Chapter Nineteen
Maverick
With every day that passes, my apprehension about leaving grows. Never before did I give a shit about deployments—they are just part of the job. I accept it. It’s usually a little fun…if there’s stuff to do—bad guys to catch, lives to make a little harder.
This deployment will be different because I’m doing something I’ve never done before. Insane, I know. I’m leaving something behind. Not just something, but someone. And I happen to be madly in love, heavy on the “madly,” with that person. My mind is a twisted fuck of a place to be. Having sex with Windsor didn’t have the effect I thought it would. She didn’t push me away; she pulled me closer. I’m not sure which is worse.
I’ve lost all hope of having a clear head before or after I leave. The only time I’m not thinking about Windsor or some part of her body, or something she’s said, or something she’s done is when I’m inside her. See that catch-twenty-two? It’s a bitter bitch. I’m impossible to deal with at work. I can’t stop calling and texting her just because I can. I won’t be able to talk to her very much after I ship out.
And because I fucking think about calling her, I pick up the phone and slam my finger on her name.
Her picture pops up on my screen. She has a white sheet tucked under her arms and her hair is a tangle of perfection. I snapped the pic after we had sex for the second time in one night. Her lips are pink and swollen and her blue eyes scream come fuck me again. Contrary to popular belief, I will never get sick of being inside her. My dick gets hard just daydreaming.
The phone rings a second time. Windsor answers and says, “I’m never going to get anything done if you don’t stop calling me.” Her voice is playful. I take a deep breath. She giggles. I’ve done this five times already today. I’m packing, so I have thirty huge dead-hooker-bags strewn around my house in haphazard array. I call her to forget.
I sigh. “How many appointments do you have this afternoon? I want you to come home,” I tell her.
“Mav, I have to work. I can’t stay in your sex dungeon twenty-four hours a day,” Windsor whispers. I chuckle. She told me this morning she wishes she could spend the entire day in my bed. I told her she should. I’m at this crazy breaking point of being absolutely insane. I’m scared I’m going to say something so ridiculous that she’s going to freak out.
“What’s wrong with the bedroom? You seemed to love it this morning.” I smile. I wish she could see it through the phone. “Last night. The day before that. And the day before that, too.” I hear a door shut. Her office door.
“I miss you, too. Let me get through these reports. I’ll be home two-ish. Can you work with that?” Windsor asks. I look around my room at all the bags. I purse my lips.
“Yes. I can work you out then,” I growl. I’ll have to pack my shit quick. I want to be finished so I can focus on her as much as possible. T-minus four days. I close my eyes. “As soon as you can. Come home.”
Windsor laughs. For a second I forget about everything except what makes me happy. Her laughter erases every fucked up thought that races through my brain. It’s such a simple, ordinary, unoffending thing. Something I would have laughed at if you told me the same thing six months ago. I never would have believed it. Right now, I’ve never believed in anything more.
“You’re crazy,” she says, pausing. I know she’s thinking. She didn’t say enough. Windsor holds back when she’s not admitting something.
“One word,” I say, curious. She makes a little sucking sound and I’m one hundred percent sure she has her fucking lip in her mouth, eyes turned up to the ceiling. My cock responds accordingly, as if she were here in my presence doing the same thing.
“Sad,” she replies, her voice low. Boner flat-line.
“Don’t be,” I say automatically. “We have four full days. I have plans for all of them, too.” If I can convince her, maybe I can convince myself, too. Stone told me leaving Morganna is a bitch, that he misses her like he’d miss a limb if it got blown off. I never understood what he meant. I will soon. I missed my parents after I left and didn’t look back. That’s a different kind of miss, though. I chose not to care, and they chose not to reach out.
Her phone beeps. She has another call. “You’re everything,” she whispers before clicking off the line. I hold the phone against my ear for a few additional seconds.
