IOU: A Romantic Comedy

by Kristy Marie

Gah, I just need time to stare at the exquisiteness of Maverick. He’s all muscle and tats like a good boy wrapped in a really edgy package.

  “The cards are in my pocket in case you forgot,” he teases.

  “I knew that. I was just giving your heart time to pace itself.” Total lie and he probably knows it.

  He chuckles. “My heart can handle you, I promise.”

  I almost tell him that’s a free promise he just made me, but I don’t because I really liked hearing the words. I’m scared if I bring it up he might back out of this whole situation and honestly, I think that will devastate me.

  Hiding a smile, I reach around his back and let my cheek rest against his pecs. Almost lazily, I slide my fingertips down the planes of his back until the smooth skin stops and the denim begins.

  “You said your pocket, right?” I ask for no other reason than to keep my hands on his ass.

  “Uh-huh.” His voice is strained and when his head lies on top of mine, I know it’s just as torturous for him as it is for me.

  I reach into his back pocket and find the marker and the cards while grazing—possibly squeezing—the firmest ass cheek I’ve ever felt.

  All butts definitely do not feel the same.

  “I might need two favors,” I mutter against his chest.

  “What’s the first one?” He pulls back and I push the cards between us.

  Swallowing, I uncap the marker and place a card to his chest. “First, if this is a terrible idea—which it probably is—I need you to not kick me out if I suck, or you don’t want to see my face again. At least not until your guy secures me another place.”

  After a moment, I look up to see his nod and notice his jaw clenching hard enough he may crack a tooth.

  “Maverick?”

  “Fine,” he grits out like it pained him to agree, which is weird. But whatever, Maverick is an odd one. Maybe that’s why I like him so much.

  I write the letters IOU, attempting to mimic his serial killer handwriting, and then toss it behind him, hoping it lands somewhere proper, like the trash.

  “And the other favor?” he prompts.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I meet his gaze and grin. Maybe he’ll lighten up. The moment has become pretty tense.

  “You can’t grab my ass.”

  He rears back.

  “Yeah, after feeling yours I’m a little ashamed. Clearly those few squats I do every year have not done me any favors.”

  “No,” he snaps, a tiny, baby hint of a grin forming. “I won’t honor that favor.”

  Fine, but I warned him. If he’s disappointed, he’s disappointed.

  With that game-ending remark, he plucks the cards from my hand and tosses them behind him where they scatter along the floor. I’ll put them in the trash later.

  “Do we need to put up the grocer—” His mouth seals over mine and his tongue pushes in without warning, consuming me in his tight hold.

  What was I saying? Right. I don’t care.

  Maverick hoists my body up and my legs go around his waist like second nature. We’re on the move, wasting no time finding a solid surface. “Wait!” I cry out. “Not in here! Not on my bed.”

  He pauses for just a moment, but then he turns around and heads toward the living room and to the best sofa ever. “We are burning your mattress,” he mutters, setting me down carefully and then yanking my knees apart so he can kneel between them.

  Ooh. I kind of like Mr. Lexington on his knees—feels all queen like.

  “I want you to show me what you learned from your book,” he drawls all cute and curious while tugging at my skinny jeans.

  I’m full-on smiling at his effort to get my jeans off—I plan to pretend like he didn’t mention the whole book thing. “You might need to put some force behind those pulls. These jeans are a little snug.” I’ll admit, I had to jump a few times just to get them on.

  With a firm tug, Maverick has my jeans around my ankles in a matter of seconds. “Wow. You’re seriously good at that. Maybe I need a standing favor for when I’ve moved out. I could come over, you could yank off my jeans, and we could eat mac and cheese before I go back home.” I shrug. “It’ll work out for everyone.”

  A muscle flexes in his jaw.

  Wait. Is he mad? I meant it as a joke. “You know, because you’ll get your privacy back soon when I move and—”

  “Shut up.” His words are biting and a tad bit growly. Whoa. What did I say?

  “Gotcha,” I try soothing his irritation. “I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath. “And nervous. I’m totally ruining the moment.”

