Page 56 of The Beautiful Collision
“Going to come for me?” I whisper, because apparently my brain-to-mouth filter is completely offline.
She responds by crushing her mouth to mine, swallowing my words along with her own moan as she clenches around my fingers. I can feel her orgasm roll through her, all those tiny tremors from the club magnified into full-body shudders. She bites my lip again, harder this time, and I taste copper.
The car rolls to a stop.
“We’re here,” the driver says, sounding deeply bored.
We spring apart like teenagers caught by parents, frantically adjusting clothes and trying to look like we weren’t just finger-fucking in his backseat. Maya smooths down her dress with shaking hands while I attempt to adjust myself into something less than obscene.
“Thanks,” she manages, sounding almost normal. “... Five stars.”
nineteen
MAINE
As I fumblefor my keys with fingers that are still wet from her, Maya presses against me, her breath hot against my neck. “You better be rock-hard,” she says.
The lock finally cooperates, and we tumble through the door. My brain has about half a second to get a word in, and it does so by shouting that this is a terrible idea. Because this isn’t just a hookup, this is pressing the ‘GO’ button on feelings and the disaster of the bet and who the fuck knows what else.
“Second thoughts?” she asks, and there’s something vulnerable in her voice that cuts through the alcohol and lust.
I should say yes. I should remember the bet and the money I can’t afford to pay out if I lose and that I don’t want to win if it means shattering her heart and her trust. Or the fact that every minute I spend actually caring about her is another step toward complete fucking disaster.
Instead, I frame her face with my hands, loving how she looks absolutely wrecked and perfect. “No,” I lie. “No second thoughts.”
The smile she gives me is different from her usual smirk. Softer. Real. And as she pulls me toward my bed, I have the terrifying realization that I’m pretty damn close to winning thebet I don’t want to, because she’s pretty damn close to catching feelings I can’t afford.
Fuck, my brain shouts.You are in so much trouble.
But then she’s kissing me again, and I stop thinking entirely.
“Bedroom,” she gasps against my lips, and I don’t need to be told twice.
I let her pull me down the hallway, but we only make it three steps before she’s yanking me back for another kiss. My hands find her waist, sliding up under her top to find warm skin and a lacy bra, and in response to my touch she makes a soft, needy sound that goes straight to my already aching cock.
I have to physically force myself to keep moving toward the bedroom because, if we don’t, I’m going to take her right here against the wall. And, a second later, we stumble through my doorway, a tangle of limbs and wandering hands, and I get to work on her dress.
When it hits the floor, she stands there in a black lace bra and panties set, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes wide with desire. The club lights had hidden the details, but here in my room, I can see everything—the hunger in her eyes, the flush spreading down her neck…
“You’re staring,” she says.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice rough. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe, or vulnerability—but before I can analyze it, she’s pushing my shirt up and over my head. Her hands map my chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle with a focus that makes me feel like I’m being memorized.
“Come here,” I murmur, and she does, letting me guide her onto the mattress.
But instead of covering her body with mine, I kiss her slowly, deeply, then begin working my way down her body. I press my lips to her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my mouth. Itrace my tongue along her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin and the faint trace of her perfume.
“Maine,” she breathes, her fingers tangling in my hair.
I look up at her as I settle between her thighs, and the expression on her face—anticipation mixed with something achingly tender—is the best damn thing I’ve ever seen. This isn’t about winning anymore. This is about giving her what she’s given me these past weeks.
Care. Attention. The feeling of being truly seen.
Fuck, dare I say it?
The feeling of being loved…
