8
MAVERICK
“Let It Ride” by Brantley Gilbert
My lips burn as I rush into the muggy heat outside. It could be snowing and I still wouldn’t be able to shake the heat burning through me.
Grabbing my shirt, I roughly pull until the buttons give and I’m able to yank the soggy material from my body. I use the shirt to scrub what’s left of the pie from my face and neck and then toss the shirt into the bed of my truck. The climb up into my seat is painful when my jeans tighten even further against my straining cock.
What the fuck was I thinking back there? If I wanted to slide back into town without making a big deal out of my return, I just blew that all to hell. I can’t even explain what came over my body. One second I’m taking a pie to the face and in the next I’ve got so much desire for her slamming through me, I couldn’t not kiss her. It felt like we had been at the end of a long run of verbal foreplay with only one way to proceed.
Together.
“Fuck!” I shout and slam my hand against my steering wheel.
I grab my pack of smokes from the cup holder, but when I see it’s empty I crush it in my hand before throwing it on the floor and dropping my head back against the seat.
It was all so simple ten years ago. Cut all the ties to Pine Oak so that nothing and no one was waiting for me here, tempting me to return. I would always have my brother and sister, but they would come to me, and I knew deep down, they wouldn’t give up this damn town to chase me.
But Leighton would.
She thought I didn’t notice, but she did a shit job at hiding her crush on me. But I also knew that if anyone were likely to follow after me, it would be her. She would have given up everything for that. No matter how much I truly did want her back then, I knew I had to cut the ties that connected our hearts. I couldn’t ask her to choose between the life I was fleeing and the one I was running to. So I did the only thing that made sense to a desperate kid at the time. I made sure I hurt a young—too young—Leighton James so badly that she wouldn’t ever think of me the way I knew she had. I killed whatever she felt for me with words that I wish to God I could take back.
It took me a long damn time to realize that I had really hurt her to prevent her from being the one that hurt me. I knew it would happen. I had been fighting the way I felt about her for too fucking long. Lusting after a girl too young to be lusted after. She made me actually think about sticking around the one place I had been desperate to leave.
I craved her.
Hell, I craved her before I even knew what those feelings meant.
And that was long before she looked like the walking wet dream she is now. She looked good back then, but now . . . fuck. She took what I always thought was perfection and amped it up tenfold.
If I were a better man, I would have just said good-bye back then and left her without pain, but I learned way too early that if you let someone get close enough, they would strike you hard enough to draw blood. And I was done letting people get the first slice at my skin.
How many times had I lain in bed and imagined what it would be like to have her in my arms? How many times had I stroked myself dry with the thought of taking her body? How many times had I regretted leaving town without ever feeling her lips against my own?
And now that I’ve held her in my arms, felt the fire of her desire for me still burning deep, I’m not sure I could walk away this time if I tried. I know damn well if I would have let myself feel this years ago, I wouldn’t have left, and the worst part now is I’m not sure if everything I’ve been chasing—everything I’ve lost—is worth knowing what I’ve been missing.
Turning the key, I fire up my truck and back out onto Main Street, taking the empty roads back toward the ranch. The last place I want to go, but I know it won’t be long before Clay is hot on my trail and I’d rather face him without my cock about to explode in my pants with just the memory of what Leighton feels like about to come apart in my arms.
“Fuck,” I exhale slowly.
“Ahhh,” I groan deeply, feeling the pressure leave my balls as my come shoots from the pulsing cock between my fist. I reach out and use my free hand to steady my body as thick jets of my come shoot over the wall in front of me. My head falls forward as my abs clench with the powerful force that just ripped through my body.
The steam from the shower continues to float around me.
Moving my fist slowly, I continue to ride my release. When the last drop falls from the tip of my cock, I release my shaft and step back into the spray of the shower. Picking up the soap, I continue washing my body and silently pray that I can keep my cock down now that I’ve given in to the thoughts of Leighton wrapped around me.
