The Story Of Us Part 11

"There," he says. "Best of both worlds."

"How thoughtful of you."

His mouth is on mine as soon as the words are out. He pulls my arms over my head and slips off my cover-up. The warmth from his chest spreads over my skin, and I swear I can taste the sun on his shoulder when I kiss it. It's crazy how badly I already want to feel him inside me.

I'm reckless. I don't care what happens when we leave this place; all I want is him, right here, right now.

The fear will return when we're done. But as Maverick unties the halter straps, I know I won't run out on him again. Even if I break tonight, I'm staying.

My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are in Maverick's palms, and he ma.s.sages them while he nuzzles my neck. Heat courses through my veins, burning hotter with each pinch of my nipples.

I think about what Finley said and it only takes me a second to make a decision. I hook my fingers under the waistband of his swim trunks, enjoying the feel of muscle and bone at his hips. His skin is silk under my fingertips, smooth and warm and delectable.

Maverick's breaths increase as I glide his shorts down. I lower myself too. He's there, hard and ready. I wrap my fingers around the shaft and give it a lick.

Maverick doesn't touch me. He moans softly, and when I take him deep, the dirty words he utters are like praise. He invigorates me, and I up my game.

Unbidden, I think about how different this is compared to the force Chris always used.

He feels incredible in my mouth and against my tongue. Bigger and harder now. I'm craving his touch on me too, but the pleasure I'm giving to him wins over my own desire.

I've never done this act because I've wanted to. Now I want to. I want to hear the desire in his voice as I build his need. Want to see him peer at me like he's never had better.

And when he finally touches me, threading his fingers through my hair, I'm not startled. He's not controlling me, not forcing me to continue.

"Look at me," he says.

I tip my gaze up to him, open lips and hooded eyes showing his thoughts. It's as s.e.xy as h.e.l.l. I keep working with him watching me. He combs through my hair, never pushing me.

"On the bed," he murmurs.

I get up off of the floor and lay on the duvet. Maverick pulls me down so my b.u.t.t is at the edge before he removes my swimming bottoms. He's inside me so fast I cry out when he enters. It's ecstasy.

I squeeze around him. He rubs my c.l.i.t, and the sloshing sound we make together has my o.r.g.a.s.m climbing.

He must know I'm close, because he rocks into me faster. We come at the same time, and moments later, Maverick has me wrapped in his arms. He kisses my temple, holds me close, and I feel something I haven't really felt with a man before- Loved.

We spend the rest of the evening indoors, watching movies, ordering room service, and making love.

It's after midnight now, and Maverick has rolled onto his side, not facing me. I'm not leaving this time, but I can't sleep. We're down to two days together, and I'm falling for him more every minute. To tame my brain, I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb him. He flips onto his stomach, but he doesn't wake.

The storm only lasted for thirty minutes before the sun came back out and the skies cleared to a dreamy shade of sapphire. I grab Maverick's shirt off of the floor and put it on. Then I find my sketchbook and pencils, ready to go out to the balcony, when the sound of Maverick's snoring stops me. The sheet is at his hips, and moonlight dances over his back. I move to my right a little, letting in more light from the open balcony doors. The image is sweet and s.e.xy, and I have to capture it.

I put the office chair in the corner, sit down, and begin to draw. This moment doesn't need much color. It's breathtaking, and I crave the raw essence of blacks and whites.

When I finish, my soul is satisfied. Happy, I finally see the splashes of canary yellow splayed within me. Until now, yellow has been an elusive color, one that's seemed so foreign.

I smile, because this man.

Maverick- Has my heart.

Chapter 17.

Present Day 4:36 a.m.

I watch the monitors. Count each breath, wondering if this one will be his last. My eyes shift to the ventilator breathing for him, and I realize it's helping to keep him alive. I stop counting.

J.J. draws another vial of Maverick's blood to send to the lab. "We're monitoring his red blood cell count and testing for anemia. A drop in iron and red blood cell levels could indicate internal bleeding."

"Um, his spleen, right?" I ask, recalling what the doctor told me.

"Yes. It's not uncommon in this situation."

"And if there is... If his spleen is bleeding, then what?"

"They'll take him back into surgery."

She waits a moment in case I have more questions. I don't, so she takes Mav's blood and leaves the room.

Beside me, Finley sighs and reaches for my hand. "Jesus, Ali. Your hands are freezing."

"I'm fine."

"You're wearing a sleeveless shirt." Finn gets up. "Hang on. I brought you a sweater."

She brings me a fleece pullover. "This is mine. Did you borrow it?" I ask, putting it on.

"Funny story." She sits back down and c.o.c.ks her head to the corner where my roller bag sits. How does she have my roller bag? "I broke into your apartment. I figured you left without packing anything. Luckily you only have Morocco and not a guard dog."

"Morocco knows you."

"Didn't stop the little a.s.shole from hissing at me when I climbed through your bedroom window."

"He didn't attack you, did he?"

"Shyeah, no. He didn't even get off your bed, lazy cat."

"Sounds like him."

"He also dumped the rest of the wine you forgot to cork." She eyes me. "But don't worry. Seems he also licked most of it up. I didn't have much to clean."

"Are you telling me that my cat is drunk?"

Finley thinks for a second. "I guess that would explain the hissing."

Great.

We go back to silence. Morocco will be fine, I'm sure. I hardly left anything in the bottle. It's Maverick who worries me.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, then open them again.

My gaze roams over Maverick, wondering if he's too cold or too warm under the blankets. If the dim lights are too bright. If he's in pain. If I'm squeezing his hand too tight.

These hands. These strong, beautiful hands. Hands that have caressed my face, searched my body, placed this wedding band on my finger. They've held me and comforted me. They've wiped away tears.

