Chapter Eighteen
Windsor
His hands on my hips are so rough and feel so warm…almost as hot as the fire spreading through my veins. I am working him like I’ve never worked a day in my freaking life. Bouncing up and down on his humungous, thickness feels incredible. Not because it feels better than I imagined, but because he’s looking at me like he’s completely and utterly in love with my every move, every inch of my body—and me.
He’s in love with me. He said so. And I didn’t say it back. I’m not sure if I can. Because I can’t describe what I feel for him—it feels like more than love. Until I can formulate it into words, without rambling, I’ll keep my mouth shut. I haven’t said it to a single soul since Nash. Now I’m not even sure love is what I felt for him.
“You ride me so good, babe,” Maverick growls. His neck is strained and every damned, huge, sculptured muscle that exists inside his body is popping out to tell me hello. The sight of him under me is burned into my mind for eternity. Maverick changes the pace by controlling my hips with his hands. “Feels so good. Feels so fucking tight,” he hisses. It is almost too tight. The timbre of his voice combined with the perfect pressure he’s rocking me with is all it takes. A jolt shoots straight to my core and I close my eyes.
Fireworks and rockets red glare? Yeah, that’s what having an orgasm around Maverick feels like. There is no controlling my screams, or the stream of obscenities that leak from my mouth. I feel his hands on my nipples, twisting, pulling, making my orgasm last that much longer. When I come back down from that thigh tingling, lusty place, I make a breathy plea, staring directly into his fierce eyes.
“Come, Mav. Come.” He must have been holding back because the second the words escape my mouth, he bucks his hips a few more times and, with a roar befitting a beast, he comes. My gaze lands on his new “love” tattoo and a shiver laced with excitement and possessiveness rocks me to my core.
I slump down, leaving him inside me, and put my head on his chest so I can continue staring at my claim on his body.
“You’re everything, Mav,” I say, praying he knows exactly what I mean by it. I mean what he meant by it before he could say the actual word. I feel him nod against the top of my head. Finally, our breathing evens out the same time he pulls out of my body. It’s this wordless comfort I have lying in his arms, all sated and my stomach full of butterflies. I have nothing to compare this to, because I was never in this deep with another person. I’ve never felt so proprietary about anything else. Maverick rolls the condom off and then retrieves the other used one off the floor with a grimace. I can’t help but laugh. “It’s yours. You can’t really be that grossed out by it, can you?”
“I prefer it in the condom and not on the floor,” he explains, eyebrows scrunched together. I jump out of bed, feeling light on my feet. He watches me with a smile and says, “I’ll deal with it though. I’d deal with jizz dripping from my fucking ceiling if it means I get to do that, with you, every day of my life.” Now he’s laughing, because I’m grimacing. The jizz dripping image kind of gets to me. The dimples are out and paired with his exquisite naked body they war for my attention.
“I’m on birth control—just a posted FYI. And I haven’t had sex,” I say, pausing to consider what I should confess to. “For a really long time.” I don’t say since Nash because then he would have a visual of me having sex with Nash in his head, and I don’t want that. I can tell he’s jealous of me merely talking on the phone. He needs no reminders. “So, as long as you’re comfortable and…” I stutter. How to ask properly?
“Christ. Of course I’m clean, Windsor,” he says, turning around mid-step.
I shrug my shoulders and raise my brow. “How am I supposed to know that? Remember all I have to go by are rumors at this point,” I say. He narrows his eyes.
“Even if I wasn’t tested every other month for shit like that I’d be clean. I always use a condom. Always. Except for,” he admits, cutting off the end.
“Except for what?” I ask, walking toward him.
He swallows, turns away, and heads for the bathroom. “Except for when I was in a relationship,” he says, after what feels like an eternity. Well, that’s surely new information. I fight back the sting of unwanted jealousy. It’s in the past Windsor, I remind myself.
“When were you in a relationship?” Okay, that came out super catty. Shit.
“A long time ago. The point is I’m clean. You’re on birth control and we’re in a relationship now,” he explains. He tosses the condoms into the trashcan and stalks back toward me. “You want to use your CPA skills,” he says with a half one-dimpled smile.
I tilt my head to the side in question. “I use a calculator for work things,” I say. “Or a program that does computing for me.” I think my accounting skills are the furthest thing from his mind. His eyes heat, and my stomach jumps to my throat.
