“I thought maybe I’d imagined how amazing the sex was. Or romanticized it, but clearly, I didn’t.” She sucks my bottom lip. “It’s even better.”
21
A LOT TO HANDLE
Clover
“Iwant you on top of me.” I start to shift, but Maverick’s hand settles on my hips, and his fingers dig into the fleshy part of my ass.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
His hold tightens when I try to move. “I’m really jacked up, Clover.”
“How do you mean?” I roll my hips, loving the way it feels to have him inside me again.
“I don’t know if I can stay in control the way I need to if I’m on top.” His jaw works, teeth grinding together, though not from anger. He’s embarrassed . . . uncomfortable, maybe. “It’s better for you like this.”
I think about the sex we had back in August. It wasincredible. The first time was in my bed, the second on the kitchen counter, and the third time was in the middle of the night. I’d pulled him on top of me, but he shifted us so I was straddling him again. Even when we ended up sixty-nining after the shower, I was on top—which makes sense considering his size and me needing control. But this is different.
“Okay.” I nod my understanding. “What are you afraid will happen if you’re not in control?”
“I’m too amped.” His eyes fall closed when I shift again. “I could hurt you. Not on purpose, but I could.”
I skim the edge of his jaw. “How would you hurt me?”
“I’m a lot to handle, which you already know.”
“Mmm . . .” I follow the ropy muscles in his shoulders. “I’ve handled you fine so far, wouldn’t you agree?”
His gaze shifts to mine, hot and desperate. “You’ve been on top. You’re in control.”
“So why don’t I stay on top for now, and you can help guide me?”
“Okay.” He laces our fingers together. “But if it gets to be too much, tell me, okay?”
“Of course, and you’ll do the same?”
He nods once. I have to wonder what his past experiences have been like to make him so worried about hurting me. But it seems to be part of who he is. Even back when we were two people acting on attraction and nothing else, my pleasure was paramount. His self-awareness makes him an exceedingly conscientious lover—maybe more than he realizes, and maybe to his own detriment.
I move over him, taking him in deep and rising again, watching his expression, the tightness in his jaw, the strain in his neck. He’s holding back.
I unlace our fingers and drag mine down his cheek. “You always take such good care of me,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss him. “I want to do the same for you.”
He makes a sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl, but one hand settles on my hip and the other rests on my thigh, fingers flexing.
I lace my hands behind his neck. “Show me how you want me to move.”
“This is good. You’re good like this.”
I suck his bottom lip between mine. “Show me, Maverick. I’ll tell you if it’s too much, but I already know this isn’t enough for you.”
He drops his chin, forehead coming to rest in the crook of my neck. Eventually he cups my ass and starts to lift and lower me, slowly at first, gently, but a dozen strokes in, his rhythm begins to falter.
“Don’t stop.” I bite his earlobe. “I want more of you. I want to feel you for days.”
His hold on me tightens, and I brace my forearms on his shoulders, telling him how good he feels, that I want him deeper, that I need him to fuck me harder.