Page 47 of The Maverick

And maybe it was.

Vanessa let out a deep, resonant moan, her hips thrashing uncontrollably against the restraints that bound her securely in place. Instead of reprimanding her for not remaining still, he forcefully pressed her down with one firm hand, maintainingan unyielding grip as his mouth lavished fervent attention upon her. Each deliberate lick, ardent kiss, and the sharp scrape of his teeth wove an intricate tapestry of domination and devotion, creating an electrifying symphony that danced upon her skin like fire.

"You're not theirs," he growled, his words searing into her flesh with unrestrained intensity. "Not Brenner's. Not the past's. Not anyone's but mine."

She erupted with a cry—beginning as a mere whisper that swelled into a powerful crescendo, her body straining wildly against the cuffs. Yet he refused to relent. He remained by her side, his mouth relentless, urging her to shatter once more, this time in a slower, more profound surrender. Her sob transformed into a desperate moan, the tension in her body dissolving like mist in the morning sun until she simply existed in the moment, consumed by the overwhelming sensations that claimed her entirely.

Only then did he release her wrists, unbuckle her ankles, and pull her into his arms.

Vanessa curled into him like gravity didn’t matter anymore. Like the air was different here.

She blinked up at him, her voice hoarse. “You didn’t say I could come.”

His lips touched her forehead. “I didn’t say you couldn’t either. You didn’t need permission for that kind of surrender.”

She swallowed hard, eyes burning. “I didn’t know I could give it.”

“You did.” He held her tighter. “You just needed someone strong enough to take it.”

She drifted somewhere between consciousness and quiet, her body floating in that strange after space where submission didn’t feel like loss—but freedom.

And for the first time since the letters started, Vanessa didn’t feel like prey.

She felt protected and possessed in a way that felt like power. And that, she knew, was what would drive Brenner mad.

Let him watch. She wasn’t afraid of the ending anymore. Because this time, she was the one choosing how the story ended.

Vanessa lay still in the low light, her body draped across Hawke’s chest, every inch of her warm and humming. His hand drifted across her back, not stroking, just anchoring her. She didn’t know how long they’d been like that. Time had melted—just touch, breath, heartbeat. Hers. His. Theirs.

He hadn’t spoken since unfastening the cuffs. Just held her. As if there was no rush. As if being with her, right here in this moment, was the most important mission he’d ever taken on.

She’d given him everything. Not just her body. Not just the deep, bone-melting surrender that had pulled her under like the tide. This time, it was more. More than the scene, more than the sex, more than the years between them.

She’d let go. Fully. Finally.

And now that it was over—now that the adrenaline had drained and her heart was steady again—the silence scared her more than the threats. More than the notes. More than Brenner.

Because the only thing more terrifying than losing control was admitting she wanted to.

Her fingers curled against his side. She didn’t lift her head. Just whispered against his chest, “I never stopped.”

Hawke stilled beneath her, but only for a second. “Stopped what?”

“Loving you.”

The words hovered. Hung there like a secret she couldn’t take back.

She closed her eyes. “Even when I left. Even when I tried to hate you. I never stopped.”

His hand moved, brushing up into her hair, tilting her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. The line of his jaw was tight, but his gaze was steady.

“Say it again.”

Her throat thickened. “I still love you.”

He didn’t blink. “You think that scares me?”

“No,” she whispered. “It scares me.”

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