Crawling to sit at the edge of the bed, I bend forward and lap up the dollop of precum leaking from him as he smooths my hair back. I glide my hand over the captive bead rings and take him into my mouth, welcoming him into the back of my throat and hollowing out my cheeks. A thundering rumble roars from his chest, so I give him more. Caressing his taint, kneading his balls, bobbing with everything I’ve got.
“Look at you.” He fists my strands and pistons his hips with brutal pumps. “So radiant, choking on my dick.”
Since he’s right where I need him, I pop off and share my rebuttal to hisfeel what you feelorder. “I’ll happily feel your cock ram into me when you press me against that window. I’ll bask in the mind-blowing orgasms you promised. I’ll even let you brand my tonsils. Anything else doesn’t belong here.”
“Music always belongs.” He winks, offering me his hand to pull me to my feet and tossing his phone onto the pillow.
He loops his arm around the small of my back as the first notes begin, which bleed into ridiculous lyrics.
A cackle bursts from my lungs. “Is that … Jack Black? What the hell is this?”
“Tenacious D’s ‘Fuck Her Gently.’” His eyes crease with mirth, and he sweeps me into his embrace. “I can handle your wrath, Tess. You can rage. Hit me. Scream. Broad shoulders and a huge dick, remember?”
Despite the flirty humor, his words are sweet and intentional, but a phrase about being balled discreetly is crooned in the background, so it’s impossible to get freaked out by his statement. I’m also lost as to why he’d choose this song to accompany that point.
“I remember,” I whisper, curling my arms behind his neck. “The broad shoulders anyway.”
“Cute.” He pecks the corner of my upturned lips. “You’ll be an expert on how huge my dick is here in a minute. I’ll make you come, and I’ll take your anger, but I want that musical laughter too. You don’t give that very often. It’s mine.”
A boulder of emotion lodges in my throat. “Maddox?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I need you to stop talking and fuck me now.”
Without hesitation, he spins us around, carries me to the panoramic view, and flattens me against the wall of windows. He places my palms beside my head, presses my breasts to the cool glass, angles my hips just right, and issues his command. “Don’t move.”
I maintain my bug-splattered-on-a-windshield position while glancing over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of him. “Well, don’t take all day about it. You wouldn’t want the sun to set before you railed me for all to see.”
He chuckles softly as the distinct crinkle of a condom wrapper hits my ears. Seconds later, he’s behind me, nudging me to peer out at the city as he swipes the head of his cock through my sopping core in viciously slow torture.
I wiggle my ass, my patience long gone despite having already come twice.
“So greedy.” His amusement rings through that as the playlist shifts to a more sensual tune.
He fists my hair while he continues teasing me. My scalp prickles. My nipples harden, the jeweled barbells clanking against the glass. My entire body trembles with need.
“This is it, Tess.” Letting go of my hair, he slinks his hand to the apex of my thighs, whirling my clit in a decadent cadence that has my vision hazy—the Mississippi River and the skyscrapers and the French Quarter speckled with silver dots in broad daylight—as his lips ghost over my ear. “The sight of you so desperate and needy is my goddamn undoing. Beg me to make you mine.”
I’m so heady that I don’t fight him. Again, I surrender. We’ll worry about what that means tomorrow. Tonight, I’m whomever Maddox Noire needs.
“Please,” I pant.
“Please what?” he rasps.
Without a second thought, I concede. “Make me yours.”
Before I’ve uttered theS, he languidly pushes inside me, working himself in and out, past some resistance. He pauses once he’s completely seated, both of us adjusting to the stretch with a melody of unbridled groans. I’m so full. My limbs quiver. My sweaty palms slide down the glass. My calves flex to raise me up to my tiptoes—anything to heighten the feel of him within. It’s already more than I can take and everything I’ve ever craved.
His forehead rests on my temple with a shuddery breath. “Jesus, you feel good. Un-fucking-real.”
“You’re, uh … a lot,” I mutter, nearly blinded by the sensations.
“Hurt?” he manages.
“In a good way. Move,” I plead—or demand—in a voice I hardly recognize, lust-drenched and strained with a hungry quaver. “I can take it.”
“Of course you fucking can,” he praises with an edgy timbre. “Your cunt was made for me, Nightmare.”
