Ride Rough (Raven Riders 2)

“You . . . you were dreaming. Of me?” she whispered.

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to.”

She swallowed and licked her lips. “What if I do want it? The answer,” she added.

Years of need and longing roared through Maverick like a drug he’d mainlined. His thoughts spilled out unfiltered. “Damnit, Al. You’re laying there in my clothes in my house with your thighs spread after I’ve just woken up holding you. My skin smells like you. And I’m sporting an erection because of you. Don’t fuck with me.” The words came out harsher than he intended, but she couldn’t play with him. Not on this. Not when he cared so much. Not when he wanted so much.

Her mouth dropped open and her chest rose and fell a little quicker. “I’m not playing a game. I want to know.”

Planting his hands on his hips, Maverick studied her. Her beautiful, languid body. Her pretty, open face. Her eyes, honest and free of pretense. He felt pulled in a million directions. Between wrong and right, between taking advantage and taking care, between giving in and opening himself up to a world of hurt. “I was dreaming of you. Of us. Up at Swallow Falls.”

“That night we—”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Maverick—”

“Fuck.” He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Trying to be bigger than his base needs. Trying to put her before himself. “Whatever is about to come out of your mouth is not a good idea.”

“Mav—”

“I mean it, Al—”

“Maverick!” she nearly yelled. “Listen to me.”

His gaze cut up to hers in time to see her sit up a little and take off her shirt. Well, his shirt. Then she laid back again, her eyes on him, drinking him in, inviting him in. “What if I do want it?” she whispered.

Something inside him snapped.

He was on her in a second. Body covering hers. Hands going to her warm skin. Mouth tasting her everywhere—her shoulder, her throat, her cheek. His chest pressed against her breasts, her hard nipples evident, her excitement palpable. And then his mouth found hers. On a triumphant groan, he claimed her, his lips sucking, his tongue penetrating. His big hand found her breast and kneaded at the soft mound.

And Alexa was right there with him. Moaning, kissing him, clutching on to him. Her thighs wrapped around his hips and her fingers twisted in his hair.

Bad idea bad idea such a fucking bad idea.

Why did bad ideas have to feel so good?

“Fuck, I want you,” he said, grinding his cock against the soft, welcoming spot between her thighs.

“I want you, too. Feels like I’ve been wanting you my whole life.” She peered up at him, her eyes so vibrant they were nearly green.

Maverick pulled back, her words hitting him in all kinds of places, some comfortable, some even healing, but some less so. “You can’t toy with me, Alexa. Not when I’ve wanted you for so long. Not when I never wanted to let you go in the first place. This . . . this can just be fucking. But don’t you dare say anything you don’t mean.”

She stroked his hair. “Truth?”

He gave a tight nod and prepared for the worst, even as he hoped for a shot.

“Truth is, I don’t know what this means. Yet. I am so messed up right now. I’m not even going to hide that. But . . .” She tilted her head, and her expression was filled with something Mav didn’t want to name, but it sure as hell looked like affection. “But I know I want this. I want you, Maverick. Right now. And wanting you feels like one of the smartest decisions I’ve made in forever. Everything else be damned.” Her voice was shaky and breathy and her words were so full of dangerous, dangerous hope that Maverick didn’t dare move.

His muscles nearly shook with the force of his restraint, because his body was literally screaming at him. Screaming at him to just let go. “Fuck, Alexa.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. But I want you. I want you inside me right now more than I want my next breath.”

Even though his mind was rolling out a list of all the reasons why this was a no good what the fuck are you thinking very bad idea, Maverick’s body grabbed the reins. On a groan, he went in for a kiss, rougher than he intended, but the moan she unleashed when his mouth crashed down on hers told him she didn’t mind. They fumbled with clothes. Her boxers. His jeans. Until they were both naked and pressed tight, all hot skin on skin, and his cock ground against her soft folds until she was mewling and writhing and silently pleading with the rough, desperate grip of her hands on his shoulders, his back, his ass.