His white smile assaults me. “Cock Polishing Assistant. That’s the title that comes to mind whenever I hear your job title,” Maverick says, pulling me to him. He kisses the top of my head and inhales. I love when he does it. It’s like he can’t get enough of me. He wants me inside him. I let a small chuckle slip. I’ll never think of CPA the same way again and it’s my freaking job.
“Isn’t that what my mouth does? That so counts as polishing,” I fire back.
“Sort of. This,” he growls, stroking in between my legs, “will do a much better job though.” A small moan slips. His hand disappears after he strokes me a few more blissful seconds. He pulls my face up to look at him.
Then he kisses me senseless. Like that type of whole body kiss that shocks you from your head to your toes. It starts simply with his tongue in my mouth, and then it greets my heart, causing it to pound out a new, more frantic rhythm. Next it goes down to my tummy waving hi to the flip-flop sensation. And lastly it shivers all the way down to my toes. It’s melty-electric and passionate at the same time. His hands stroke my face in the same spots where his stubble will turn me red later. He scoops me up and places me in the bed again. He scoots in next to me as I pull up the soft sheets to hide us from the world.
“I just want to kiss you like this,” he whispers into my mouth.
“You know exactly what I want…sexual manners,” I say back. All we do is kiss, entwined legs and hands on faces and necks. He uses those manners for a long time, not taking it any further even though my body is on fire for him.
Eventually we fall asleep. His body wrapped around mine, my hand over his heart.
*****
“I don’t know how I feel about this. Won’t everyone wonder what I’m doing there? I only know Morganna. It will be weird,” I explain, a little wildly, one hip propped against his desk in his home office.
It’s late afternoon on Saturday and he wants me to go to dinner; a-farewell-we’re-headed-out-on-deployment dinner, with the guys and their significant others. I. Am. Terrified. I imagine Morganna times fifteen and my heart races like a freaking jockey in the Kentucky Derby. Logically, I know there won’t be anyone quite like Morganna, I just fear the judgment that comes from dating a guy like Maverick. Will his friends think I’m a Frog Hog? Will the girls think I’m just easy convenience sex before he leaves for six months? I know I shouldn’t give a shit and I could tell myself that a million times, but I still would. Mommy issues. It’s like Daddy issues except worse. Mav sits at the huge desk, papers and non-fiction books stacked in organized piles, shirtless.
He shakes his head while he speaks. “You’re mine now. You have nothing to be afraid of—the fact that your Morg’s friend only solidifies that. No one will say anything rude to you. I mean, I’ve never been to one of these things as half of a couple, but I can’t imagine it’s that painful. You might even make some new friends. It will be good for you to have people who are in the same situation as you.” Sell it, Mav. Sell it. “Go get dressed, please. I need you to be there with me,” he says.
And I can’t say no to that. He needs me. He wants me wrapped up in his world. I huff a little, which makes him laugh. I turn and stalk out of the room before I catch sight of his dimples and attack him for round four.
I’m dressed in jeans, a dressy top, and heels at Maverick’s request and out the door two hours later. We had sex one more time before we left because he saw me naked after I got out of the shower. My core clenches when I think of the way he looked at me before even touching me. It was the hottest gaze in the entire universe.
Dressed in tailored jeans and a black button up shirt, Maverick looks divine. He opens the door for me, offering his arm to walk into the restaurant. I’m not nervous when he’s near, when his body heat drips into mine and I know I’m okay, fearless. But then I see the two tables near the back. Separated into sections like Thanksgiving at Aunt Velma’s. Girls at one table and boys at the other. He senses my freak-out and squeezes my elbow a bit.
“It will be fine. Text me if you really want to leave. There’s Morganna,” he whispers, nodding toward her. I see an empty chair next to her and breathe a sigh of freaking relief. Her red lips part in an exquisite smile when she sees us. Subtly, Mav pats me on the ass, sending me to a table full of vultures, eyeing me down like I’m fresh road kill. Bottle blonde heads laden with more extensions than a Hollywood red carpet turn in my direction.
I ignore them and head to my seat. “Windsor,” Morganna exclaims a little too loudly. “Come sit. Fashionably late was fifteen minutes ago.” By the gleam in her eye she knows exactly why I’m late. Friends always know a well-fucked look when they see one. I’m probably a step beyond well-fucked. I’m not sure what comes after, though. I’ve never been there until now.
