Chapter Five
Maverick
“Just screw her, dude. It’s easy. Pull the thong down or rip it off and shove your dick in there and bump it around. Ahh yeah,” Stone says.
Soaping up my hair I let a chuckle slip. We’re in the showers after a long ass workout. I hit it hard. My shoulders are sore and no matter how long I stand in the lukewarm water, my skin burns. Images of Morganna and her thong flit through my head and I wince a little. Won’t be telling Stone that. Windsor wasn’t at Captain’s when I casually stopped by the night of her date with Garth. Her absence only made me think she was probably screwing him at home in her bed. The thought of him in her bed enraged me. If I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want anyone else to either.
“Why are you doing this to yourself? The Maverick fuck club is extensive. Bag one of your many admirers. Don’t get bent dicked about the one who won’t have you.”
After the no-show date I fucked four girls this week, but I didn’t tell Stone that. I wanted to prove to myself and to Windsor that I was fine. That it didn’t matter what game I was playing, I still had it. Each chick was equally excited to be worked over and I just didn’t care. I wasn’t into it. I got off…barely with the last one.
You know what I had to think of to get there? Blue Eyes on her knees, whale eyeing me, lips wrapped around the base of my cock, while she fingered herself and hummed my name. I tossed the girl out of my hotel room the second I ripped the condom off my dick, so disturbed with the mental image of Windsor. I jacked off three more times that night to the same mental image, or some variation. Always Windsor. Always saying my name. Always her hands on me. I choke on the mental image now.
I shut off the water and wrap a towel on my hips, before I pop wood and have to ante up my mental images of Windsor, because I’d have to offer up something to Stone as explanation. “I need to talk to her. I just need to talk to her,” I say. I half hope he doesn’t hear me sounding like such a pussy. I already have her cell number and I’ve almost dialed it a few times, but I haven’t. I’m stronger than that. Or so I’ve told myself.
It’s Saturday morning and I haven’t seen her face, in person, since Monday. I paused the game for the week so I could try to figure out what exactly I wanted or needed from her. Why the game? What was it about her? Could I fuck someone else and get over her? When the last one didn’t work, I knew I had to try to see where this went. I have to fucking date Windsor on the regular. Try to get to know her and do my best to find something wrong with her—something really awful that I can’t stand. Then she won’t be this unobtainable dick-sucking queen. She’ll just be another bag I can forget.
Stone groans behind me, still in the shower. “Morg will fucking kill me if I tell you this. Look,” he says.
I turn. My eyes are drawn down because he has his dick and balls tucked between his legs. His pubes are the only thing visible. It’s called the goat. The fucking asshole got me. He laughs loudly. I meet his eyes, smiling, and shake my head. I’m going to belt buckle that son of a bitch the next chance I get. He knows it, so he makes the most of his jab.
“Do you want to fuck me, Mavvy? My vagina is so tight, it’s like a magic twat or a vice grip wormhole,” he says in a high, fake girl voice. “I walk dogs on Saturday mornings at 10 on the beach in front of the Hilton.” He rubs both of his hands over his large pectorals and cups them, circling his damn nipples. His voice sounds like a fucking transvestite with throat cancer. “Maybe you can come make me into a sugar cookie?” Stone purrs.
That’s it. I lunge forward and lay a fist into his stomach and retreat quickly. He curls into himself, his shoulder hitting the back of the shower room wall, laughing through gasping breaths.
“You’re a fucktard, Stone. If you wanted to homie glide, all you had to do was ask,” I say. I don’t really want his dick gliding between my butt cheeks, but I’d do almost anything else for him. He’s my bro. He’s got my back always. Down range and home and pretty much anywhere else. He’s known me my whole life. Not only do we share the same legal first name, Thomas, but I dealt with his vagina dick way before we decided to be professional badasses. It’s why I would do anything for him. We went through BUD/s and SEAL qualification training together; bitching and moaning about night sweats and the inability to sleep, and how Hell Week was for pussies. Which it wasn’t; it was torture, but we’d never say that to each other. We are the same—him and I, strong for each other and strong for our teammates. You fuck with him and you are automatically fucking with me. It’s like that with all my brothers. They are the closest things to family I’ve ever really had.
My real family only gave me a trust fund and a nice pat on the ass out the door because I wasn’t like them. I would never be like them. Of course I appreciate the money; it affords me to do whatever the fuck I want. I can follow my dreams. I can kick ass for a living.
