Page 13 of Mania

After a few long beats, her voice rises up into the darkness surrounding us. “I like it when you call me Maeve,” she whispers.

I’m not quite sure what it is about her statement that makes me want to pin her to the bed and ravish her, but I resist every dark urge snarling in me and allow my fingers to trail up and down herback.

“I can call you Maeve if you like,” I say slowly, my voice full of restraint and an octave lower than usual.

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Ambrose,” she responds softly, her head tilting upward to meet my gaze as her hand reposes warmly over my chest.

Silence lingers.

“You can call me Hazel,” I whisper into the dark room.

I feel her body still for the smallest of moments before nuzzling closer into the crook of my neck. “Hazel,” she repeats as if wanting to test the name on her tongue but says nothing more.

Soon after, her breathing slows, and I listen to the soft sounds of Maeve falling asleep in my arms. I lay awake for quite some time afterward. Ruminating on how I’ll ever let her go, now that I’ve felt the weight of her body pressed into mine and her soft puff of breaths on my skin as she sleeps.

Chapter 7

Hazel

Soft,plush lips near mine.

Hot breath fanning over my cheeks and face.

Hungry hand traveling down, down, down.

I snap my eyes open, snatching Maeve’s wrist before she reaches my quickly hardening cock. Her face is cloaked in darkness, backlit by the moonlight filtering through the windows, gaze half-lidded while her body writhes against mine.

“Kiss me,” she breathes. She tries to pull herself out of my grasp and I let her, her hand now pulling my face toward hers. “Kiss me.Please.”

This is a dream. It must be. I’ve ached for this for far too long.

How many nights did I spend pleading, beggingforItto let me have this?

Then,Maeve appeared like an answered prayer.

Her touch all-consuming. Life-giving.

I barely hesitate. Barely consider the morals or the fact that I might be taking advantage of her when she’s clearly still distraught. Not when she’s begging for me like this.

I catch her lips with mine, my hands grabbing her face as I kiss her deeply and with all the desperation I’ve accumulated inside of me. A burning well of ache and need. A chasm of churning and untapped desire.

Until now.

I whimper into her mouth, and she devours it. My hips are just as hungry, grinding against hers, the feeling of her lips on mine depraved and divine.

I am a man obsessed. And my obsession has a name.

Pushing her onto her back, I press Maeve against the bed. My body is halfway over hers as I let go of her face so I can allow my fingers to dig into her supple flesh. My hand travels down to her hips until I feel the rough material of her jean shorts.

I growl into her mouth, affronted by the clothes keeping her naked body from me. “Get those off before I ruin them,” I rasp.

I don’t give her a chance to unclasp even a single button as I get onto my knees. Doing it myself, I tug her shorts off with hungry jerks of my hands. She helps by raising her hips while pulling her tank top over her head and throwing it into a dark corner of the bedroom.

The only thing left on her succulent body is a pair of black panties and a white bra. I stay on my knees, mindlessly palming my cock over my briefs as I survey her, her chest rising up and down with heated breaths. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, moving up on her elbows so she can grab me by the back of the neck, pulling me back on top of her.

I smile against her lips as her legs circle my hips, my fingers finding her nape, fisting some of her hair into my grip. “I wouldn’t dare stop, dream girl,” I groan between feverish kisses as my other hand cups one of her breasts over her bra, undulating my hips and grinding my hard length over her cotton-clad cunt.

Our movements only seem to intensify in urgency.

---