day has left its marks.
My forehead drops against the wet tile.
My eyes close.
The world narrows.
Steam.
Water.
Amelia.
The careful way she gives me something I didn’t know how to ask for.
No words pass between us.
None are needed.
Every touch is careful.
Every breath is reverent.
Even though she’s swallowing my cock, she doesn’t take from me.
She gives.
And I, who have spent days carrying the weight of everyone else, can do nothing but stand beneath the water and let her.
Let her soothe the rage.
Let her quiet the ghosts.
Let her remind me that I’m not only the Don.
Not only the man with blood on his hands and enemies at his gates.
Not only the shield standing between my family and whatever darkness is coming for us.
I’m also hers.
Here… Now… Completely.
My hand tightens in her hair for one brief second before I force myself to loosen my grip. Even undone, even shaking apart beneath her tenderness, I will not take control of this from her.
This is her gift.
Her choice.
Her way of telling me she sees me.
Not the title.
Not the empire.
Me.
The man beneath all of it who came home too tired to climb into bed beside her because he was afraid the war inside him would follow.
She found me anyway.
Of course she did.
Amelia has always had a way of finding wounded things, even when they hide in the dark and pretend they don’t need care.
She doesn’t rush. She takes her time.
Gentle. Soft.
Patient in a way that strips me down more thoroughly than hunger ever could.
Minutes pass…maybe longer.
Time loses meaning beneath the steam and heat and the careful devotion of her touch.
The buildup comes slowly.
Then fades.
Then rises again.
Over and over until I no longer know whether I want relief or if I want to stay here forever, suspended in the quiet mercy of being loved by this woman.
I don’t ask her to take me over the edge.
I don’t think I want her to.
For once, nothing is being demanded of me. Nothing is being ripped from me. Nothing is being taken.
She’s simply giving.
And every thought drifts from my mind except for Amelia kneeling before me, showing me without a single word how deeply she sees me.
How much she loves me.
The pressure builds again.
This time, she doesn’t let it fade.
Still, she doesn’t rush.
Doesn’t turn tenderness into performance.
She simply stays with me.
Steady.
Certain.
Gentle enough to ruin me.
My hand tightens in her wet hair again before I force myself to loosen it. I straighten away from the tile to look down at her, and the sound that leaves me is broken in a way I don’t recognize.
Seeing the love she has for me shining in her eyes pushes me over the edge.
Not with force.
With love.
The release tears through me, slow and devastating, leaving nothing untouched. It empties the rage from my chest, steals the strength from my knees, and silences every ghost that has followed me into this room.
It’s the single most intense orgasm I’ve ever had in my entire life.
For one perfect moment, there’s no war.
No blood.
No enemies.
No empire balanced on my shoulders.
There’s only Amelia.
Only us.
By the time she rises again, I’m not the same man she found standing beneath the water.
I catch her face in both hands.
Her lips are soft beneath mine.
The kiss I give her isn’t hungry.
It’s gratitude.
It’s surrender.
It’s every word I can’t force past the knot in my throat.
She wraps herself around me again, and I pull her beneath the spray, holding her close enough that there’s no space left between us.
The water keeps falling.
The house stays quiet.
And for the first time in days, the war outside this room feels far enough away that I can breathe.