Legend (Page 59)
“Are you letting go for me?” he murmurs.
He buries himself deeper, grabs my hips and holds me down so I have no choice but to take him, deeper and deeper, as far as he wants to go. As far as I want him.
Hands on my hip bones, he moves in me, and I move with him. Like a dance. We go faster and faster. And I never want to stop. I never want to stop moving, watching, tasting, getting f****d by Maverick Cage in Maverick Cage’s bed.
I always wanted to be loved, and I think he loves me because I’m ready to be loved, and he’s ready too, and here we are.
We’re having hot sex but we’re making love, him and I, and I want to say it. I want to say the I love you because who knows if there’s tomorrow, if I’ll ever get to say it again, if I’ll see him after the season; who knows what happens tomorrow and yet I know now that I have to say it.
I’m coming and I want to bring my heart to an emotional climax too, and when I can only gasp and see colors and stars and Maverick’s gorgeous male face before me, I hear him.
“That’s right, Reese,” he says, kissing my lips until my chest is ready to explode along with the rest of me. “You’re with me now.”
♥ ♥ ♥
IT’S EARLY IN the morning. Three, maybe, or four. And I’m the Sexpot in Maverick Cage’s Bed. The Lucky Sexpot.
I’m enjoying watching his muscles as he shifts and moves above me.
The clench of his jaw when he’s moving inside me.
The chameleonic shifts in his eyes as we start making love . . . and finish making love.
I’m addicted and drunk with all the ways his lips know how to move and pleasure, torture and reward. He’s f****d me, he’s made love to me, he’s . . . well, he’s gone down on me.
“How many, tell me?” I coax now as I wonder what he’s going to do to me next. I told him that I was a virgin, and I now want to know how many girls he’s been with besides me.
“No.” He’s not looking at my face; he’s too busy with my body. “They don’t count. Nobody counts until now.”
I’m sweaty, glorying in the hurricane intensity that he’s brought to bed with him. The sight of his c**k, full and stiff for me, has me panting. You cannot believe someone so powerful could hold all of that energy under control, but Maverick does it so well, it’s exhilarating to be under the attention of such force and be receiving one controlled, delicious, calculated dose at a time.
He gives me only what he measures I can take.
“Mav, I want to kiss you here,” I say, trailing my hand over his erection.
“When I’m done with you first, maybe.” His thumb circles my belly button, then he teases his tongue inside a little bit. “Only one of us can be properly undone in this bed, you do it so much better. You like that?” His lashes lift as he speaks huskily and watches me, dipping his tongue into my belly button again.
He moves his mouth lower, toward my sex, and I’m tensing in preparation of what’s to come. I try to sit up when he nudges my thighs apart, but he presses me back down, caressing my breasts.Then he urges my thighs open, my sex drenched before his eyes. He looks at me, rubs a finger over the folds, checking that I’m wet and ready.
“Maverick,” I protest weakly, utterly embarrassed.
I can never stop feeling vulnerable when we have sex, and I feel so raw and needy.
“You’re as beautiful here as you are everywhere else.” He leans up and his mouth slides across mine, then he’s kissing me between my legs again, gently, and wetly thrusting his tongue with gentle rhythm, driving inward, pulling out, making me complain when I’m empty. I’m overloaded with Maverick, his scent, the feel of his kiss where I’m hottest and wettest and in a place where I can’t even see.
I’m panting hard while he works his lips up my sex, up my flat abdomen, between my breasts. When he kisses my mouth again, I’m ready, I was made to receive him, and his body was made to take mine, and we fit just right and I’m empty without him. I’m a huge, trembling nerve, quivering in need.
When I’m begging, he rises to his knees, braces up on one arm to keep from squishing me.
He looks extraordinary. This absolutely mystical creature, he’s so beautiful, his body in its prime, his face harsh with lust and his eyes shimmering in all those metallic-silver hues that make me want to stare at them for hours at a time.
I stare now. And they stare back at me. Memorizing me and visually f*****g me before he physically does the same.
I love the way my body tenses in anticipation. And how my abdomen feels firm and so do my thighs as I curl my legs around his hips.
Curving his hand on my hip, he holds me as his thick, throbbing flesh fills me to the hilt. The sensation of him entering arches my body, so delicious my thighs skew open wider so he knows he’s more than welcome here. He’s needed.
I mew softly in pleasure, and he groans and stays there, inside me, like he did the time I gave him my V card. Letting me adjust to him.
“Reese . . . give yourself to me, Reese,” he coaxes. He crushes his mouth to mine, slides one arm upward, and holds my wrist in one hand as he pulls out and thrusts in. The headboard slams.
I groan. His body ripples against mine. Muscles flexing powerfully with each move. I’m locked beneath him, drowning in the power of him. All this time with him is just making me care.
I don’t want to care this much. . . .
I’m scared to care this much. . . .
When the summer is over, I need to leave. Back to school. And the saying “fight or die” applies to this guy to a T. Maverick would die if he’s not fighting.