  It’s the truth. I’ve only ever been with Tucker and since he cheated on me, I can’t help but to live with a nagging doubt that I wasn’t good enough somehow.

  Finally, a hint of emotion—other than aggravation—flashes on his face. “Since you seem so into talking, why don’t you tell me what you learned from your book since this is the second time I’m asking.” He nods to my open bedroom door where I stashed that blessed book.

  “I didn’t read it,” I admit.

  He cocks a brow like I’m lying.

  “I haven’t had time!” My voice rises and I squeeze him in between my legs. “You were too busy dying all over the place since I got it.” I huff. How romantic this excursion is turning out to be.

  “Besides, I doubt I’ll ever read it. I have neither the time nor the privacy to experiment with such things. It was a stupid idea.” Thanks, Mom.

  Amusement flickers in his eyes for just a moment before it turns into something more feral. “Maybe I can give you the CliffsNotes version of some of my books.” His hands skim up my legs and come to rest against my thighs.

  Oh, man. Is his thumb pressing on my thigh supposed to feel so good? Is that normal that he’s turning me on just by staring up at me between my legs?

  I swallow. “I don’t know if you’re the best person to teach since you make a habit of never going to class.”

  My breath leaves me in a swoosh as my body is yanked down the cushion and his face aligns with my center.

  “Mmm . . .” he hums above me, his chin dragging along my seam. “You’re right. Maybe I need a refresher.”

  Smug. That’s all I can think of to describe the look on his face when he places a kiss to my soaked panties.

  “Then again, you seem to be really responsive to my tutoring so far.”

  Smartass.

  He’s not wrong, though.

  “Positive reinforcement is better for mental—”

  He nips at my inner thigh and my heart flutters, creating this quickening sensation. It could be because of his teeth on my skin or the way he’s hovered above me bare-chested, either way the man is turning me on.

  “Your soaked pussy,” he drawls, dragging a finger over my wet panties, “is all the reinforcement I need.”

  Sounds good to me considering I’m shaking as his fingers graze over me, smearing my arousal around, the only barrier a thin piece of cotton. Holding my eyes, Maverick silently asks for my permission.

  I nod. “Yes. Please, take them off.” Why has it taken him this long?

  Sure hands grasp the edge of the cotton material before he tugs ever so lightly, pushing my knees to my chest to get them off.

  Oh shit. The cool air hits my center just as my panties are slipped off my ankles. He places a kiss to one foot, lifting it before sliding it over his shoulder and rendering me completely bare to him. “Orgasms are better when you’re swollen,” he coos, placing my other foot flat against the cushion.

  Swollen? Does he mean . . . ?

  He swipes a finger through my slit and my head falls back. “I don’t even care what you’re talking about,” I moan.

  His finger presses against me. “Are you swollen for me, Ainsley?” He breathes along my center and my legs clench around his head. I’m guessing yes.

  “Tsk, tsk,” he scolds, readjusting so he can pull my legs back and keep them pinned within the crease of his elbow. “Stay still. I want
to make sure you’re absorbing my lecture.”

  He says it like he’s a professor, but we all know I’m not learning shit here. All I know is that my body is feeling crazy good under his skillful hands.

  “Ainsley. You still with me?”

  Underneath all the sexual prowess he’s exuding lies amusement.

  I shake off the cloud of euphoria of his firm grip, holding me open. “I’m absorbing everything very, very well, Mr. Lexington.”

  His lips do a little half tip before he leans down and licks up my slit. “Ahh!” My back arches and he has to force my hips back down.

  “Some would argue you aren’t absorbing much at all,” he says with his lips against my clit. “Some would say you’re dripping.”

  I don’t even care if he’s trying to be all smart and cute with this word play.

  “And some would say that you better be careful or I will burn the apartment down if you don’t stop being a nerd and keep your mouth on me.”

  He is the one who brought up the whole book thing. I was fine with just fucking and not talking. He’s the one trying to be all clever and slow.

  “A nerd, huh?”

