Page 60 of IOU

Her lips press against me again, and this time, my mouth opens and allows her full access. Soothingly, her tongue sweeps in, leisurely exploring as her hands find my hair and sink in.

God, it feels so good.

Her touching me anywhere feels so fucking good. How long has it been since I’ve felt a woman’s touch? Months? I can’t even remember. All I know is that it has been way too fucking long. And if I could trust myself not to flip her over onto this table, I would let go of her hips and tangle my fist in all those messy curls and enjoy the feel of the silky strands that smell like me.

I won’t, though.

Taking this any further breaks all my rules.

I can’t afford any more of a distraction than I already have.

I put these rules in place to keep me motivated, to keep me focused, but I’m already fucking it up by having her living here.

She needs to go.

I need to stop.

I grip her hard, moving her hips over mine one last time. And one more time and—Great, Maverick. Good job convincing yourself to let her go.

The friction between us is so magnetic that I can’t physically let go.

“Mmm ...” she moans in my ear.

Let her go, Mav. She just ended a long relationship. She’s vulnerable and needs comforting. You can’t give her what she needs.

But I could comfort her, for the night anyway.

My subconscious kicks in, chasing the horny advice away.

Ainsley needs stability and real love; neither of those things I’m nailing right now. I live a lie—a very exhausting lie, and I can’t stop. I’m in too deep. It doesn’t matter if I enjoy Ainsley’s company. I need to finish what I started.

“Wait,” she says, pulling back. Her lips are swollen and glossy, her face flushed with heat.

I almost groan at the cold air that hits my neck, but I don’t.

This is good.

No, this sucks.

“What’s wrong?” I force myself to ask. Any other time the fake Maverick would be mean and just stand up and walk away, but the real Maverick actually wants to know what’s wrong and possibly high five her for being the bigger person and breaking the connection. I sure as fuck couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, breathing the words along my lips.

A little farther back would be nice.

“I don’t want to use you.”

I grin. Her use me? Ha!

She’s serious, though, so I don’t comment. “You’ve been so nice to me that I don’t want to mess things up between us. All I’ve done is mess up with my decisions—”

Remind her that what we have is a contract, not a friendship.

“I don’t want to make our relationship one of those.”

Remind her!

I kiss her on the nose instead. “Good night, Ainsley. I expect half of my fake million tomorrow morning, payable in IOUs.”

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