“Yes.Don’t stop now.”
Something dark and pleased settles in his expression as he settles back between my thighs, hand lifting my leg, lining us up with a patience that feels intentional.Like he’s deciding how deep to let this go.
“Tell me if you need me to slow down.”His forehead rests against mine, hand clasping the back of my neck.
“I won’t.”
The blunt head of his cock nudges between my swollen lips, and he uses my wetness to ready himself.Sensations skitter up my spine as I squeeze my eyes shut and cling to his shoulders, holding my breath.My mouth opens against his, suspended, shaking, needing.
His hand slides up my neck, thumb settling under my chin.Not forcing, guiding.“Look at me.”The request is quiet.Bare.
I open my eyes, and when he pushes inside me I exhale on a hiss, lungs emptying with the fullness of him.My arms lock around him, nails digging between his shoulder blades.His answering sound—low, sharp—goes straight through me.
“So good.You feel so fucking good.”He pulls back and thrusts in again, smooth and deep, claiming every inch.
“Fuck, Mad.Yes.”My eyes lock on his as he moves, the sight of him inside me moving me to the brink faster than I expect.
Maddox Hartley, “The Mad One,” is inside me.
Filling me.
Stretching me.
Taking me apart.
“Hands.”Gently lifting my wrists, he pins them above my head.“Stay.”
My heartbeat pounds between my legs.My muscles jitter, everything straining toward him.There’s power in the way he pounds into me, and it lights something I’ve never wanted before.Submission hums, blistering and eager, and I don’t fight it.Yet it’s his eyes that undo me.Possessive.Dark.A fire in them that both scares and electrifies.
My thighs tremble.My voice fractures.“Maddox?—”
“Come for me.”The echo of not too long ago, his voice steady as he drives into me, pushing me closer to the edge.
My eyes fall shut, head tipping back as pleasure crashes through me.I claw at his shoulder, barely holding on as he keeps that relentless rhythm, his mouth feasting on mine.One hand props himself above me, anchoring my wrists, as the other cradles my neck, holding me up to him.
“I’m close,” I gasp.
“That’s it.Let go.”
I don’t get the warning out in time, and my body seizes, pleasure ripping through me, stealing the strength from my legs as my core clenches hard around him.
“Fuck,” he growls then breaks with a raw sound, strokes slowing as he empties into me.
When it’s over, his mouth softens against mine, hips stilling.“You okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper, dazed.
We stay like that, chest to chest, breathing each other in, my legs wrapped around him, his hands still holding my wrists, neither of us ready to let go.
I wake to a warmth that isn’t mine, and for a few seconds—soft, hazy, suspended—I relish the heavy arm across my waist.The heat of a solid, expansive chest at my back.The slow, steady rise and fall of Maddox’s breath brushing the nape of my neck is something I could get used to.
Reality drops, sharp and fast, right into my sternum.
I shouldn’t be here.
My eyes snap open, and the room is dim, familiar in a way it shouldn’t be; his things, his space, his scent are everywhere.Clean sweat and cedarwood, sun-warmed leather and soap, the kind of solid, unmistakable masculinity that settles low in the chest and stays there.
My heart thumps too hard, too loud, drowning out everything except the truth hitting me in waves.I slept with him.I slept with the man I’m here to write about.The subject of my assignment.The story I’m supposed to stay objective about.