He shifts me closer, his hand splaying on my waist. And he . . . groans. He groans into my mouth and crushes my body against his. And I like possessive Maverick so much I can’t think or breathe, only soften my lips so he takes everything.

There’s a change in pressure in his grip that speaks to me on such a primitive level, I’m twisted inside. He takes a ragged breath. His nostrils flare a little bit as he seems to fight for control. He wraps his wounded knuckles around my hips and edges me closer.

My tongue slips into his mouth, and he draws it in deeper.

It’s like he’s pouring all his frustration into this kiss.

I don’t want him to get turned off by my inexperience, so I try to rub his tongue back. He groans. He slides his hands over me as if he likes the curve of my ass, and my breasts squish against his chest pleasurably. He edges back, takes a breath.

So many words I’ve heard before.

Toe-curling.

Panty-melting.

Heart-pounding.

Breathtaking.

I can apply them all right now. To this guy. This moment.

His muscles tighten, and the warmth of personal contact, of our mouths, our bodies closer than close, the pounding of his heart is the pounding of mine, his breath my breath, our space the same . . .

Placing long, calloused fingers along my back—a rough touch is not supposed to feel this delicious, this feathery, this good.

Lust. It’s not soft like the touch of a raindrop. It’s not easy like floating aimlessly on the water. It’s weighted, and heavy, a spark that catches on the forest of your body. A wildfire.

I have never been marked by lust like this.

I can’t speak.

Even Maverick’s voice is extremely thick right now. “Tate and his wife left earlier.”

“Yes. I promised her I’d be careful. I have pepper spray.”

He smiles, then scans my face, his eyes as dark as I’ve ever seen them. “Did you tell them you’d meet them later at your hotel?”

I nod.

“Do you want this like I do?” He looks at my lips, and then into my eyes as he curls his fingers around the back of my neck and gives me a gentle squeeze. “Do you?”

Say no, Reese.

This can go nowhere.

I open my mouth and say, “More. I want it more than you.”

He exhales, then he leans his forehead against mine and looks deeply into my eyes. “That’s impossible on every level, I’m breaking every existing record.”

He eases back and looks genuinely tormented by this same lust I feel, and I say, “Maverick, I haven’t done this before.”

“I know, Reese, but god, I need it to be me.” He presses his mouth to me and groans rather than kisses me, groans and embraces me against him and whispers in my ear, “Please let it be me.”

We start kissing feverishly again. I push my tongue into his mouth and grab his hair, suddenly needing him more than he needs me. He tears his lips free, stares down at me with liquid metal in his eyes, takes my hand, unlocks the bathroom, and leads us out of there.

♥ ♥ ♥

MAVERICK SITS BESIDE me in the back of a cab. Devouring me with his eyes. And I sit here. Devouring him with mine. My diaphragm hurts when I try to breathe. He’s cloaked in shadows, but some of the lights outside fall on his neck, his square jaw. His lips. As I grow accustomed to the dark, I slowly study the clear-cut lines of his features. He’s so handsome with those platinum eyes and a secret expression, dark and brooding. He looks like he just committed murder and is daring the world to come lock him up. No, actually . . .

He looks like he’s ready to take a girl to bed and fuck the living daylights out of her.

God, and that girl is me.

To lead me out of the cab, he takes my hand.

My hand, in his hand.

I like his touch so much I feel an internal combustion from this alone.

Tomorrow, I won’t be a virgin anymore. I wanted to wait for it to mean something. I wanted to feel beautiful and to give it to Miles. And instead . . . I need this like I need oxygen right now.

His grip is strong and rough, like Maverick Cage.

I follow him across the lobby, and his grip is as firm and steady as his stride, and my heart is pounding like a living drum inside my chest, and wherever it is he’s taking me, I can’t believe how much I want to go.

We take the elevators and he leads me into a room on the second-to-top floor. I step inside as he shuts and locks the door behind me. It’s a nice room that I’m sure he’s easily affording now, thanks to the fighting money. His duffel bag sits in a corner. It’s misleading to think that’s all he owns. That everything he is and wants is tucked inside the bag. Because when I turn to look at him, I know he is so much more. I know he wants so much more.

And I want him more than I’ve wanted anything.

He starts forward. My knees grow weak. I want to take a step back but I hold my ground because I want his touch more than I want to take a step back. I hate him for making me feel like this, and I love him for making me feel so alive too. The air crackles between us as he stops a few feet away. Pure anticipation floods me. I stick my chin a little higher, meeting his gaze, holding it.

He reaches out to grab the back of my neck. He sets my nerve endings on fire beneath his fingertips. He never takes his eyes off mine as he draws me the rest of the way to him. I don’t miss the meaning. He brings me to him—he doesn’t come to me. It excites me and I don’t know why.

He bends and nibbles my lip, barely getting started, his head bent to mine. Reason checks out as waves of feelings rush through me, and I feel my hands fill with his hair, my throat close with things I want to say that I have never said—dirty things, sexy things, and intimate things, and just . . . things. I can’t. I feel rawer with this man than with anyone.

He walks me to the bed, and when he sits me on the edge, the rough fabric of his jeans grazes my jean-clad thighs; I can feel his hard quads beneath. Liquid fire warms my body, consuming. My heart skipping, jumping, fluttering.

His fingers brush over the tips of my nipples and shoot a delicious shockwave through me. A seductive smile touches his mouth. His fucking perfect mouth.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t want him like this.

But not a single part of me—of the ones that are working right now—cares.

I grab him, and the muscles in his shoulders tense under my fingers, and the air is burning, primal. When we kiss, there’s no hesitation or uncertainty. Our lips fit perfectly, his body crushes me into the bed, his erection against my stomach, and as he’s kissing me, he doesn’t tease, or play, he just takes.