Dahlia holds up her hand. “No. I don’t know what you’re going to say but no matter how you want to minimise it, it’s a big thing. There are gossips dissecting every single move you make because they all want a piece of whatever you’re selling.”
She stares at me with amusement while I struggle to fit this new piece of information into my puzzle. I took it for granted that he and his friends were on a similar footing. Wilder and Zane spend half their time fucking or talking about fucking or coordinating future fucks.
I thought Maddox was reticent with me. That there was something wrong.
Now there’s a deep glow of pleasure at Dahlia’s revelation. A flutter of something I haven’t felt before, at least not in a good way.
I’m special.
“Christ, girl. You converted the ice king into a simp overnight. I’m surprised more people aren’t swarming you, wanting to rub your pussy for good luck.”
The image is so coarse, I burst out laughing, every part of my mood lifting exponentially until I probably sound drunk or high.
And I decide it’s time I stopped letting my past influence my present.
“Could you help me with this?” I ask Dahlia, fumbling with the catch for the leather band on my wrist.
She cocks her eyebrow, quickly undoing the fastenings, then helping me to thread it around my neck.
It’s pretty. The silver bands are reminiscent of the spikes in a collar but not overtly so, more a subtle nod in that direction. The dark lustre of the pearl hits me right in the dip of my throat, perfectly offset by my skin tone.
Scar tissue on the back of my neck throbs, my jaw tightening as I fight against the memories trying to break free.
Dahlia stares at me with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry.” I shake my head, forcing a tight smile while inside I shudder, fighting to stuff everything down until it doesn’t stand a chance of resurfacing again. “Just got a wicked dose of déjà vu.”
We walk out together, Dahlia pulling ahead when she sees Wilder chatting to a girl whose kilt hem barely covers her knickers.
Maddox is watching them, slowly turning my way. His eyes dip to my throat and his expression freezes, then he gives the widest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Did you do that for me?”
I nod and he cups my jaw, the rough pad of his thumb stroking against my skin and igniting a thousand sparks of desire. He bends to me, lips soft against mine, then becoming rougher. With his opposite hand, he touches the pendant then spaces his fingertips along my collarbone, a wicked spell that makes every erogenous zone in my body pulse in tandem.
His body curves against mine, twisting so my back is pressed firmly against the lockers, his kiss pinning me in place.
My palms flatten against his chest, greedily memorising the feel of his muscles, the way they flex and harden under my touch. Then he slowly pulls away, eyes falling to stare at my mouth, his thumb moving to rub across my lower lip, making it pulse with need.
“Come with me.”
His voice is rough and commanding. He grips my hand firmly, tugging me until I couldn’t refuse even if I wanted to.
And I definitely don’t want to.
He leads me straight back into the girl’s bathroom, barking loudly at the few still lingering in there, “Get out. Now.”
They scramble for the exit while he pushes me against the bench beneath the mirror, hands gripping my hips and lifting me onto the surface, hands pushing my knees apart.
“I got a present for you,” he says, and I nod, eyes dropping lower but instead of showing the excitement I expect from the hoarseness of his voice, he drops to crouch between my legs.
I grip the edge of the bench, the positioning of his face between my knees sending a jolt of desire straight through my core, melting me until I gasp for air.
Maddox slowly rolls up my kilt, inch my inch, fold by fold, steadily revealing my legs until it’s hitched all the way to my underwear. He locks his gaze to mine while pressing a kiss to the tender skin on the inside of my right thigh, unleashing a wave of tingles until my flesh dances under his touch, electric and alive andaching, an emptiness that throbs and pleads and begs to be filled.
He leaves my skirt to explore my panties, beginning a teasing, tantalising journey that sets off a million tiny sparks as his fingers slip into the leg openings on either side, the coarsepads skating across my hips, making my insides quiver, held by the fabric’s tight fit.
Then he turns his wrists, reaching over the band as his body eases back, using his elbows to close my legs together as he tugs them down in one rough motion, past my knees, another tug to my ankles, then they’re cupped in his hand as he raises them to his face, nostrils twitching, smile broadening.