“Sorry,” I mutter, quickly sitting down. Morganna introduces me to the table full of women, most of their names ending in Y, and I know I won’t remember a single name because they all look the same and are dressed similarly. I smile wide and exchange fake pleasantries like I do at work.
I glance over at Maverick as he greets his buddies with weird, contorted handshakes and back pats—lots of touching. He flicks a smile at me when he sees me staring. I smile back. Barely. The women chatter around me. It’s only now that I see physical details about them. Standard fake. They have lollipop heads on tiny bodies with enormous breasts that chant the song of their people when in a gathering such as this. Every other guy in the restaurant is staring at them, which seems a little stupid seeing as they obviously belong to the guys one table over. They do belong, too. They spare me a tiny glance and continue talking about their husbands and boyfriends like they are talking about their own lives instead. Morganna texts under the table, and I’m blessedly reassured that she finds these mundane, vapid creatures just as boring and senseless as I do.
I sip my wine and smile when someone says something that’s supposed to be funny. I don’t offer anything, and it’s because I can’t. I have absolutely nothing in common with these women. They talk about their gym regimens and exercise classes like Christians speak of God. To be more specific, one of the Y’s just compared Lululemon workout pants to baby Jesus. Others chatter quietly about their own, real babies and how advanced they are because of their father’s obviously glorious sperm contribution. I cringe when a brunette with a huge mane of hair announces her plan for a weekly spouse/girlfriend meet-up while the men are deployed. She bats her huge, fake lashes a few times and says we should do lunch next time. What. The. Freak.
I clear my throat and send Morganna a text message, keeping my phone hidden under the table. You’re going to gag me with a spoon when this is over, aren’t you?:) Wait! I know. It’s a joke…It has to be a joke.
She responds quickly, liking the distraction. She smiles. No. Phillipe is going to do that to you. I won’t have time. I had to clear my schedule for this waste of fucking time. Welcome to the Rosy Team, Win. Where the only thing the women love more than themselves is their husband’s career.
Rosy? I text her back. I gathered the rest just by listening to them talk.
Everything always looks “rosy” to the rest of the world.
That makes sense. Shit that doesn’t stink and all that jazz?
Morganna grins and responds quickly. Yes. Obviously they are more disturbed than Fifty…
A reference to Mr. Grey—I’m impressed. Whips and chains? :-O
Worse. Straps on Pilates boards, a mascara wand, and charity events. I laugh out loud.
You’re part of it, Morg. You’re making fun of yourself.
Her response is immediate. Bullshit. They don’t mess with me. They’re too scared. Don’t let them see you sweat. Rule #4.
Another rule. Fabulous. I’m still laughing to myself trying to come up with a witty quip when a female voice hisses from across the table. “Do we bore you?” I know it’s directed at me because of the tone. It’s not the bogus friendly voice you use with fake friends. It’s the mean, petty one you use on the rest of the world who resides beneath you. My mom has the tone perfected.
I shock them with something they probably don’t hear often. “Of course not. It’s just work…you understand,” I reply, waving my phone in the air. Most of them have no freaking clue about work. I watch their faces shift in confusion. Maybe they think I’m being a bitch, but I can’t find it in myself to care. “I have a few deadlines to meet,” I add on, just to drive the point home. Morganna snorts. I shoot her the side-eye, smirking a little. I text Maverick.
They hate me. I watch him check his phone. He meets my eyes, and gives me this perfectly planned wink paired with both dimples. Narrowing my eyes at him, I sigh and try my best to focus of the task at hand. I catch the eye of one Y and I notice she’s looking back and forth between Maverick and me.
She raises her perfectly arched eyebrows and says, “Maverick doesn’t date. What do you have that I don’t?”
I pause, because I have to let that question roll around in my head before I can answer. She’s implying she’s been with Maverick…and he didn’t date her. So he must have had hotel sex with her. “Excuse me?” I ask perfectly, politely.
“Do you habla English? Maverick. Girlfriend. How?” she snips. Giggles buzz around the table and unfortunately I can’t help the shade of red I feel my cheeks turning.
Morganna clears her throat, ostensibly to see if I plan on laying into these women before she does. I miss the simplicity of Gretchen’s friendship. I’d never be facing the wolf pack’s Rosy Team with her—I’d be facing a lingerie rack with my arms laden with bras and garters.
