“Do you want to?” I press, my voice tight with jealousy.
She swallows, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
“Look at me,” I command, my tone harsh, demanding.
She nods, her eyes wide and trusting. “I want to fuck you too,” she confesses, her words a final, devastating blow to my self-control.
I curse, a long string of profanities that does nothing to ease the ache in my groin. “I can get you off, but I can’t fuck you.”
She whines, a high, pathetic sound that tears at my heart. “Why not?”
“Because if I fuck you,” I finally confess, unable to finish the sentence. I try again. “If I fuck you, I’ll never get over you. I’ll never be able to let you go. And you’re not mine to keep.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of understanding dawning in their depths. “When... when were you into me?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“Oh, Millie,” I say, my heart aching with a love I’ve kept hidden for so long. And then I’m kissing her, my mouth crashing down on hers, a hungry kiss that’s been years in the making.
It’s a clash of teeth and tongues. I pour all my frustration, all my longing, all my love into that kiss, and she meets me with a passion that takes my breath away.
I lift her off the floor, my arms wrapping around her waist, her legs wrapping around my hips. I carry her to the bed, my movements clumsy. I lay her down on the mattress, my body covering hers, my mouth never leaving hers.
I tug her legs to the edge of the bed, parting her thighs. And then I see it. The slick. A glistening, wet proof of her desire, a sweet, intoxicating invitation.
“You are so wet,” I say, my voice a low, reverent whisper.
“Please, Maddox,” she begs, her hands fisting in my hair. “Please.”
And all my thoughts disappear. All my hesitation, all my fear, all my loyalty to Liam—it all fades away, replaced by a single, all-consuming need. I need to taste her. I need to make her mine.
I lower my head, my tongue tracing a path down her stomach, my hands holding her hips, holding her still. I can feel her trembling, can hear her soft whimpers, can smell the sweet, musky scent of her arousal.
And then I’m there, my mouth on her, my tongue delving into her wet heat. She cries out, her back arching off the bed, herhands tightening in my hair. I lap at her, my tongue exploring every fold, every crevice, tasting her, devouring her.
She’s moaning now, a sound that drives me wild. I can feel her getting closer, her muscles tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I increase the pressure, my tongue flicking against her clit until she’s screaming my name, her body convulsing in a powerful orgasm.
But I don’t stop. I can’t. I want more. I want to see her fall apart again and again.
I slide a finger into her, then another, feeling her clench around me. I curl my fingers, finding that spot inside her, that magical bundle of nerves that makes her see stars.
“Oh god, Maddox,” she cries out, her hips bucking against my hand. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
I pump my fingers in and out of her, my mouth still on her clit, sucking, licking, driving her wild. She comes again, her body shaking, a wave of slick gushing out of her, coating my hand, my face.
“Holy fuck,” I say, my eyes wide with awe as I watch her. She’s trembling, sweat sliding down her tits, her skin flushed and glowing. I’ve never seen her like this, so wild, so uninhibited, so completely lost in pleasure. I want to burn this moment into my memory forever.
I cup her pussy, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm ripple through her. She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. And she’s mine. At least for tonight.
I lay my head on her stomach, the skin there soft and warm, still damp with a fine sheen of sweat. I press a kiss to the slight curve. I wait, my own body a coiled spring of tension, for her breathing to even out.
Her nails rake through my scalp, a gentle, soothing motion that does little to calm the frantic thrumming beneath my own skin. I’m so hard it hurts, a persistent ache that demandsattention. I fight the urge to rock my hips into the mattress, to seek some friction, some relief.
I won’t. Not here. Not now.
It takes forever, or maybe it just feels like it. Time is a strange, elastic thing in this small, scent-filled room. Finally, her breathing deepens, the frantic panting replaced by a more peaceful, even cadence.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the words barely audible in the quiet.
I turn my head, my cheek still pressed against her stomach, to look at her. Her eyes are closed, her face relaxed in a way I haven’t seen in... maybe ever. “You don’t have to thank me.”