The money doesn’t make Henry and Barbara Hart my family, though. It makes them large donating entities to fund my fucking. Because I never bag girls at my house. Ever. Hotels are my first choice and their place comes in second. My house is too personal, says too much about me. I don’t want them to know anything about me. Except that my dick is hard and they should do something about it.
Cruel? Yes. The way my parents raised me facilitated that, but the SEAL Teams are where I found the only family I felt like keeping. That’s what matters.
I grab some of my shit and get dressed.
“Thanks for the info, asshole,” I throw over my shoulder as I bust out of the locker room. I have new plans this Saturday morning.
*****
I lean against the Neptune statue like a real fucking creeper. The statue is a beacon. If you’re at the beach, you can tell someone your location by using Neptune. Today though? I’m hiding behind the damn thing so I can watch Windsor without her knowing. Not yet, at least. I just want to see my prey in her natural habitat—before she feels threatened by a predator. I see her in the sand by the water.
Windsor is wearing the tiniest, tight, black shorts possible. They are made of that stretchy shit. I wouldn’t even have to take them off to fuck her; I could just yank them to the side. Her smooth legs are miles long. I picture them wrapping around my face and my dick gets hard. Her body is so damn fuckable. She is in shape, but not in the gross Crossfit-crossover man way that so many women seem to think looks good. Windsor has curves. Banging fucking curves. She holds a pair of running sneakers in one hand and a leash in the other. At the end of that leash is a huge German Shepherd. I recognize the dog and smile. This is going to be too easy. She pets his head and lets it lick her in the face. I grimace. She stoops down to pay the dog more attention and I figure it’s show time.
The dog sees me coming, but she doesn’t. “Steh,” pronounced shtay, I command using a rough voice. Windsor startles, falling back on her ass. The dog? Well he stops what he’s doing and looks at me, ears down, ready to obey. “Sitz,” I growl. Her head swivels the second she realizes what’s going on. The dog sits, completely submissive to my German commands. This dog works with us, here and overseas. I only know a few simple commands, because it isn’t my job, but I know it’ll be enough to impress her. I extend my hand down to her and the dick sucking, doe eyed image pops into my head. Fuck. She wraps her hand in mine and pulls herself up, dusting off her shorts that look like panties. If I can’t pull my head out of my dick I’m going to be in trouble. Date her. Get a date with her. Reminding myself of the ultimate goal, I swallow my fucking pride.
“What are you doing here? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised,” Windsor says, staring at the dog instead of looking at me. This woman infuriates me. I don’t even get eye contact, but Garrett gets a date. What the fuck does that douche have that I don’t?
Since I can’t answer her question without diming out Stone, I ignore it. I pet the dog on the head, just so I can brush her with my arm. She twists out of my way, trying to play it off by rearranging the leash. I make her squirm. It gives me a small amount of hope. I push up my Gatorz sunglasses so they rest on my forehead. I’m about to go 100 percent charming-panties-off on her.
“How was your week, Windsor?” I ask, making sure to draw out Windsor. At her name her head snaps up finally, looking at me and really seeing me. I lick my lips. I smile, tilting my head in question. Glossing over our meeting in her office seems a good idea. I don’t want to remind her of that asshole move. It still embarrasses me.
“It was fine. Normal, really.” She looks down at the dog, still alert, awaiting his next command, and then looks back at me. “Do you want to walk with me?”
I can’t believe my fucking ears. She narrows her eyes, but she looks hesitant and maybe a little scared. Of what? Does she think I’ll turn her down? I am so fucking thrilled right now that it scares me. I feel my adrenaline spike like it does when I’m about to shoot something or jump out of a damn plane. This feeling that I have right now is what I live for. What I thrive on. Except the origin of it now makes me very fucking wary. Play it cool. Be smooth, you fucker.
“I’m walking him for one of my friends. I didn’t realize he belonged to you guys,” she says. Her voice goes a little caustic at the end.
I nod my head. Lowering my voice I say, “Fuss,” pronounced Fooss. The dog immediately heels and we start walking down the beach. I take the leash out of her hand. She looks at me sideways, very quickly, but doesn’t object. I tap my sunglasses so they fall back over my eyes. “I missed you this week,” I say. As the words pass my lips I look around to make sure no one else heard me. She stops walking and faces me front on.
Crossing her arms under her perfect tits, she fixes me with an angry glare. “Seriously? You missed me? You offer me a cool million for a date and then don’t call me all week? For someone who wanted something so badly, your follow through sucks.”
