Page 99 of Can't Get Enough

“No, I don’t want kids because I don’t want kids.” I huff a laugh. “Amazing how no one ever believes it’s as simple as that. The closest thing I’ll come to a maternal instinct is maybe a dog someday.”

“That would be a lucky dog.” He smiles. “Youshoulddo what feels right to you. I’m just glad that this—us—feels right to you.”

“It’s starting to.” I sigh. “Maybe I was so determined not to miss out on the opportunity of a career goal, that I was willing to compromise a personal one.”

He takes my hand and pulls me to straddle his lap, one leg on either side of his. I rest my elbows on his solid chest and smile down at him.

“I feel like this conversation is about to get a lot less productive.” I chuckle, caressing his nape.

“Focus.” He grins up at me, but places both hands on my ass. “And what is that personal goal?”

The humor dims and I settle onto his lap, giving his question serious consideration.

“I haven’t been in a relationship in a really long time,” I say, which doesn’t exactly answer his question yet. “And I think I’ve been avoiding it to protect my dreams. I’ve never wanted to look back on my life and not have accomplished the things I wanted to do because I had to compromise for someone else’s sake. Maybe that sounds selfish—”

“Only because you’re a woman. Men do it all the time and we don’tthink twice about it. Our wives stay home, keep our kids, hold down the house, and we’re not considered selfish. It’s expected.”

“Yes, and Iexpectsomething different from and for myself. I know the kind of woman I want to be and the kind of life I want and I’m not willing to forfeit it to have a man. His happiness for my misery is not an even trade.”

“I agree.”

“Some of the best advice my mother ever gave me was to take my time getting married.”

“Um, didn’t you tell me your parents met in the eighth grade?” He grins, brows lifted.

“And married by nineteen, yeah.” I blow out a laugh. “Not exactly taking her own advice, huh? She didn’t regret the sacrifices she made, though. My parents had a once-in-a-lifetime love, but sheknowsme. She recognized that I needed more than that. That if I made the same decisions she did, I would eventually regret and resent them. She urged me to take my twenties to figure out who I was and what I would and wouldn’t settle for.”

“And your thirties?”

“Well, once I figured out what I wanted and needed, I realized how few truly eligible men there were. I mean eligible forme. In my thirties I learned to be happy with myself and the life I was building. I learned to be whole.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m on the cusp of everything I’ve been working toward in my career, and I realize that acknowledging those parts of me that want care and companionship doesn’t make me less whole. It doesn’t mean I’m not happy, but that this is somethingelsethat can make me happy.”

“Thank you for trusting me, Gorgeous.” He leans up and whispers against my lips. “You won’t regret it.”

I can’t resist kissing him, and I take his bottom lip between mine, sucking and tugging, groaning when he returns the favor even more aggressively. Biting down and licking at the sting.

“I knew we needed to talk.” He tips my chin up and kisses the curve of my jawline, the slope of my neck. “But I’ve barely been able to focus on anything except how good it felt to be inside you last night. I want that again, Hen.”

I nod, leaning back on his lap, my fingers shaking and clumsy on the buttons of my pajama top. My breasts spill free and he’s on me like lightning, his mouth frantic and desperate and starving as he licks and sucks and laves. His dick is so hard pressing into my heat, and I need tofeelhim now. I wiggle to get the shorts and my underwear down and off my legs. Naked, I resettle on his lap and reach for his zipper.

“Hey.” He covers my hand. “Let’s go slow this time. Take me to bed, Hen.”

I bring him in for a kiss, a slow, sensual dance of lips and teeth and tongues. When I’ve waited one more second, I break the kiss and stand, completely naked. I extend my hand and pull him from the couch. He scoops up the bottle of whiskey and then grabs my hand. Everything is slowed down. Even our journey up the stairs is punctuated with stops every few steps; pauses for him to kiss my shoulders and caress my arms, test the weight of my breasts in his big, gentle hands. By the time we reach the bedroom, my legs are shaking and my heart feels like someone rang a gong in my chest.

With Maverick trailing me, he has an unrestricted view of my bare ass, all my cellulite and any extra flesh on my back. I search for self-consciousness, but can’t make room for it, not with him. Maverick steps close behind me and walks us to the bed, my fingers clutched in one of his hands and the bottle in the other.

“If I make a mess,” he says, greed in the look that sweeps over my body, “I promise to clean it up.”

“A mess?” I ask. “What do you mean? I—”

“This,” he says, holding up the bottle of Macallan, “is a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bottle of whiskey.”

My jaw falls open. That’s more than my car. It’s more than my last commission. It’s a lot of damn money.

“And you want to get me drunk first?” My laugh is weak as I try to play off my shock.

---