Page 24 of Ruse
The moment we left Chelseas, I drove straight home, speeding down PCH at eighty miles an hour. Miles and miles of blue water faded in the distance, giant palm trees swayed in the wind, and the coastal summer air blew through my hair as I drove with the windows down. The eagerness I felt to put on the new dress I’d purchased was the adrenaline rush I didn’t know I needed, but even more thrilling was the need to see Maverick’s jaw drop when he finally sees me in it.
I keep telling myself it’s only payback for his teasing and sending of an unsolicited, almost dick pic, but deep down I know I crave to see the hunger glazed over his eyes as they roam up and down my body devouring me with wanton need.
It’s like a drug, the way he looks at me like I’m his next meal and he cannot wait to feast on me. A dangerous drug I can never become addicted to, because the day I do is the day I lose.
I never could have imagined this game we started playing would be so exhilarating, but to say it is, is an understatement. Seeing him was the only thing on my mind the entire drive home. I didn’t even drop Olly off at his house, instead depositing them both on Donovan’s doorstep and having her drive him home. Or maybe he’d get ready there and save us the trip later when we take the Uber to Echo down in Westlake Village, about a twenty-minute drive from here.
It was about six-thirty when I arrived back home, and immediately jumped in the shower, using my favorite Chanel body wash, lathering it on my loofa and rubbing in circular motions along my silky, smooth skin. Of course, the moment Dee and I started going to get laser hair removal treatments instead of sugar waxing, it was a game-changer. Now, every six weeks, we head out to our favorite salon in Calabasas and come back as smooth as a newborn baby. And I mean everywhere.
Opting for a little more makeup today, smokey shades of nude glitter eyeshadows to compliment the color of my eyes along with a dewy look supermodels wear so well, I look like I’ve been sitting in the sun for the past hour, gleaming gold and shimmering bright. My cheekbones and jawline are perfectly contoured, and on my lips, a sticky rose gold lip gloss, which tastes even better than it looks.
Slipping on the matching strappy stiletto heels that wrap around my lower calves like a snake, I walk over to the full-length mirror beside my closet, admiring the unrecognizable woman staring back at me. I look like I walked straight off the cover of Vogue, or off the New York Fashion Week Runway. Gone is the beach babe and in her place a golden goddess ready to slay the wicked god next door.
Maverick wasn’t home when I arrived nearly three hours ago, at least I don’t think he was. The Aston wasn’t in the driveway, and I haven’t heard it pull in since. However, I was in the shower prepping for over thirty minutes, and my getting ready playlist, full of fuck you songs, was blaring loudly through the built-in surround sound speakers in my room.
It’s nearly nine o’clock, and the plan was to meet at Dee’s house a quarter after nine to pregame before heading over to Echo. Yes, it’s only Thursday, but in Malibu Cove, every night is a party night. Whether it be at a club, at the beach, or in a bar, every spoiled, rich teenager is anywhere but the safety of their own bedroom. My brother included, who also has been out since I got home, and I don’t expect to see him until tomorrow.
Taking one last glance in the mirror and adjusting the hem of my dress, which, as expected, barely covers my ass, I grab my gold clutch and head downstairs, hoping I’ll run into Maverick on my way out.
It’s dead silent as I descend the winding staircase leading into the magnificent foyer, feeling like Charlize Theron in one of those J’Adore Dior commercials. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I realize there isn’t a soul in sight. I was at least expecting to see my father in his study or Daphne wandering aimlessly around looking for something to complain about, but no one’s here.
From the kitchen I hear a ruffling sound, like someone tapping against the tiled floor. Out of the corner of my eye, our housekeeper appears, startling me, though not as much as she’s startled herself. “Ay Miss Phoenix, you scared me niña,” she says, calling me a little girl in her native language.
“Sorry Marta, I didn’t think anyone was home.”
“No one is home, Miss Phoenix, just me. Mr. Brooklyn left early this morning and hasn’t come back, Mr. Bancroft and Mrs. Carter left for dinner a few hours ago, and El Señor Carter,” she pauses just as the engine of Maverick’s Aston Martin shuts off when he pulls into the driveway.
We both stand still, watching as Maverick enters through the front door a minute later. Obviously looking picture perfect in dark ripped jeans, a black T-shirt fitted around his biceps, and a single thin, gold chain hanging from his neck.
How I wish I could just yank the chain forward and pull him into me, inhaling his delicious scent I’ve become dependent on. Like a magnet, his gaze is pulled to mine the moment he walks in, nearly causing him to run into the small entryway table to his right.
His eyes are laser-focused on me, burning a deep hole into the most profound parts of my soul. However, his face remains expressionless, like he’s trying to solve the Earth’s oldest mysteries all in a matter of seconds. Flabbergasted, stunned, and completely starstruck.
Checkmate.
My victory dance doesn't last long because the moment my lips part to say something, a challenging smirk dances across his lips. In four long strides he reaches me, close enough I can smell the hints of what he’s smoked mixed in with his favorite aftershave. I lick my lips in response to how amazing he smells, and once again, like a magnet, his eyes are drawn to the glimmering gloss painted on them.
A feral groan leaves his throat, his eyes roaming further down between the dip of my breasts and lower to the shimmering glow of my long and lean legs.
Marta drops the bag she’s holding, starling us and reminding us she’s standing right there watching this display of primal need. If it weren’t obvious before, the thick tension around us proves the attraction between Maverick and I is stronger than we ever could have imagined.
“I…” Marta stutters, her gaze never once leaving us. On the other hand, Maverick’s bored expression when he looked toward Marta is gone, and his gaze, once again fixated on me, is burning with carnal desire. He wants me, and bad. “I need to finish cleaning,” Marta murmurs to herself, turning and scurrying back to the safety of the kitchen.
Rolling my eyes, I scoff at him. “You scared the housekeeper away with your feral growling Maverick. Didn’t think you were such a savage animal.”
The wickedly tempting smirk he’s perfected appears once again and makes my damn knees weak. “Oh, you have no idea babe.”
The endearing term, although it would usually annoy me being spoken by Chad or anyone else for that matter, excites me coming from him. He makes the word sound desirable, like I need to hear him say it to explain just how much he wants me.
Stepping forward, his fingers splay out on my lower back, just below the edge of the backless dress. Sparks fly at the contact of his cold, calloused tips, rubbing back and forth against my heated flesh. Unadulterated lust is visible in the way his eyes continue to travel down my body, watching me like he might miss something if he so much as blinks. They’re undressing me, joined by his fingers aching to do the same as they twitch against my lower back, pressing into me and tugging on the fabric.
For what feels like hours we stand motionless, speechless, our breathing unsteady but in sync, our eyes glued together so forcefully, I fear they will incinerate if I tear them away, and his hands, they tighten with each quavering beat of my heart.
The chill of the air conditioning sparks goosebumps all over my skin, or is it my arousal from nothing more than the feel of his hardened erection pressing into my heated core? His whole body shifts closer when he senses me try to take a step back to breathe, and I nearly moan out loud at how good it felt when he rubbed against me. God, I’ve never been this turned on by anything or anyone.
This plan has backfired. I was supposed to be the one dressed to kill, rendering him speechless, and making him beg to touch me. Instead, if this continues, I’ll be the one dropping to my knees, begging him to have his way with me. And once I’m there, I’ll wrap my glossy lips around the thick, growing cock that’s making me whimper with need.
His voice hums in my ear, so gravelly, almost as if he’s in pain. “Fuck Nyx, I know you can feel it too.” Suddenly my dream, the one where he’s the infamous star, comes to the forefront of my mind.