  A glimmer of mischief dances in his eyes before it disappears. “Lift your shirt. Now.”

  Shit. I’m going to come on his face. Seriously, I’m not even going to get to see his dick before I come.

  I lift the fabric over my chest. “Do you want it all the way off?”

  His gaze roams all over my chest. “No. Now your bra.”

  You know, any other day I would have worn my comfy bra. The one I probably should toss since the wire is almost poking through the fabric, but I didn’t today. Maybe because taking Maverick to Crush It seemed a little date-like. Either way, the front clasp bra I have on is super cute and supportive.

  I finger the clasp watching as his left hand traces up my thigh and over my stomach, just waiting for me to free them. When I don’t do it fast enough for his liking, he flips the clasp himself and my breasts spill out. “Do the CliffsNotes say to suck a woman’s nipple because I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” I offer.

  He grins. “Is that so? You want me to put my mouth on your tits, Ainsley?”

  Why does his voice have to sound so seductive?

  I tip my chin and pull away the rest of my bra. His eyes dart from left to right, taking in each breast as if they were a work of art worthy of being memorialized.

  He pushes up, one knee on the cushion, lifting his body enough to fold over me. “Tell me what you want me to do, Ainsley. How do you want me to get you off?”

  I can feel the length of him hard against the soft of my stomach.

  “I really didn’t need to know how to get myself off. You’re doing a great job, though,” I admit. That is the last time I listen to my mother. I should have known I didn’t need a book to orgasm.

  I just needed an apartment genie.

  “Oh no, I think it’s important you know what you like. Tell me. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

  Great. Just freaking great. I mean, really, it is great, but I wish he would let the whole book thing go and just fuck my brains out. It would save us all some trouble.

  “Touch them,” I mumble, a little sour.

  He doesn’t move. “Touch you where? Here?” He pushes two fingers against my clit and I nearly come apart.

  “There’s good.” I pant.

  “Are you sure?” he teases. “What about here?” His hand moves along my breast and around the swell of the curve, to the middle, stopping on the nipple.

  “Put your mouth on them,” I tell him, not even concerned that my face is probably pinker than my nipples themselves.

  His tongue is hot and firm. So much that I arch from the pressure he applies with each suckle. “Oh shit. Oh shit,” I cry. I didn’t think a mouth could bring forth these sensations. My toes curl into the sofa and my legs instinctively close around his jean-clad waist, but they don’t get the pressure they’re looking for.

  “Keep moving your hands,” I pant, instructing Mav to caress and squeeze while his mouth works greedily at my nipple. Clearly, I’ve jumped on board with this game.

  Maverick moves to the other breast, doing just as instructed, but this time he makes this sound of contentment like pleasuring me is just as pleasurable for him.

  “Tell me what to do next,” he pants between licks and the occasional nip.

  My mind is so cluttered at the moment that I don’t know what I want him to do other than strip and shove his dick so far in me that I can’t breathe from the pressure.

  “Pressure. I need more pressure. Your fingers,” I pant. “I want them inside of me.”

  A groan vibrates deep in his chest as he places a wet, open-mouthed kiss on my lips before he slides down, spreading me open even further with his big body, his index finger trailing down my center at a snail’s pace.

  I don’t know that I’m prepared. I don’t know that I’m going to recover from this night with Maverick. But I do know that I’m going to come like a freaking superstar. Fuck that damn book, they never had a Maverick to show them how to feel good. If they did, they wouldn’t have needed to write a book about how to pleasure yourself. I never knew my body could feel this alive.

  Slowly, as if he’s milking every ounce of anticipation from me, Maverick drags the pad of his index finger over my outer folds, circling the soft skin like a warm-up before the main event.

  “Now, Mav. I need you now,” I whine, completely out of patience.

  I don’t bother looking up to see if he’s smirking. Something tells me he’s just as consumed with this moment as I am. His hand touches the inside of my knee as he holds it down and ever so torturously, slides his index finger inside me. I bear down immediately, clenching as if I can keep his finger inside me for the rest of our lives. But he’s stronger—of course—and pushes forward, deeper into my center, stealing my breath and any thoughts from my head.

