“I find it hard to believe you didn’t already have cuffs, Maddie, and I know this brand isn’t cheap. Do I even want to know how much you spent there?”
“Probably not.”
I open the box and pull them out, looking them over. The padding is nice. A bit too thick, but I’m sure they’ll be comfortable. “I wanted to cuff you to the headboard and make you come on the vibrator til you cried,” he says as he sits down on the edge of the bed, and it sounds so petulant, I can’t help but chuckle.
“You should've read the box before shoving it in your nightstand, baby.” I squeeze his cheeks between my thumb and forefingers and pretend my stomach didn’t just clench with anxiety at the unintentional nickname. I’d intended to mock him, but I was almost positive it landed far more gentle than that.
It was an odd thing to find endearing—petulance—but I did. Primarily because I’d venture to guess I was one of the only ones who got to see it. Maddox was composed, responsible, always had his shit together, and everyone else’s too. But he was also a man who rarely took time for himself and had planned something special only to be thwarted by an oversight.
“We can still do that. In two hours.”
He falls back on the bed over the top of my legs and groans, tossing his arm over his eyes. His bulge is obvious, even in denim as thick as his work jeans.
“Maddox.”
He grunts, but doesn’t look at me.
With a snort, I slide my hand over his bulge and palm him with just enough pressure to make him moan and take his arm off his face to look at me. “You remember how you told me to ask for what I want?”
“Mhmm,” he agrees absently, his hips jerking as I apply a bit more pressure.
“I want to get on my knees for you and I want you to fuck my face.”
“Fuckkkkk.” His arm goes back over his eyes but his cock twitches beneath my hand. “I’ve gotta shower first.”
“No, you don’t.” I walk my fingers up to the button of his jeans. What he needs to do is get off my legs so I can get up and take care of him.
As though he can read my mind, he does just that, rolling off the opposite side of the bed and onto his feet. “That was impressive, old man.”
He ignores me, shucking his jeans down. “Come shower with me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to shower.”
“Aus—”
“You’re dirty from working, I know. I have eyes and I also have a nose.” His nose scrunches and he lifts his arms to sniff his armpits. I roll my eyes at him. “This is the second time you’ve told me to tell you what I want and then ignored me when I did.”
That’s a dirty card to play but it does the trick. “I didn’t ign?—”
“I want you. Right now. Dirty. Musky. Sweaty. All of it. I want to be on my knees for you and I want you to fuck my face.”
I don’t know how much clearer I can make it for him. I know he doesn’t understand the appeal. Hell, I barely do. All I know is that his masculinity is making my pussy ache and the only thing I can think about is his strength. For once in my life, I’m not scared when I think about how a man could use his strength on me. I’m terribly, horribly needy.
“You know, for a man with a cock as hard as yours is right now, you’re certainly putting up a hell of a fight.”
“Fine,” he says, as though getting his cock sucked is some sort of chore for him. Maybe in the past it was, but we’ve alreadydiscovered I’m some sort of exception to his need for an emotional connection during sex.
His eyes follow me as I scramble out of bed and undress, grabbing the padded cuffs at the last minute. With my back against the wall across from him, I start to kneel.
“Aht.” I still immediately, even though he just corrected me like he would a horse. Even though I can’t stand it when men do things like that. Everything feels different with him. He tosses a pillow on the ground and then dips his head toward it, a silent command to proceed.
“Getting your face fucked implies discomfort, you know,” I snark, barely pushing the words through my lips.
“Hush. You don’t want to be a brat right now and I don’t want to hear it either.” He walks up to me, threading his hand in my hair and pulling my head close to his cock. He’s still wearing his boxer briefs, but I don’t care right now. He was right, unfortunately. I don’t want to be a brat. I want to submit. I need to.
I lean forward, tongue out like a red carpet for him, but his grip in my hair tightens. “Put your hands on my thighs.”
My shoulders slump slightly as I pull them from behind my back. “I wanted you to cuff me.”