I drop the cell to my side, balling it in my fist. “Fuck!” I bellow, my growl echoing in the vast expanse of my bedroom. Existing in this interminable state of almost gone is miserable. Windsor almost saying love is also a fucking drag. I don’t fault her, because I feel her affection in every word she says to me, in every breath she takes—in her huge blue eyes when she gazes up at me. She needs time. I can give her that.
I drag one of the huge black bags into my closet. I’ve packed all my uniforms already, so I go to the side that houses my t-shirts. Scanning the hangers I pull off one that says The Dude Abides, another that has a huge mustache sprawling across the front, and another that says Yo Mamma. All exceedingly appropriate. I fold them the way you’re supposed to fold a t-shirt and put them in my bag followed by a red poncho, a sweatshirt with an AK printed on the front, and a pair of Elvis sunglasses. My skintight, spandex American Flag shirt goes into the mix and I start to feel a little lighter doing what I do every time I ship out. The familiarity of packing eases the burn a little. I feel even better when I pull out my leather, badass eighties rock gear.
The costume reminds me of Stone, so I dial him up to talk about what he’s bringing and to make sure I have all the necessities on the pack-out list. He convinces me to bring my big screen TV because Morganna isn’t letting him take their TV from their living room, and I have an extra for occasions like this. After that long, drawn out conversation, in which he forced me to listen to the new rock song he just wrote for Morg, I call Steve. I need to make sure they don’t expect me to go to the bar hopping party. He tells me I’m a pussy—that I’ll regret not tapping a few girls from the Maverick stock sex pool. I tell him he should bag them instead. He agrees and I’m off the hook.
A few hours later I’m stacking all my bags next to the front door, feeling a little excited to deploy, when Windsor rushes in. She has on a gray skirt and a black button up shirt, the top two buttons open. Her hair is up, but pieces have fallen down into her face. Her smile, like it always is when she first sees me, is God damned brilliant. She kicks off her heels and runs toward me. She knocks into me as hard as she can, but I catch her easily and pull her up so her face is level with mine. Her eyes say I miss you. I want you. I miss you. I could stare into them all day long.
Windsor shakes her head and says, “God, you’re even hotter than when I left this morning. How do you do that?”
I let it rip—the big smile, because she’s looking at me like I’m the fucking prize. Her gaze lands exactly where I want it. Almost immediately, she kisses me. Her eyes fall shut as I lower her to the ground and bend down to avoid taking my mouth off of hers. Reaching up, I release her hair so it falls down around her shoulders and fist it in my hands. Her fingers snake under my shirt and skirt up to rest on my chest, always one hand on my heart…over her tattoo. She loves it. I love her.
I help her take my shirt off. My heart races at skin on skin contact because it knows what comes next. Who am I to deny it? I unbutton her shirt, teasing her mouth with flicks of my tongue and gentle kisses. She tilts her head to get a better angle and joins in the competition to see who can dominate better. She wraps her hands around my neck and pulls me closer once her shirt is wide open. Skimming her wet mouth down over my jaw, my chin, and down the front of my throat, she licks my neck tat and sighs a happy little moan. I close my eyes and take it all in.
She sucks my neck, just enough to make it feel good, but not enough to leave a mark. “I don’t want to leave you,” I admit, tilting my head back to give her better access. She bites my collarbone.
Against my skin she murmurs, “So don’t leave. I want you to stay with me, too. I don’t even know what to expect when you leave. I miss you so much when I’m at work and that’s only like nine hours. What does four thousand, three hundred, and twenty hours feel like? Torture.” She kisses me where she just bit me.
“Did you work that out in your head?” I ask to avoid the sickening truth.
“Numbers are my thing. I figured it out around the fourth time you called today.” Her full lips find mine again, but this time they don’t help me forget. They are like the signature on my death sentence— or a drug I won’t be able to have for a significant amount of time. She’s right. It will be torture. Windsor strips her shirt off and then her pink lace bra. Her tiny nipples pucker at the chill in the air. I kiss them. I lick one and then the other as she clutches my head to her chest.