This is why I need my sunglasses on. We have a joke about the huge, fucking ugly sunglasses chicks wear in San Diego. SCUBS. Southern California Ugly Blockers. My sunglasses have a different acronym. LB. Lie Blockers.
I grin. “I needed time to reassess. I made a huge mistake. I want to get to know you.” I reach out and hold the side of her face in my hand. So fucking soft—perfect. I’m obsessed with the game. It’s like a drug. “Go on a date with me. Tonight,” I plead.
I see my touch affecting her. Her breathing speeds up. Her cheeks flush. A few more seconds and I’d be able to smell her wet pussy. For me. Only me. The dog yanks on the leash, but I don’t dare break eye contact. I see the second she decides. It flickers in her blue eyes. With her unspoken yes I see the whole thing play out. A date. Fucking like rabbits in a couple different hotel rooms, because once probably won’t be enough, and then tossing her away like empty casing. Game. Set. Match.
“One date. One date. Dammit. Morganna is going to kill me. You realize that right?” she asks, turning from me to face the ocean. I watch her brown hair blow to the side, and then let my gaze fall to her tight, round ass. Maybe I’ll need a few hotel rooms. “Why are you so bad, Maverick. Why?” She turns around, hands on her hips and hurt in her eyes. “I won’t sleep with you. Just a date.”
It even sounds like a lie to me. I have to shift my over excitable dick. Fumbling for her phone in her jacket she pulls it out and dials, ignoring me completely.
“I need to talk to Morg,” she barks, turning to block the phone from the wind. My heart picks up. She said yes, and all my plans are about to get crushed by the ball-busting Morganna.
“I’m standing here on the beach with Maverick, who conveniently knew where I’d be walking the dog, and he asked me on a date. Tell me the worst thing about him. Right now, or I’m going on a date with him,” she says, looking right into my eyes. I stop breathing. Morganna knows all my dirty secrets. I snatch the phone from Windsor.
“Hey Morg. This isn’t like that. I want to get to know her. Just a date…nothing more,” I promise. Windsor looks shocked, her hand still up where the phone was just moments before.
“I swear to god I’ll eat your balls for dinner if you fuck with her, Maverick,” Morganna says. She sounds exasperated. I can’t blame her, really. She knows me better than any woman because of Stone. She didn’t have a choice in the matter. Lucky bitch.
“I like her,” I return. I smile so wide my face hurts, when Windsor’s eyes bug out of her fucking head.
“Bullshit,” Morganna whispers. The line goes dead.
“Great. Thanks, Morg,” I say, then hand the phone back to Blue Eyes. She still looks shocked when she grabs the phone from me.
“Morganna is fine with a date,” I say, already planning to call Stone to have him control his wife for a few days while I lure Windsor into my web. I can’t have anyone else influencing her decisions except me. I want her to only see me. Eat me. Breathe me. Drink me. I want to consume Windsor Forbes.
“Looks like you have a date, then,” she says, breaking me from my triple X visions. She grabs the leash from my hands. Indecision lights her face for a second. She pulls her hair to one side using her free hand. The rush and adrenaline are still going strong, pumping through my veins thicker than blood. I never feel like this about a girl, not even when I’m pumping inside them about to blow my load.
“The only man I ever loved cheated on me. I found out about his two-year long affair while I was trying on my wedding dress for the final time. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.” She pauses and shakes her head. “I just want you to know so you don’t expect much from me,” she says.
Adrenaline crash. Baseline. Some dickhead had her perfection almost locked down and he fucked it up? I wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t said it. Her blue eyes break a little as she admits it. This is going to be way more complicated than I thought. In fact, I feel fucking sick. I want to kill the guy for doing that to her, making her eyes look so sad. In the same breath, I don’t want to care, but I do.
I also want to kick my own ass because what I want to do to her is not much better. I wince a little when she starts walking away. I haven’t even responded. I can’t. What lie would I counter to that blatant honesty? I’m going to have to open up to her completely if I’m going to gain any headway. I should walk the hell away. Turn around now before I fuck her up even more. I can’t though. I’m a lot of things and a quitter isn’t one of them.
“Fooss,” she says to the dog with a smile on her face. “Pick me up at seven,” she hesitates, “I’m sure you know where I live.”
I do. I watch her walk for a little while and I’m so pissed off. At whatever this chick is making me feel. Because for a small, fucking second I think I want Windsor Forbes to consume me right back.