Wind Therapy - A.J. Downey Page 0,35
and as I poured the fresh cool water into the reservoir of the coffeemaker, he kissed the side of my neck. He had this way of breathing me in deeply, intentionally, that always made me weak in the knees. I felt desired and wanted in a way that left me feeling confused and uneasy. A confusion and uneasiness that always melted away when he drew me, back against his chest, arms circling me protectively.
I barely slid the carafe home on its base, flipped the lid to the reservoir down, and flipped the switch to get the coffee brewing before he cuddled me so tightly I couldn’t. I couldn’t help the light chuckle that escaped me as he wrapped his teeth lightly in his lips and bit gently along the side of my neck, mock growling against my skin.
“Come back to bed,” he urged, and I sighed, surprised at how much I wanted to.
“Shouldn’t we get ready to leave?” I asked.
“Hmm, yeah, but I want you.”
“You always want me,” I teased.
“That’s because you’re always beautiful, always wild, and I get hard just looking at you.” His stark admission held no hint of falsehood and I closed my eyes, soaking in the praise. I wanted to believe he meant more than just my looks… but I knew better.
“Thank you,” I whispered and pulled gently away. He let me go.
I turned around and leaned my back against the edge of the counter and looked up at him, unable to help my blush. I was never able to contain it when he walked around his house nude like he did. It was unheard of back home. Then again, we were stacked like cordwood, one on top of the other, back home.
His blue eyes captured mine, and he grasped the point of my chin lightly between the pad of his thumb and the side of his index finger. The touch light, gentle, and I didn’t move.
“When you going to trust me, Zaychik, hm? When are you going to let me in?” he asked. His voice was low, a living thing of its own that brushed sable soft fur along my spine, predatory like some great, sleek, black cat.
I suppressed a shiver and answered softly, “I trust you.”
His lips quirked into a sad sort of smile and he let me go, taking a step back, “Now we both know that’s a damn lie,” he said. “You can get away with a lot of shit with me, Marisol… but lying isn’t one of them. I’ll give you some more time to come clean, to tell me your secrets all on your own.” He paused, and it was for dramatic effect. “Don’t make me come digging. You don’t want me in the middle of it turning over rocks on my own.”
Shit.
I most certainly did not.
He backed away, keeping me fixed with his deep blue eyes which had darkened to midnight skies.
“I’m takin’ a shower. Bring me a cup of that when it’s finished, yeah?”
I licked suddenly dry lips and found enough breath to say, “Yeah,” and he turned and walked away. It was like his departure changed the very pressure in the atmosphere. Like a thunderstorm, roiling and loaded with energy had suddenly dissipated.
I was learning that Maverick was like that. Intense. Always intense, but you didn’t always feel it like you did now. Still, it was there, always there, right below the surface.
No. I didn’t trust him, and his words echoing in my head did nothing to improve that situation.
I made his coffee to his liking and took it to him – an offering of sorts. Caffeine be with you; I thought and suppressed a giggle. He took a drink, smiling behind the rim of his cup and pulled me laughing to him, kissing me, getting me soaked in his robe under the shower’s spray. I laughed and kissed him back, the rich dark Colombian roast tingeing our kisses with extra zing and I thought… and also with you, apparently.
He had his way. He always did. He fucked me in his shower and made me come around his invading cock twice.
It left me shattered, weak in the knees, and it also made us both late.
The ride from the fruit grower’s village to his home had nothing on the ride we took over the next several days to get to where we were going. The first day was a long, hard, four-hour slog, an hour’s stop for lunch with another solid four hours on the other side. We