I touch the gold on his finger. It's a simple ring, but one that represents something more complex, more timeless than the solid metal. We're one, Maverick and me.

Broken, but one.

Chapter 18.

Cancun, Mexico 27 Months Ago I wake to the morning sun streaming in through the open balcony doors. Maverick is still asleep beside me. He's too peaceful to disturb, so I kiss his cheek and get up. I creep across the floor, grabbing my drawing materials off of the desk as I pa.s.s. Outside, I close the balcony doors.

Sunrises, like sunsets, challenge my use of color, and I'm out of practice. The blending has to be perfect, and this morning there seems to be more color in the sky. And so I begin.

I don't know how much time has pa.s.sed when the doors open. Maverick's standing there, dressed in a pair of shorts and holding two cups of coffee in one hand, but that's not what makes my heart stop. It's the way he's not smiling. My heart slows.

And then I notice what's in his other hand- My drawing.

I swallow, part of me now regretting giving it to him. I'd moved too fast, gone too far. Chris's reaction when I showed him my artwork is etched into my brain and replays instantly. Maverick isn't Chris, though. He won't react like Chris did, right?

Maverick puts the coffees on the table in front of me. Then he scoots a chair back and sits down. He holds out the portrait I drew of him.

"You did this," he says unnecessarily.

"Yes."

"Alieya, this is phenomenal."

I feel a small smile grow across my face. "You think so?"

"G.o.d, yes. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you."

I'm happy. Satisfied that he likes it, but then he turns the picture over to the message I wrote, and nerves break out over my arms. s.h.i.t. Why did I write that on the back? A sheer moment of insanity, of thinking Maverick and I are more than this fling.

"I haven't wanted to pry, but this needs an explanation."

I take a deep breath. Telling him is huge. Bigger than the drawing, bigger than the note I scribbled on the back. Finley's the only person who knows what happened between Chris and me.

But I want Maverick to know. I want him to understand what he's done for me.

And so I tell him about Chris. That we started dating in ninth grade, after his father went to jail for domestic abuse. He promised me he wasn't his father. He'd never hit me, and he never did. His abuse was more subtle.

"Just little things at first," I say, rolling a colored pencil between my fingers. "He didn't like my shoes or the color of my shirt. Then it was my hair, and then my nails and my make-up. I began to ask his opinion about every purchase I made, wanting his approval. I didn't realize I was slowly giving up who I was for who he wanted me to be.

"After he had me looking the way he wanted, he started in on my friends. Who he liked, who he didn't. The male friends went first. He'd tell me stories about them, things he said he overheard in the locker room or in the hallways. That they only liked me because of my b.o.o.bs or because they could cheat off my homework without me knowing. Once, he even said they were plotting to rape me after a football game, so Chris forbade me to go to school activities anymore."

I told him how it got worse. He despised Finley, and it got to the point where she and I would have to sneak around in order to see each other. It was the only time I disobeyed him.

He controlled where I went, who I saw, and what I did.

He said he loved me and wanted what was best for me. He promised to take care of me. I was his forever girl.

"Drawing was the only thing I ever kept a secret from him. I mean, he knew I took an art cla.s.s. I had to beg him to keep it on my cla.s.s schedule, because he thought it was a waste of time. But it was only one cla.s.s and he got sick of me asking. He didn't know what I did in there, so it became an escape. In my junior year my teacher encouraged me to put together a portfolio for colleges. I knew Chris wouldn't like it. I did one anyway to appease my teacher, but I never applied to art schools."

I hold my breath for a second as the memory pierces me again. "There was one picture I was pretty proud of, and I wanted to show him that I really could draw. When I did, at first I thought he liked it. He even asked if I had more. So I showed him the portfolio I made and told him my art teacher wanted me to apply to art school." I pause to swallow the emotion down my throat. "He got furious. He started yelling and ripped up the picture. Said art was a worthless thing to spend my time on. That I wasn't even good. Then he threw my portfolio into the fireplace. All that was left was ashes."

When I close my eyes, I can still see the flames licking at the pages, the edges curling upward as the fire consumed them.

"I tried to dive for it, but Chris pulled me back, yelling at me for being so stupid. That night I walked away from art and, ultimately, from myself."

My gaze lifts to Maverick. He's blurry through the tears, but I can no longer hold them in. They fall onto my cheeks, and I'm so, so vulnerable to this man I just met. He's quiet, peering back with an expression I don't understand.

"Where is Chris now?" he asks.

"Still in Kentucky. After my first year at WKU, he told me he didn't trust me. Thought I was cheating on him at school. He called me wh.o.r.e. I found out later that he'd been sleeping with a girl, Sabrina, for years, and she was pregnant with his twins."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," he mutters. Then he takes my face between his palms. "Listen to me. You didn't deserve that. And you don't deserve to be living in the aftermath of his abuse. That s.h.i.t belongs to him, not to you."

Somewhere deep inside, I know. Chris is a monster, and I was his willing victim.

My stare falls from Maverick. That's the one thing I never told Finley and it's what's destroying me now: it's my fault.

"Look at me, Alieya," Maverick says softly, thumbing away the tears from my face. "Talk to me."

Slowly, my gaze meets his again. I'm under his control. I've made this mistake before and it ruined me. So why am I traveling that path again with someone I barely know? I shouldn't trust him.

"I should've known what he was doing. I was weak and I allowed it." My voice comes out small, and I barely recognize it.

"No. You didn't give him permission. He took it. He manipulated you. That doesn't make you weak. That you're here telling me this shows me how strong you are."

"Finley could see it. Why couldn't I?"