  His hand squeezes my knee and that too feels amazing. It’s like he’s using some kind of grounding mechanism to keep himself from going in with both hands. “Now what?” he prompts all gravelly.

  He knows what’s next, but we’re both too freaking turned on to quit now. And, at this point, neither of us cares.

  “Now, move it in and out,” I tell him between shallow breaths. He tips his chin but holds my gaze . . . Then he moves his finger in and out. The fullness. The rhythm. His freaking eyes on me. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

  “I need more,” I cry out, arching, moving as I try to build more friction between us.

  “One more finger?” he asks quietly—thoughtfully.

  My body is feverish, wet with sweat. I’m going to freaking explode. “I don’t care if you shove your whole fist inside me! I just want more!”

  Sorry not sorry. The man is driving me to oblivion.

  I hear a soft chuckle and then Maverick leans over me, kissing me while that damn finger maintains its steady rhythm. “How about we start with one more finger? We’ll save the fist for another day.”

  I think I say okay. It could have been just a mumble of unintelligible words. Either way, the next thing I know I’m being stretched, filled with blissful pressure as he adds another finger, pushing into my core over and over again.

  “Oh, God. Yeah, you’re doing great. This is exactly what I think the book would have said to do,” I praise. I’m a freaking mess under his hands. A mess. I can’t control the quaking and the shivers that take over as I try grinding into his hand for more.

  “You sure? We can try something else.”

  He says it teasingly, yet his voice is calm and collected, not like he’s torturing me by dangling the best orgasm of my life right between my legs.

  “Hush and put your mouth back on me,” I beg with absolutely no shame. If this is the best sex I’m ever going to have then I’m going all out. Maverick Lexington is a god. A god I tell you!

  “You want my mouth where? Show me.”

  I g
roan. He’s also annoying. But I do as I’m told and drag my hand over my stomach and to the bundle of nerves that are craving Maverick’s attention. “Here. I want you to put your mouth here.”

  I don’t get all the words out before my hand is knocked away and his hot, wet mouth is on my clit, sucking, nipping, and—“Oh shit! I’m going to come. I don’t want to come yet.”

  Cold air hits me as Maverick comes up for air, removing his blessed mouth from me.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop!” I cry.

  He looks confused. “You said you didn’t want to come yet.”

  I motion for him to lower back down. “Yeah, but—” I have no idea what I’m saying. All I know is that I’m on the cusp of a mind-blowing orgasm. “Just ignore what I’m saying. I want to come, Maverick. Like yesterday.”

  He tips his head, waiting on further clarification, and like any well-mannered woman, I give it to him straight. “On your face. I want to come on your face, Maverick. Right now. Don’t stop again.”

  I’ll regret those comments later. Right now, all I can think about is his mouth on my clit and his fingers inside of me.

  With what is pretty much a smile for Maverick, he nods an okay, kisses my lips softly, and then yanks my hips to the edge of the sofa. “Keep your legs open and your eyes on me. Got it?”

  I’m not going to comment that I’m supposed to be the one giving all the orders because honestly, I don’t give two single shits. I’d do anything Maverick tells me right now.

  I nod eagerly and then watch as two tanned fingers disappear between my folds. And then for the last time, I let myself get lost in the depths of his eyes before his head bows, and his eyes close, and his mouth clamps down on my clit and works me into a frenzy.

  “Fuck!” My body arches and all I want to do is fight against the strength of the sensations. His hand—God bless it—keeps my right leg pinned to the cushions while his fingers pick up speed and his tongue swirls the sensitive bundle of nerves in a pattern until sweat drips from my forehead and the pressure builds so high that I scream out, “Squeeze! Squeeze my boob, Maverick!”

  Without so much as a hesitation, Maverick’s free hand snakes out and instead of squeezing my breast like I instructed, he pinches my nipple and I explode in a tangle of “Holy shits and oh my Gods.”