Page 155 of Reckless Hearts

No championship. No comeback. Just another almost.

The thought is a stone in my stomach, doing nothing but weighing me down.

Riding through pressure has always been half the fun. Nothing like a good comeback to get your adrenaline going. So why does it feel like a stone has lodged itself deep in my gut? Where’s that all-encompassing need to win that’s always burning white-hot, driving me toward the win?

No matter how deep I search, there’s something missing, something different that’s holding me back in this hallway.

I’m one ride from my dream. This is my shot.

Footsteps come up from behind me, and I dip my hat low so whoever it is can’t see my face. The brim blocks out my vision socompletely that I don’t notice the man in front of me until he’s gripping my shoulders.

I snap up, ready to shove whoever it is off me, and freeze.

Maverick. Steady. Confident. Wearing a look that strips me bare. His eyes darken as he searches mine, reading every one of my thoughts and doubts like an open book

“Come here,” he commands, voice low, as he drags me into an empty tack room. The air is stale, the dim casting Maverick’s face in sharp shadows, and it’s so hot my clothes instantly stick to my skin.

“What the hell are you doing—” I don’t get the whole question out before Mav pins me against the wall.

His mouth crashes down on mine, taking it like he owns it. Teeth sink into my lower lip until I open for him. No warm-up, no hesitation. Just hunger and devotion.

Maverick’s touch burns through every thought until I’m all needy hands and sweat-slick skin.

I moan deep in my throat when he shoves his thigh between my legs, and I buck against him, his low hum of satisfaction vibrating against my neck.

It’s my undoing.

“Want you.” I rip the hem of his shirt out of his pants, greedy, until I can press my palm to his abs, dragging a sharp inhale from his chest.

I explore every hill and valley, tracing along the lines until I’ve memorized every inch of him, not stopping until his grip trembles where it’s still holding me in place.

It’s a heated, messy kiss, none of his normal smooth control. We’ve devolved into pushed-up clothes and roaming hands, urgently covering every inch of each other, but it’s not enough, never enough.

I lift my chin and run my teeth along his jaw, nipping at the hard line as I dip my fingers beneath the edge of his jeans. Hisgroan is deep and guttural. Heat floods through me, so fast and sharp it feels like a match striking bone.

“Fuck.” I hiss through my teeth, patience evaporating, needing to hold the weight of his cock in my hand, needing the high of knowing I’m the one making him this way.

I’ve got his button undone, zipper halfway down, when a voice calls out from the hall.

“Hey, anybody see Lawson? He’s up in three.”

There’s no answer, because of course there isn’t. The only two people here are Maverick and me, and we’re not saying shit.

Maverick’s lips curl in a slow, wicked grin, giving me a glimpse of his tongue tracing the edge of his top teeth. Just fucking ravenous.

I crush my mouth to his, devouring that smile, relishing the fact that it’s all for me.

One hand curls around my hip, the other on my chest until I’m flattened against the wall, and I search for Maverick’s mouth when he pulls back, needing just one more taste.

He chuckles low in his throat, pressing his forehead to mine. Both of us are panting, our stifling breaths mixing between us.

It’s brutally hot. Dust kicks off the floor, filtering the air, but I don’t push him off. Instead, I close the distance as much as his grip allows and brush my lips over his.

All those things that used to drive me to win are screaming at me to stay right here.

Black pupils take over brown eyes as he says through gritted teeth, “You better win this.”

I’m still dazed from the kiss, brain not firing on all cylinders. “Huh?”

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