Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“You keep biting your bottom lip like that, Hendrix, I’m going to give it something to do.” I move my hand off his, needing something to hold on to since my other hand is clenching in the seat, not grasping on with the way the fabric is pressed so tightly against the secluded bench.
“I just bet you will.” My other hand touches his thigh, fingers pressing into his thick muscles, feeling them flex beneath the same moment the tips of Madden’s fingers brush against my wetness. I swear my intention of not wearing panties was not for this moment. Am I going to reap the rewards? You betcha.
“Eyes open. You wouldn’t want someone to come and interrupt me finger-fucking your sweet pussy, would you?” My eyes pop open. Keeping my head still takes every willpower I have within me. How am I supposed to keep a look out when Madden’s fingers glide inside me? The fit is snug for two of his thick digits. The only thing helping is the perpetual state of wetness I’m in when it comes to seeing him, thinking about him, and getting off with him. Well, that last one hasn’t happened yet, unless you count my fingers or showerhead doing the trick. I desperately want to watch his fingers work my body up like it seems only this man can.
“Madden.” I’m holding my body still, against the need to rock my hips, to push into his fingers, to drop my head back, and I’m not even that close.
“Fuck yeah, Hendrix. If you could only see what I’m getting to watch. Your fine-as-hell body, your pussy rippling, trying to suck me into her vortex, much like that mouth of yours does. The way you breathe fire, but the minute I’m touching you, Hendrix, you purr like a kitten.” His words piss me off, and I’m ready to claw at him with my nails, except he does something magical: a flick of his wrist, the way his two fingers are literally in sync, it’s a dual sensation. I can feel the wetness seeping onto my inner legs. How no one can hear or see what Madden is doing to me, I hate the term owning, but I swear that’s exactly what he’s doing, dominating me with pleasure. I turn my head, abandoning what he demanded earlier. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep quiet with the way my center is clenching down on his fingers. My hand that was on his thigh, holding on for dear life, moves to his side. The black suit jacket is out of my way, thankfully. I turn my whole body. Madden’s fingers never stop, never stutter. Instead, it seems he goes at me faster. The edge of bliss is right there. My mouth meets his neck. Madden’s shirt is open at the throat, allowing me the sanctuary to muffle my cries, but it’s when his thumb rubs over my clit, pressing down, harder than I’ve ever had before, that’s when I bite, teeth meeting flesh, so hard that I hear him mutter, “Son of a bitch.” I don’t let go, though, and he doesn’t stop, even when my body is over the hurdle of what it would be like hiking eight miles in the dead of summer in Las Vegas. That’s how much Madden has taken over my body. I’ll never let him take over my mind. I’m rip away from him, grab my clutch, slide around the other side of the booth, and I’m running. The only thing I hear is Madden’s low, throaty chuckle. I don’t care about the confused look on the server’s face as he rounds the corner or the hostess who asks if everything’s okay. Nothing is okay. It probably never will be, and no one, I repeat no one, will ever make me feel like that except Madden. Isn’t that the kicker, too? The man is a pain in the ass, a nemesis in every sense of the words. The only plus side to this is he doles out amazing orgasms.
SIXTEEN
Madden
“I see your guest has left. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Hughes?” Cole, the server, asks as he sets down the drinks I ordered when we first sat down. I told him there was no rush to bring our orders because once I got a glimpse of Hendrix’s thigh, there was no turning back.
“No, I’ll be leaving,” I tell him, pulling out my wallet to leave him enough to cover the check plus a tip. I’m out more money than what it would cost had we stayed all night, since this place has a hold fee on your credit card for no-shows and canceled dinners. Hendrix had other plans.
“I hope you enjoy your night, sir.”
“Thanks, you too.” I slide out of the booth, button my jacket, replace my wallet, and make my way out of the restaurant.