As I’m stepping out of the shower a little while later, temporarily sated and praying that will be enough to keep me from going at Leigh again, I hear the sounds of a slamming door echo through the house. I stand on the rug in front of the shower as drops of water run down my skin. The echo of boots slamming against the stairs hits my ears, and I step forward to press the button on my phone that will light up the screen. I laugh to myself when I see the time and look away from where my phone is resting next to the sink to wrap the towel around my hips. I figured he would have been right on my heels, but he managed to hold off an hour before coming home. Right when I finished tucking the towel at the side of my hip, his fist slams against the door, all but shaking the wood on its frame.
With a sigh of acceptance at what I’m sure will be one hell of a showdown between Clay and myself, I turn the knob. “I don’t want to hear it, Clay,” I start before the door has even cracked, but the second I started pulling the door open, he pushes hard and the knob is ripped from my still-wet hands.
“I don’t really give a rat’s ass what you want, Maverick.”
Before I can blink, I’ve got a fist coming toward my face and there isn’t fuck all I can do to avoid it. Shock has a hold on me, and it doesn’t matter a lick that my reflexes should have been able to block the punch because I’m held stock stupid.
“Goddammit!” I bellow when pain shoots out from where the punch landed on my jaw.
“Yeah? Did that hurt? I hope to hell and high water that it did. I should have done that a long time ago!”
Grabbing hold of the counter behind me, I blink a few times to clear the wetness the punch brought to my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I look up from where my hands are clutching the sides of the counter and over my shoulder, taking in the blazing mad blue eyes before me.
Not Clay. Leigh.
“Feel better?” I ask on a deep, exhaled breath.
Silence follows my question. I wait, knowing another outburst is sure to be coming.
“Dammit!”
I push up on the counter and straighten my body when the curse bursts out, and step forward to reach for the vicious hand that just about rendered me stupid.
“Whoever taught you how to punch did a shit job. Did the damage, just not only to me.”
She looks up, those eyes that were throwing daggers my way just seconds before are filling with tears. She allows me to take her wrist and I turn her hand over to see her purpling knuckles.
“I did damage,” she smarts.
I feel my laughter bubble up my throat, “Yeah, you might actually have done just that.” I look down at her hand, accessing the damage she did to herself. “Not broken, darlin’, but you should remember how this feels when you get the urge to tap this hard head again.”
“I hate you,” she whispers without conviction.
“No, you don’t. Come on, Leigh, let’s get you some ice.”
I don’t drop her hand and she doesn’t pull back as I walk out of my old bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen. Pulling out one of the old stools by the island, I wait for her to sit before laying her hand on the counter in front of her and turning to grab a bag. I feel her eyes on me when I walk to the freezer and fill the bag with some ice. When I turn, I watch as gravity wins over her tears and they silently roll down her cheek.
“You’re right. I don’t hate you. I wish I could hate you, but I don’t think I ever will be able to.”
I kneel and place the bag on her outstretched hand. Without thought, I reach up and thumb a tear off her cheek.
“I wish it could have been anyone but you,” she continues, looking at the floor. “I wasn’t even picky. I would have taken anything, anyone, to feel just a sliver of what I felt when you were around. But, no, just like back then . . . my stupid, stupid heart still beats wildly for the one person who never wanted it.”
“Lei—”
“No, Maverick. I don’t even know what I’m sayin’. You’ve had this attitude, this freakin’ wall up, for so long that I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m madder at myself for letting you get the best of me, pulling my focus from Clay and Quinn. If you really are here for them, then you need to do just that. You leavin’ this time will tear them up if you just run off again without a backward glance. You don’t understand this because you weren’t here, but they all felt the void of you hard, real hard.”
“Leigh, look—”
She shakes her head. “No, really, Maverick. Whatever you’re about to say with your silver tongue is nothin’ I want to hear. I knew how you felt before you left, and regardless of whatever that was back at the PieHole, I think it’s safe to assume that things haven’t changed in the handful of hours you’ve been back in town. We need to just put it behind us and move on, for your family. I’ll keep my distance and I would appreciate it if you did the same. Honestly, Mav”—she pauses and I watch her chest move as she pulls in a deep breath—“I survived the sting of your rejection back then, and while I’m stronger now, I don’t think I could handle your emotional punches again. I’m sorry that I hit you, that was wrong, but let us just chalk up today as the mess it was and move on . . . in separate paths.”