“I have to go, Win. I don’t have a choice. You’ll be here when I get back?” My tongue slides up the center of her breasts as I lick a trail all the way up her throat to her mouth. I whisper at her lips, “Promise me.” Windsor darts her tongue out to trace my lips. She pulls my bottom lip in between her teeth.
“Like right here? In this exact same spot?” She says, her lips grazing mine as she speaks. I hate that she doesn’t get what I’m asking. My addictive personality is about to rear its head. Fuck. Fuck. “Or are you asking if I’ll still be yours when you get back?”
“Yes,” I say simply, inhaling the scent of her cherry lip gloss intermingling with her shampoo.
She pushes me back a touch, so she can look at me face on. “Isn’t that the way this works? Why would you even have to ask? Of course I’m yours. I’m yours forever. I’ll be here. I’ll be in this exact spot if that’s what you want. Say the word,” she says, pointing to the ground.
My stomach is a tangled fucking mess. This conversation just increases my inner turmoil. I’ve never had to have a talk like this. Not even with the blonde monster. But I never gave a shit about her, so I guess I wouldn’t. This is the sissy stuff that attached people deal with. Not lone wolves like me.
I view attachments with a singular view. With each person you grow close to, you increase your odds of miserable things happening—whether it’s friends or a girlfriend, or even parents having more children. With each addition of love to your life, the favor turns against you. You’re more liable to have something stripped away. Cancer. A car accident. A broken heart. The horrific scenarios of loss are endless and more plausible with each attachment you form. Because that’s the thing with attachments —you benefit from them, but they fucking destroy you. If you keep attachments to a minimum your risks stay low. I have Stone and my team. Now I have Windsor. An addition I know makes me vulnerable tenfold.
Stone told me I should talk about how I’m feeling with Windsor. I took his advice because number one, I always take his advice, and number two, he has Morganna, the impenetrable force field wrapped like a hard dick. You can’t undermine that feat.
“This is new to me, Win. I’ve never left a girlfriend behind before. I just wanted you to know that I don’t want to lose you because of my job. I don’t want to lose you for any reason. I want you to be here, in my house, in my life when I return. That said, I’ll understand if you can’t. It’s a lot to ask of anyone. You should know though, I’ll never not want you. You’re my always. And I do think I want you in this exact spot when I get back…maybe in the bedroom instead. We can negotiate if you’re amenable.” She has this huge fucking smile on her face as she watches me spill my soul.
“You’re being dramatic. Six months is not that long to wait. Especially for the best damn sex of my life.” Now she’s teasing me. Christ, if my friends saw this pathetic show, they’d have a field day. “Also, I’d wait forever for you—you crazy man, you. You’re my always, too. I’m in, Mav.”
“All in?” I ask, pulling her waist toward the bulge in my pants. She raises her eyebrows when it bumps her stomach.
“All the way in,” she purrs. Fuck yes. I glance at the bags behind her head quickly, distractedly. She follows my gaze and then narrows her eyes at me. “I think those bags need some action. Something to remember me by?” Windsor says, her tiny hands falling to unbutton and unzip my jeans.
I shake my head. “I need something to remember you by. Those bags don’t deserve you.” She’s lost her skirt and her panties in the last few seconds. She gets the award for world’s quickest naked woman. I want to be the one to congratulate her. Pursing my lips together, I cross my arms over my chest. Windsor takes a step back toward the bags. I slide my boxer briefs off and step out of them.
She clears her throat. “Well maybe you can both have me at the same time,” she explains, her gaze trained on my cock. If I didn’t know better I’d think she was talking about getting tag teamed.
Placing a hand on one of my black bags as tall as her waist, she strokes it reverently. I’ll never look at that fucking bag the same again. That’s the point, I think.
Windsor turns around, giving me a grand view of her narrow waist and round ass. Her long hair falls down her back, brushing her side when she turns her head to look over her shoulder. “Fuck me. Right here. On top of these bags,” she commands, her eyes fierce.