“You should ask him that,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. The high road is a lonely one. Especially when I feel like taking the dirty, low one. She rolls her eyes and scoffs. I have to purse my lips to keep from slinging insults her way. Not only am I jealous she’s had sex with Maverick, I’m angry I didn’t know I’d be running into his conquests at this thing. I guess just because they’re with other men now doesn’t mean anything about before. It’s a new fact to add to the weird ass list. They share. Everything. How polite of them.
“Shut the fuck up, Marney. Don’t be a bitch. He wanted her here. Why do you care anyway?” Morganna grates. It’s nice to hear her stand up for me, when most of the time I’m trying to stand up for myself against her. The table falls silent. Morganna is head bitch. That much is obvious. At our silence a few of the guys cast curious stares our way. I try not to avert my gaze, to avoid Maverick. I’ll hold my own without his help. I’ve got this. Actually, Morganna’s got this, but it’s my freaking heart that is pounding.
“It’s just weird. That’s all,” Marney says, chastened. “I’ve never seen him out with a woman before. Aren’t you the least bit interested in why he picked her? After turning away Becky and Freya and even Chloe!” My stomach churns. Marney fixes me with her glare and this time it’s sincere curiosity.
I swallow. I take a deep breath. I fold my hands in my lap. I take another calming breath. Sometime during my exercise in control he crept up. Maverick stands right next to me, in between Morganna and I, sending shivers and panic throughout my body.
“Becky, Freya, and Chloe weren’t for me, Marney,” Maverick says tactfully. Actually, now my heart is pounding. He lays a hand on my shoulder. “Windsor isn’t like them. She’s not like anyone, because she is the one. My one. Why did I pick her? I’m lucky she picked me, honestly. She’s real. I owe her more than rattling off the never-ending list of why she’s the one for me, so I’m shutting my fucking mouth. All you need to know is I’m hers. Make her feel welcome.” His fingers tighten on me.
Morganna cackles. The Y’s, including Marney, are open mouth breathing, watching Mav. It’s kind of nice, but I don’t want him to defend me. I want to be the woman who stands up for herself. I might suck at it, but a valiant effort is always noticed.
Never let them see you sweat. I gaze up into his hazel eyes and then back at the group. “So we’re clear. My business is my business. Not yours. Thanks for that, Mav, but you didn’t have to explain yourself for their benefit.” I wave my hand around the table. Nervous hair tosses catch my eye. “But I did enjoy listening for my own benefit.” I bite my lip and give him my most suggestive smile.
He leans down and kisses my temple, then my cheek. I feel self-conscious, but not enough to stop him. He kisses me again, over my hair, but still on my ear. He whispers, “It wasn’t for their benefit. I’ll give you the never-ending list later.” I shiver. “In bed,” he rasps quietly. He straightens. “Let me know when you’re ready to go,” he says, walking back to his table.
The guys haven’t even missed him. They’re all wrapped up in some overtly loud conversation that requires the use of their hands to explain. It’s sort of funny. They get away with so much more than average people. It’s because they honestly don’t give a shit what people think. The earth circles the sun. That’s normal—it’s a fact. These guys go through life on their own frequency, with their own agenda and their own…rules. I get it now—seeing them together fuses all the voids I wasn’t sure of before. This is Maverick’s family. That’s a fact.
Marney snaps out of her trance and says, “Well, guess we all know the answer now.” Hushed whispers start. Morganna groans, ready to dominate any conversation that sparks. I prepare myself for round two. With Maverick’s touch still on my skin, I’m ready for anything.
“What exactly is that?” I ask, looking at each person in the eye one at a time. Show no weakness. I repeat the mantra of the strong.
“Maverick Hart is finally in love,” Marney admits. The women laugh a little and it’s not caustic laughter; it’s genuine laughter stemming from disbelief. I realize whatever I have with Maverick is huge. The leaps and bounds of progress we’ve made in our relationship shifted from tiny skips to huge spikes. I never in a million years would have thought I’d be okay with being in this position again. I am, though. So much so, that I didn’t even think about it. It was just a natural progression. Maverick and Windsor.
The air shifts and they no longer direct bitterness at me.
“Who would have thought,” Morganna offers, shooting a fond look at Stone, who doesn’t notice her gaze. “Who would have thought?” She glances at me, smiles wide, and then turns her gaze to all the Y’s. Morg raises her glass and all of the others follow suit. Hesitating a few seconds, I wonder what I’m toasting to, but I do eventually raise my wineglass. We all clink, fake smiles perched on our faces like an expensive accessory.
And just like that…I’m in.