Chapter 174
Grace's POV:
Maverick's hands were everywhere then—yanking my sweater over my head, calluses scraping deliciously along my ribs as he unclasped my bra with a flick of his fingers, freeing my breasts to the cool air.
He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth down my neck, teeth grazing my collarbone before he latched onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyelids.
I moaned, legs parting instinctively as his thigh wedged between mine, the friction sending sparks up my spine.
"Missed this," he murmured against my skin, voice muffled as he lavished attention on the other breast, his hand sliding down to pop the button on my jeans. "Missed you—every fucking inch."
He shoved the denim down my hips, taking my panties with them, and I kicked them free, bare and exposed beneath him.
His gaze locked on the slick heat between my thighs, dark and possessive, before he shed his own clothes in record time—shirt tossed aside, belt unbuckled, pants pooling on the floor.
His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip, veins prominent along its length as it throbbed with the same urgency pounding in my veins.
I wrapped my hand around him, stroking firmly from base to head, reveling in the way he hissed through his teeth, hips bucking into my grip.
"Grace," he rasped, the sound almost pained, and then he was nudging my thighs wider, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing through the wetness he'd coaxed from me with just his presence.
He thrust in on one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt, and I cried out at the stretch, the perfect burn of him filling me completely after so long apart.
My walls clenched around his length, greedy for every inch, and he stilled for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to mine, breaths mingling in harsh pants.
"So tight," he groaned, pulling back only to slam home again, setting a rhythm that had the headboard thumping against the wall. "Like you were made for this—for me."
I met him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back, legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper.
Sweat slicked our skin, the room filling with the obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh, my gasps turning to pleas as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision white out.
His hand slipped between us, thumb circling my clit with ruthless precision, building the pressure until I shattered, orgasm ripping through me in waves, my pussy pulsing around his cock like a vise.
He followed seconds later, burying his face in my neck with a shattered curse, spilling hot and deep inside me, his body shuddering as he rode out the aftershocks.
We collapsed together, tangled and spent, his weight a grounding anchor as our heartbeats slowed to match.
But one night wasn't enough to sate the hunger we'd starved.
He took me again before dawn, slower this time, on my knees with his hand fisted in my hair, cock sliding down my throat until tears pricked my eyes and I gagged around him, loving every second.
Later still, I straddled him in the dim light, riding him with abandon, breasts bouncing as he gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, growling my name like a prayer until we both came undone once more.
By morning, exhaustion claimed us, limbs entwined in the rumpled sheets, the city awakening beyond the windows as if the world had shifted just for us.
The bedroom door closed behind us, and the city lights beyond the windows became the only witnesses to what followed—a homecoming of a different kind, written in whispered names and tangled limbs and the slow, deliberate reclaiming of everything we had lost.
---
Turn of November brought a chill to St. Jude, the air crisp with the first tentative snowflakes drifting down like forgotten promises, blanketing the skeletal branches of the elms lining Skyline Residence in a hush of white.
Maverick's birthday eve unfolded under that quiet veil, the world outside muffled into stillness while inside, the house glowed with the intimate warmth of just the two of us, celebrating in the way that felt most ours.
I'd made dinner—something Italian that had filled the apartment with garlic and herbs.
I'd caught him watching me cook with that intensity he brought to everything, as if even mundane tasks deserved his complete attention when I was the one performing them.
"Come on," I said, tugging at his hand with gentle insistence. "I picked a movie."
The second-floor entertainment room glowed warm in the amber light from lamps I'd switched on, creating pockets of golden illumination that softened the modern edges. I'd arranged pillows and blankets on the plush carpet below the massive screen, creating a nest of comfort that felt more intimate than the pristine furniture.
Between us sat the remnants of dinner—plates of pasta still warm, glasses of wine catching the light, the casual intimacy of eating while sprawled on the floor making everything feel softer somehow.
"Since when do we sit on the floor?" Maverick asked, though he was already lowering himself down, back against the leather sofa, legs stretched out on the thick sheepskin rug.
"Since I decided comfort trumps furniture." I settled between his legs without hesitation, balancing my plate on my lap, my back to his chest as he reached around me for his own food.
We ate like that, tangled together, his chin occasionally brushing my shoulder as he leaned forward, my elbow bumping his arm when I reached for my wine.
The movie I'd chosen was a romance, the kind with a meet-cute and beautiful people navigating beautiful problems.
Maverick made disparaging comments through the first act, his voice a low rumble against my back, but his hand kept finding my waist between bites, fingers splayed possessively across my hip.
By the time we'd finished eating and pushed the plates aside, the story had shifted into darker territory.
The protagonists were being torn apart by circumstances that felt insurmountable on screen, and I felt my throat tighten as the actress broke down, her grief raw and unfiltered in a way that hit too close to home.
My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly, trying to hold it back, but the tears came anyway—hot and fast and utterly beyond my control.
A sob caught in my throat, then another, and suddenly I was crying in earnest, the kind of ugly crying where your face gets hot and your breathing goes ragged.
"Grace." Maverick's arms came around me fully, pulling me back against his chest with enough force to ground me. "Christ, it's just a movie."