My dick is the only thing I can think of. How hard it is. What her words do to me. I blow out a pent up breath and approach her. When I’m standing behind her, I put my fingers where my dick wants to go.
She is soaking wet and obviously ready for me. “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” she breathes, throwing her head back to rest it on my chest. I kiss her forehead, watching her eyes grow heavy as I work her with my fingers.
She moans and my dick twitches. My mind is clear for the first time since I last touched her.
*****
Windsor
I love my back being pressed against his front. I feel every hard muscle bulging, controlling me, and owning me. Being in his arms makes me delirious with lust and passion. I say things I wouldn’t normally say; I just asked him to fuck me on bags. I’m pretty sure that never would have come out of my mouth before having sex with Maverick. The uninhibited person I am when I’m with him is freeing. It’s a person I never thought I’d have the courage to be. It’s me. It’s Windsor Forbes unfiltered.
I spread my legs a little wider to give his hand better access to me, and stifle another moan. The tips of his fingers circle and rub, causing my slick sex to pulse. He dips a finger into me. I can’t even stop my muscles from tightening around him. I do try to calm myself, because I want him inside me when I do come. His hand disappears, and I’m left panting, wondering what comes next. Lifting me by my waist and pushing down my shoulder blades, he bends me over the stack of bags.
“Keep your legs open for me, baby,” he says, hissing when the tip of his dick presses into my sex. My face is pressed into his bag. It smells like new plastic. I guess it could smell like something worse. “You feel so good, Win. I’m gonna fuck you now,” Maverick growls.
He pushes all the way into me, hitting the back. It hurts at first, but after a couple thrusts I’m used to his punishing rhythm. This isn’t the sweet sex we usually have, when we’re entwined with each other. This is frantic. He pulls me off the bags a little each time he thrusts, like he’s trying to bury himself inside me further than he’s ever gone. I grab onto one of the handles on the side of the bag to steady myself.
I know he needs this. I saw the way he looked at me when he asked if I was going to stay. It was the same look he wore when he looked at his packed bags. All I can do is trust him to trust me when I tell him I want him forever.
His strokes are more harried and out of pace as he reaches a hand around to stroke me. I feel everything, everywhere. How hot is cock is as it fills me, how his muscles strain as he pumps. I feel him shaking a little and know he’s about to come. Maverick coming is the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen. Imagining what his face looks like right now is all it takes to send me off. I arch my back, and work myself back onto him as far as I can as I pulsate around him. Tingling shoots throughout my body and I ride it for as long as I can.
“Shit. Yeah,” he whispers, smacking my ass. With a loud groan he pulls out of me and comes. His hot spurts land on my ass and all the way up my back, reaching my shoulder blades. “Fuck,” Maverick mutters, between clenched teeth. “I got it in your hair,” he says, panting loudly. I turn my head around so I can see him. I don’t dare move though. Come would get everywhere. I’ll have to play the run to the bathroom and not get it everywhere game soon.
I laugh when I see that he’s actually concerned I’ll be upset he got it in my hair. “It’s good for it,” I explain. “Really, I’m only concerned because this sort of makes me a bag, doesn’t it?” I point at the one he just thoroughly worked me over on. He graces me with both dimples.
“You’re my forever bag, baby. And I think I hate these dead hookers a little less.” I’m not sure what that means, but he’s looking at me with those black fringed, hazel eyes and I’m so done for. I don’t care that he holds all the power, that he alone has the power to crush me into tiny bits. I’ll fade like a dying star without him anyways.
“I wrote you another song,” Maverick says, scooping me into his arms. He hums an upbeat melody as he carries me to the shower. Serenading me in the wet room, his sexy, growly voice breaks up the stream of the showerheads. I can only stare at him, in all of his glorious perfection as he looks directly at me and sings a perfectly lyrical love story. Luckily my tears mix with the warm water, hiding just how much I’m going to miss this sight.
And him.