Page 19 of The Maverick

She lifted her chin anyway. “What? I’m not allowed to be comfortable?”

“You’re allowed to be quiet,” he said. “You’re allowed to follow orders.”

“Oh, now we’re back to orders.” She leaned on the table, palms flat, watching his face. “Because I seem to remember a time when you actually liked it when I misbehaved.”

His voice dropped. “Misbehavior is a privilege. One you haven’t earned.”

That snapped the grin right off her face. It came roaring back twice as sharp.

“Oh, is that what this is?” she asked, voice bright and mocking. “A test of worthiness? You hiding your hand until I perform like a good little submissive?”

He stood. Slow. Deliberate. And she felt her breath catch before she could stop it. He didn’t say a word as he rounded the table. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t rush.

When he stopped in front of her, she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. “You think pushing me is the right move to make here?” he asked, voice quiet.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Think again.”

He caught her wrist in one hand and stepped into her space. The room shifted, air thick with heat and something sharp and electric. She felt it in her belly, tight and rising.

“You’ve been testing me since the moment you walked through my door,” he said. “You think you’re the one in control here. You think if you act bratty enough, I’ll slip. That I’ll lose the control you’re dying to crack.”

Her heart hammered.

“You want to play, Nessa?” he asked, fingers tightening just enough to make her legs quiver. “You want to know if I still have it in me?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He saw it in her eyes.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the soft coil of black paracord he kept there—for emergencies, for this—and stepped behind her before she could move.

Her breath stuttered as he caught her wrists behind her back and bound them with expert speed. Not painful. Not rushed. Just enough pressure to remind her she was his.

Her thighs clenched.

“This is how it works now,” he said at her ear. “You push, I take. You brat, I bind. You talk back again, and I gag you with your own words.”

She whimpered. God help her, she wanted this. Needed it.

He stepped in front of her again, eyes darker now, jaw tight. “You’ve had your fun,” he said. “Now it’s my turn.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

His mouth barely curved. “You wish it did.”

He pushed her backward with deliberate, unwavering force until she reached the edge of the leather sofa. She dropped onto it instinctively, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest, each beat a thunderous echo, her mouth dry with anticipation as if thirsting for what was to come.

He knelt before her, his hands firm and commanding on her knees, then bent down to press lingering kisses on each one, his lips leaving a trail of heat as he spread her legs with calculated intent. His fingers began their slow, teasing journey up her thighs, the touch light and tantalizing, until they paused just beneath the hem of her shorts, the moment thick with electric tension.

“I will not rush this,” he declared, his voice a low, dark promise that sent a shiver through the air. “Not this time.”

She swallowed, her throat constricting with a mix of apprehension and desire. “I didn’t ask you to,” she managed to reply, her voice a mere whisper.

“You didn’t have to,” he replied, lowering his head, his breath warm and inviting as his mouth skimmed along her inner thigh, each brush of his lips deliberate and tantalizing. “You’ve been begging for it since you stepped into this cabin.”

Her pulse hammered beneath her skin, a relentless drumbeat of need that seemed to resonate through her entire being.

“I’m not going easy on you,” he warned, his tone firm and unyielding. “You want to brat? Then brace yourself for what’s coming.”

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