Chapter Twenty-Seven #3
He somehow makes Damon and Jonas melt away along with the rest of the world.
We aren’t in the kitchen. We’re back on the forest floor where he finally took me.
We’re in his office enclosed in a small space.
We’re in a bubble and I feel like I can’t breathe.
I suffocate where Maverick Harrington is involved.
I lose all sense of self-anything. I’m not just aware of myself, I’m hyper aware of him and myself when it’s just me and him and him and I in a room full of others, even an entire classroom full of others…
it’s just us and my lungs seize and my heart beats erratically and I just crave the air he breathes so I can stop suffocating.
How does he do this?
I can’t help but wonder if it’s my body or my heart that wants him? His kiss? His attention? Is it my brain? My soul? Those filthy words that make me come so hard around him he can’t move?
“Another little skirt, Siren?” He asks, his breath skimming my clavicle along with his teeth and lips. “You just have to make it so easy to pull these panties to the side and dig into your perfect little pussy, don’t you?”
It’s the words. Definitely the words.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders to which he responds by grabbing my throat lightly and telling me to open my mouth and stick out my tongue.
I do.
He kisses me by licking my tongue with his, groaning at my taste and I moan with his.
Sucking my bottom lip into his mouth and then tangling his tongue with mine again, devouring.
His hands go to my inner thighs and he squeezes, his fingers traveling up until both of his thumbs rub along the silk triangle that covers my sex.
God, I can feel my panties sticking to me with how slick I’ve gotten with just one kiss.
He pulls away, his nose still against mine, his thumb slipping under the silky material, finding me wet and wanting him. “Did someone cum deep in my slutty girl or are you wet for just me?”
I moan when he pushes his thumb into me only to rub my arousal in circles on my clit. I keep my eyes on his and nod. It’s useless to lie. Except Jonas and I showered one last time in my dorm before coming home and I am so very, very wet for him.
He reaches between us and I hear him unzipping his trousers, tugging his dick out and rubs the tip of his cock all over my pussy, notching at my entrance. “Do you know why a penis has a mushroom-like tip?”
I shake my head.
“A university in Michigan did a study and theorized it was a way the Neanderthals were able to scoop out another's semen out, to have a higher chance of impregnating their mate.” He growls and in one full shove he thrusts his entire cock into me.
I moan, clutching him closer, spreading my thighs wider to take him deeper. I decide, in this moment, I absolutely fucking love evolutionary science. Or is it history?
“Let’s see, shall we?” He pulls out until only the crown of him is inside. We look down and see a stripe of my essence on him but the rest of me coats him. Whether it’s me or remnants of Jonas, I’m not sure and he isn’t either because he groans and pushes into me again.
I moan and he takes my mouth with his again, over and over again he gives me as much pleasure as he takes, stretching me with the fattest part of him. It hurts and it feels amazing and I need more.
Wrapping my legs around his torso, I hook them at my ankles. In the blink of an eye his hands are clawing at my shirt, pulling it up and over my head and his tongue dives to my nipples.
God, yes!
He sucks as though I’m feeding him, flicking his tongue and biting one, switching from one to the other.
One hand pinches whichever one isn’t in his mouth.
He’s claiming me, leaving physical marks on my body along with invisible ones in my heart, in my mind, in the very thing that makes me me .
His words are nothing but worship. My back arches as my pussy begins to clamp down around him.
“That’s my good girl. I love feeling the way your gorgeous cunt throbs around me. Come for your professor, Siren. Come for your professor so I can fill your pussy.”
I moan and he groans, filling the bubble we’re in with animalistic noises and I fall back to earth, the bubble popping when he places a kiss that’s as soft as his urgency was. I tip my forehead against his and smile.
“Christ, that was-”
“Hot.” Damon finishes for Jonas, reminding me we aren’t alone. I blush as the alarm on the oven beeps, telling us dinner is ready.
Maverick smirks but doesn’t withdraw from me. Instead he hooks his arms under my thighs. “Let’s go clean you up, Angel. Then we’ll have dinner.”
We’re in his room moments later after he took the stairs with me in his arms as though I weighed nothing, only withdrawing from me once we’re in his bathroom.
He undresses me only after the shower turns on and steam is rising, slowly and deliberately taking off each article of clothing, looking at every single one of my flaws.
My scars. Stab wound. Tattoo. Tracing his fingers over each one, smiling at the goosebumps he leaves on my skin.
“Perfect,” he whispers… and I feel it. That’s the thing about Maverick, even when he’s crass and he hurts me, he’s honest . It’s a fucked-up thing to love a man that can call you out on every single one of your insecurities even if it hurts you and still make you feel beautiful amidst the ugly.
I gnaw on my tongue.
They all do this to me. Jonas with his need for me, telling me that I’m sick in the head but then making me feel like it’d alright to be crazy because he is, too.
Damon, making me feel normal with all of my…
issues, but he makes me feel invincible.
And Maverick… he’s never made me feel fragile.
Not once. He uses words like daggers because he knows my skin is thicker than I let on.
So how do I trust him? How do I let him in completely? Will the former FBI agent that hunted serial killers still think I’m beautiful when he finds out… if he finds out? Will he turn me in? Us? Would he understand?
When it’s his turn, he also undresses himself slowly. I realize it’s the first time I’m seeing him naked. The night of the fire we were in the dark. In the forest he took me from behind. Neither of us ever fully undressed in his office.