She finally meets my gaze, her blue eyes even brighter with the wetness of her emotions coating them.
“I’m not leavin’.” Out of everything she just said, the only thing I can even get past my lips is that. There is so much that I need to tell her, but I’m not even sure where to start. I just know I need to address her claim that I’ll be hauling ass out of here because if she truly believes that, it doesn’t matter what else I say to her. She’ll be waiting with the rest of the town, guessing when I’ll be kicking up dust like the last time I left.
Her lips open and close, but no words come out. I can see her mind working in overtime as her brow furrows and her eyes search mine. I stand tall and drop my guard, letting her see the honesty and truth behind my words. Her eyes widen when realization hits. I continue to stand there as she studies me.
The years drop away from us.
The pain inflicted and the pain consumed, vanish.
The helpless feelings I battled with daily, the ones that drove my need to escape, are gone.
For the first time in my recollection, I feel somewhat whole. My breathing speeds up as my nerves fire with an overwhelming need. There isn’t anything spoken between us, but with the connection of our gazes, we might as well have spoken our deepest thoughts.
I step toward her the second she jumps up from the stool, the wood crashing to the ground in her wake. In a split second, everything falls away. The anger, the helplessness, and the lost feelings I’ve been struggling with. Gone. And in its wake, a feeling of need so strong it knocks the breath from my chest, takes over, and I know I have to have her back in my arms.
“This can’t happen,” she says with a gasp when my arms wrap around her to pull her closer, her words breathy against my lips. The soft cotton of her shirt rubbing against my naked, overheated chest.
“It can.” My arms snake around her narrow body to pull her closer.
“This is a mistake,” she slurs, her mouth opening and our tongues sliding against each other.
Her words fuel my movements and settle a determination over me that demands I prove her wrong. This is far from a mistake. This is a lifetime of want combusting in a split second of affirmation that proves just how wrong she is.
With her still in my arms, I turn, placing her ass on the counter. Just like back at the PieHole, everything else wrong in my life slips away and only my desire for her is left. Everything I ignored years ago floods through my system, mixing and mingling with the new feelings seeing her again after all this time brought forth. It’s too soon, but in the same breath, it’s ten years too late.
Her hands move sluggishly up my chest, around my shoulders, and then her dexterous fingers push into my hair. Her thumbs stay resting against my face as those very fingers tighten against the short hair at the nape of my neck to pull me closer. Her movements signaling to my brain that she’s giving in to what our bodies so desperately want.
She shivers in my arms and I use her distracted state against her. Deepening our kiss while I move my hands from where they had been resting against her hips, up her torso, pushing the fabric of her shirt up as I go. The second my calloused palms hit her rib cage, she squirms, wiggling her hips on a low moan. I step closer, feeling the heat of her through the barrier of my towel and her shorts, and when I press my thumbs against her pointed nipples, she jumps in my arms, connecting our bodies, hip to hip.
We break apart with heaving breaths. Her glazed eyes hooded, her cheeks pink with arousal, and her lips swollen from my kisses. She looks stunning. I give a slight jerk of my wrists, indicating my intentions, and she silently lifts her arms, allowing me to pull her shirt free of her body.
“Jesus.” I harshly groan at the first sight of her blood-red, lace-covered tits.
My head drops and I open my mouth to give a soft bite against the sensitive flesh at the top of her bra. The red material against her creamy skin makes my cock swell painfully against the towel tied hastily at my hip. I bring my hands up, cupping her heavy breasts, while I give her one long lick over the top of her left breast and up to her collarbone. My hands squeeze each globe roughly as I bury my nose in her neck, continuing my tongue’s wet path up to her ear.
