His fingers slid against the inside of my thigh, beneath my flimsy black thigh-length skirt and up to the lacy panties, I wore just for him. It’d been four years of this and it still felt like the first time he touched me in the hallway of our old apartment.
The warmth of his breath tickled my neck but it felt too good to care. Everything about his rough hands and hardened body pressed
against my back taunted me. I leaned forward, catching myself against the doorjamb, leaning my neck to the left for better access.
Maverick chuckled darkly into my ear, his left hand rested against mine, his wedding ring shining in the lighting of our bathroom.
“Someone didn’t get enough last night,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes, knowing I’d never get enough of Maverick Booker, not in one year or fo