There are a lot of tattoos going from his wrists up to his chest, stopping just at his neck.
Some look like runes, vines; on his right pec is Icarus falling from the sky, feathers everywhere.
There’s other things but barely any skin is left untouched except his left pec as though he’s waiting on something to put over his heart.
There are words in Latin scribbled across him I can’t wait to focus on to translate.
The one I love the most is the Invictus poem written on his ribs.
“I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”
When he steps out of his slacks it looks like lightning bolts going down his strong thighs.
It’s when he turns to check the temperature of the water I hold in my gasp.
He has bullet scars on his shoulders and his ribs.
A tattoo of an old ship on a turbulent sea covers the scars like mine covers my own.
I reach out to touch and when I do, he tenses for only a moment before relaxing against my touch.
He clears his throat, still not facing me.
He just holds his hand out behind him and when I take it, he tugs me into the shower with him.
He scrubs me clean and then himself. It’s a quick shower and when he reaches between my legs to clean me up, he thickens immediately.
It seems the response I have to him is the same for him when it comes to me.
When we step out of the shower, Damon is there with a warm towel.
He doesn’t linger, giving us time together.
Mav’s room, obviously the master bedroom, is spacious and oddly empty.
Yes, it has a bed and a dresser and two nightstands but there’s hardly anything here.
It doesn’t look lived in. It looks like a set for a Home & Gardens catalog, as though he went to a store, saw the display and said, “I’ll take it as is. ”
The lack of warmth makes me a little sad.
Maverick rummages around one of the drawers and pulls out a shirt of his and tugs it over me.
Green eyes bounce all over me as though he’s trying to remember every detail or he doesn’t know where to look or both.
It’s the first time his gaze is soft when it’s in my direction and it makes me uneasy.
I don’t know what I’m expecting. I don’t know where to go from here.
“I’m… I’m not an easy man to live with, probably.
I’m not very kind. I’m a selfish motherfucker and I tend to voice my opinions even if they’re unwanted.
It’s hard for me to open up to others and I enjoy th e quiet.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fully be kind to you,” he visibly swallows and I follow the bobbing of his throat as he searches for the words.
“Damon has made me aware you are... I… he believes I live in a world of black and white. Wrong and right. I don’t know if I can- Christ, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, angel. ”
I arch a brow and tilt my head to the side.
“You do things to me I’ve never felt before. You make me act on impulse and you piss me off so fucking much.”
I grimace.
He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words to articulate whatever it is he’s trying to say, his tattoos stretching along with him and I follow them down the expanse of his abdomen to where they disappear into the towel wrapped around him.
I love his body. It’s not young and ripped like Jonas' wide receiver body.
But you can see how he puts in the hard work for his physique.
His legs are strong, thick and defined by his lightning bolts, the V is toned and has a six pack, leading up to his pecs, his collarbones protrude only for his traps to be the main reason as to why they protrude.
The veins in his forearms travel along corded muscles in his biceps and triceps.
He's a masterpiece.
He grins as he catches me staring. If anything, he looks like an MMA fighter. Which would make sense. Of course he’s strong. He has to fight people if they fight back. Of course he runs. He’s been trained to hunt and catch bad guys.
My clit tingles at the memory of how he chased me and held me down. I’m his bad guy. I groan inwardly. How am I horny again? I’ve done nothing but get fucked since I woke up and yet I want more?
“I’m trying to say I want your lilacs and purples.
” There goes my pussy again. “I’m trying to say I know I’m not- fuck, I’m terrible at this.
I like you here. I want you here. I loved knowing I was coming home to you.
I’ve never driven over the speed limit without my lights flashing overhead and my sirens blaring.
I’ve never even attempted to provide aftercare.
In the three years I’ve been teaching at Rayne-Moore, I’ve never brought a woman here.
It was always one and done. With you I want more. I want to try . ”
Wet. I’m so fucking wet again. I tilt my head and motion to the closed door at Damon and Jonas.
He shrugs. “They know how to treat you where I fail… I didn’t grow up watching my father treat my mother properly, not at all, actually.
She left when I was a child. My father never really got over my mother leaving.
We had a rocky relationship and then he died.
I… I’m learning . Okay? You may have to be more patient with me because all of this is completely brand-new territory for me. ”
I nod and press on my toes to kiss him, which he responds by kissing me back.
It’s still tender but it’s not all-consuming.
It’s a kiss that’s quietly begging me to love and trust in him without any of the extra words.
It’s a silent plea, a redundant silent plea because I already love him.
Love the way he makes me feel and what he brings out of me. It’s carnal and visceral and pure lust.
After he brushes my hair and goes to find a pair of panties for me to wear and comes back with them, putting them on me, we go down and have dinner with my other guys.
It’s our first dinner together and it’s a little awkward at first but he holds my hand or grips my thigh underneath the table every now and then, as if making sure I’m truly beside him.
I don’t think this man has ever had a family meal and granted, I’ve never had one around a table that wasn’t made to fit fourteen or more people, I’m sure Jonas feels the same way.
Damon ignores all of our awkwardness, the brilliant psychiatrist he is, accepting all of this completely as if it’s just second nature.
Our new normal.
It's when Maverick looks at me over a glass of wine, moss-colored yes, winking at me that I feel some semblance of home with him. It’s the other thing I feel that I hate.
I love Maverick Harrington, this much I know.
I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust him like I trust Damon and Jonas and I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
But there’s only one way to find out.