Resting my lips to her ear, I take a second to enjoy the trembles that are vibrating from her quivering body. Her panted breaths echoing off the wall turn into a sharp gasp when I curl my fingers into each cup and jerk down. The tiny straps over her shoulders snap as her breasts spill free. With my mouth still at her lips, I grab her heavy, naked breasts and squeeze, her hard nipples pressing against the center of my palm while I continue to play with her.
“Touch me,” I demand and smile when I feel her body jolt beneath me.
“Mav,” she says with a moan, her hands coming to rest right above my towel, on each side of my hips, making my skin burn beneath her touch.
I shake my head, my lips rubbing against her ear with the small movements. I let my tongue snake out and lick her lobe. Moving my hands slightly, I pinch her nipples between my thumb and pointer finger at the same time I pull her wet lobe between my lips, biting softly before sucking the tender flesh hard.
She cries out harshly.
Releasing my hold on her tits, I bring my hands up and cup her head, forcing her to look into my eyes. “Touch me, Leighton,” I demand again, this time harsher and the undeniable meaning laced in my words. I wait for her to comply, moving so that my forehead is resting against hers, our rapid breathing mingling between our bodies. Our eyes not losing the connection held between bright blue and murky green.
“This is wrong,” she whimpers, but her actions betray her words.
I feel her hands slide from my sides to the center of my abdomen. Her touch branding me as she fingers her way over each ridge and dip before moving down to where I want her touch the most. Her fingers curl into my towel and I back my hips up slightly to help her movements. She gives a hard tug, pulling the knot from its fold, and then drops the cotton to the ground at my feet, her eyes still holding mine. This time the indecision that had been swimming in the beautiful depths is now replaced with solid desire.
“Tell me you want me,” I command, my voice strained as her hands move down my torso, her fingers tracing the deep V until she is wrapping them around my straining flesh. Her tentative movements as she slowly caresses the hard flesh in her hands make me lock my knees and clench my gut. Her long and slow touch makes the coil of pleasure tighten.
“I—I want you,” she pants, her hands tightening around my shaft, learning what I like by the cues she is drawing from me.
“Tell me you’ve always wanted me,” I continue, not releasing her face, but moving my lips closer to hers so that I can feel the heat of her breath hit my mouth. My words come out in a low, rough garble of desire.
She nods, but that isn’t good enough. I need her words to gain back some of the control I feel slipping from my fingers.
“Give me the words, darlin’.”
“Maverick, please.”
She tightens her grip, dancing her thumb over the bead of wetness coming out of the tip of my rigid cock.
“Tell me now, Leighton. Tell me it’s always been me.”
Her eyes widen and I watch as one lone tear falls from her lid. Her tear confuses me, but not enough that I stop. Her silence continues and I thrust my hips, my cock moving through the loose hold her hands have around me. Her eyes close for a beat, and when she opens them I see that the last of her indecision has vanished.
“It’s always been you.”
“Try again,” I continue, baiting her to get what I need. “It’s always been you, Maverick.” With my last command, I crush my lips to hers. This kiss is hard and bruising, but full of the promise of what’s to come if she gives me what I crave.
She rips her mouth free and screams, “It’s always been you, Maverick, God help me, but it’s only ever been you!” She drops my cock, her chest heaving, to grab my face and pull my lips back to hers.
I have no idea why I pushed her. Why I made her confirm what I knew deep down, but with her words, everything that had been weighing on my mind for almost two weeks vanishes and I feel the most all-consuming peace flood through my body, leaving an uncontrollable need for her behind.
It doesn’t matter to my brain that there is so much unknown floating around outside of our heated embrace. The only thing that matters is this . . . us . . . right here in this moment, as I pull her off the counter to remove the rest of her clothes, tossing them along with her boots onto the floor. I don’t give a shit what the consequences of our actions are.
My earlier thought comes rushing back: it’s too soon, but in the same breath, it’s ten years too late.
And yet it can’t be too late, when it feels so right to have her in my arms.