Page 80 of IOU

I fumble with the lock and I feel his body press against my back like a warning. His breaths fan along my neck as he leans his head down, the motion angling my head to the side so he can get to the sensitive spot behind my ear. Oh hell. He’s going to make me come against the soul-stained door.

A teasing comment about such plays on my lips, but I swallow it down when he pushes his erection against my ass. No, now is not the time to kill the mood with comedic commentary. His dick, like me, is hungry, and we need to get inside before I let him ravage me on the cheap linoleum.

Somehow I manage to put the key in the hole and twist just before Maverick shoves me inside, drops the bags of frozen mac and cheese on the floor, and pins me against the wall.

His watch beeps like crazy, but he never looks down. Instead, all his attention is focused on me. This is it. We are so doing this.

A ball of nerves sits in my throat. I swallow to work it down. “I need you to promise me something.”

He doesn’t even give me a second to finish. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“The answer is still no. You know what to do if you want a promise.”

Ugh. “Fine. Give me a card.”

I’m not even shocked.

The corner of his lip twitches. “I’m afraid my hands are otherwise engaged. You want a promise, you know what to do.”

I eye his hands at my face, caging me in. Mmm. I kind of like feeling caught.

“Fine.” I will get my own IOU in his back pocket, right over his firm ass. Really, I probably could live without the promise, but I don’t want to take that risk. Not yet, at least.

Deep breath. You totally can do this, Ainsley. Tucker may not have had an ass like this, but they all feel the same.

My fingertips graze along the sides of his body. I can see his shirt indent with his quick intake of breath. “I think maybe this should come off,” I suggest, tugging at his shirt. “It’s the most effective way for me to get to your pocket.” Not really, but I want to see all of him. Sue me.

I’m prepared for a cocky smile or even a laugh, but one never comes. Instead, Maverick drops his hand, trailing his finger along my cheek and down my body until he’s able to reach the hem of his T-shirt. He bunches a handful of fabric in his fist and drags it to where my hands rest at his ribs.

“Go ahead, take it off.”

Swallowing, I take a look at the tribal tattoos peeking out from underneath. Yes, this is definitely the best way to his pocket.

Painstakingly slow, I lift his shirt over his head. He even leans down to help and that makes me feel short for the first time in my life.

“Okay, so”—I clear my throat—“now that we have that out of the way.”

Gah, I just need time to stare at the exquisiteness of Maverick. He’s all muscle and tats like a good boy wrapped in a really edgy package.

“The cards are in my pocket in case you forgot,” he teases.

“I knew that. I was just giving your heart time to pace itself.” Total lie and he probably knows it.

He chuckles. “My heart can handle you, I promise.”

I almost tell him that’s a free promise he just made me, but I don’t because I really liked hearing the words. I’m scared if I bring it up he might back out of this whole situation and honestly, I think that will devastate me.

Hiding a smile, I reach around his back and let my cheek rest against his pecs. Almost lazily, I slide my fingertips down the planes of his back until the smooth skin stops and the denim begins.

“You said your pocket, right?” I ask for no other reason than to keep my hands on his ass.

“Uh-huh.” His voice is strained and when his head lies on top of mine, I know it’s just as torturous for him as it is for me.

I reach into his back pocket and find the marker and the cards while grazing—possibly squeezing—the firmest ass cheek I’ve ever felt.

All butts definitely do not feel the same.

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