“Take me to church, Emmy,” he murmurs. His hands run up my thighs and squeeze my hips. “Please.” “I didn’t think you were a religious guy,” I whisper, and I sink down on him in a bleary fog. “I’m not.” Maverick bites the soft skin near my shoulder as I take him another inch deeper, and my breath catches in my throat. “But I imagine you’re what heaven feels like, so I’m a converted man.”
