Chapter 17 Blake
Blake
Mads kisses me like he needs it to stay alive, hands framing my face with enough pressure to leave me dizzy, bracing himself even as he comes undone.
His mouth moves against mine with unflinching focus, every brush of his lips demanding more.
I’m breathless, weightless, still tasting him on my tongue, every nerve lit by how much it turned me on to watch him fall apart for me, and by how impossible it feels not to beg for the same in return.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, voice uneven between desperate kisses. “Been thinking about this for weeks. Every time you look at me like you might finally give in to us. Every time you didn’t.”
His lips move to the corner of my mouth, then trail down my jaw, a burn racing just under my skin. He presses one more kiss below my ear, and it’s slower, rougher, sucking hungrily at the spot. Leaving his mark.
“Gonna ruin you,” he whispers, not for the sake of filling the silence, but seemingly because it’s been his plan all along. “Slow if you let me… fast if you beg for it.”
I can’t tell what’s more nerve-racking—the fact that anyone could find us here like this, or that I believe and desperately want every single thing he’s saying.
“C’mon,” he says, grabbing my hand. His palm is warm, firm, a tether against the storm that’s been churning in my head all night.
“I’m not risking getting us walked in on by someone wearing a demon mask.
Not when I’m about to worship you properly.
I’ll be damned if anyone else ever sees you the way I’m about to. ”
He doesn’t stop to consider whether we could go back to the apartment. Just leads me past a half-built set that’s covered in sawdust and drags me behind a crooked plywood wall painted to look like peeling concrete.
He’s a man possessed.
He looks over his shoulder with a grin that’s all teeth and intent, and says, “Hope you’re not too attached to standing upright, Blue.”
I let him pull me toward the back of the set, weaving through half-finished projects here and there. There’s a supply closet with the door cracked just enough. He nudges it open with his boot.
The second the door clicks shut, darkness folds around us, broken only by the thin strip of red emergency light bleeding in through the gap at the bottom. Then his mouth is back on mine.
It’s hot, urgent, shameless.
He kisses me like he’s staking a claim he’s had all along. His hands bracket my hips, steering me backward until my spine meets the edge of a shelf with a muted thud. Something rattles loose and clatters to the floor.
He kisses down the side of my neck. “Stop me if you need to,” he whispers. “Because I need you too damn much to stop on my own.”
As if I ever would.
He steadies me even as everything else spins.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, palms warm through the fabric of my jeans. His thumbs move to stroke just under the waistband. “Cold or excited?”
“Cold, but you’re fixing that fast.”
He grins, pleased, entirely too sexy. “Perfect.” He crushes his mouth to mine, then eases back, voice washing over me as rough as the kiss. “I’d worship you the way I’m about to every night if you’d let me.”
I barely have time to take my next breath, let alone respond, before he’s dropping to his knees in front of me.
His hands skim up the backs of my thighs with deliberate intent, denim pressing tight beneath his fingers, and somehow it feels like he’s touching bare skin.
His fingers fumble with the button, then the zipper, careful and quick. He tugs at the waistband, and I squirm, letting him work them down just enough. My jeans catch just below my knees, bunch around my calves, but neither of us cares.
Not when his hands find me again.
One curves around the back of my leg, anchoring me, while the other finds the top of my thong and drags it down in one slow, agonizing movement.
He looks up at me once, pupils blown wide, dark swallowing every trace of color.
The rest of the room falls out of focus. I have to remind myself to breathe.
When he leans in, I forget everything—where we are, who we are.
His breath is hot against my skin as he speaks, and the sound of his voice alone makes my knees wobble. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His words scrape right down my spine. “You think I’m walking out of here tonight without my mouth on you, you’re out of your fucking mind, Blue.”
I somehow manage to say, “I wouldn't dream of depriving you.”
His fingers press harder, rough. I feel the insistence in every nerve, and I’m seconds from collapsing under the weight of his attention.
My knees do buckle slightly when his tongue drags an unhurried path up the inside of my thigh.
He stops just shy of where I’m desperate for him, and I can feel his breath there—warm, taunting.
He presses a kiss to my hipbone, then lingers, eyes flicking up like he’s waiting for me to say something.
Does he want me to beg? I’m quickly finding that I’m not above it.
My hands grip the shelf behind me, white-knuckled, trying to stay upright while my entire body pulses with want. “Mads—”
“Easy, Blue. I’ve got you.” He palms my ass cheeks, coaxing me closer to the edge of reason, of control.
He sucks one of my pussy lips between his teeth, then the other. The sound his mouth makes when he releases each one is lewd, borderline embarrassing.
“Please, Madsen.” My hips cant forward, my aching center begging for contact with his tongue.
Two sharp tsks. “So impatient.”
He nips at my inner thigh, just enough to make me flinch and curse under my breath. The sting fades fast, but the ache he leaves behind lingers.
“Spread your legs a little more for me,” he murmurs. Not a suggestion. A command.
I do. Because I’d let him tell me to do anything right now, and he knows it.
His thumbs move in slow, lazy circles on either side of my thighs, like we’re not still potential seconds away from someone coming in here and finding us. Like this isn’t the single most unhinged decision we’ve made yet.
No more unhinged than me sucking his cock out in the open a few minutes ago, I remind myself.
When his mouth finally moves to where I need it, I almost cry.
He drags his tongue along my pussy like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. The warmth of it. The way my muscles twitch under his touch.
“God, you taste good,” he says into my skin. “Been thinking about this since the first time you ran your mouth at me.” I let out a whimper, barely audible. He groans in response.
I suck in a shaky breath, one hand gripping his hair at the root.
His mouth is firm and focused, his pace torturously steady. He doesn’t stop to talk now, doesn’t tease. He just works me over with single-minded purpose, hands holding me like I might vanish if he lets go.
My head tips back against the shelf, the edge of it digging into my shoulder blade. I don’t care. My thoughts are static. My whole body burns. Every movement of his mouth sends another jolt through me, pressure winding tighter and tighter.
He moans against me, like he’s the one getting off on this, and the sound shatters something low in my stomach.
“Madsen—oh my god, I’m—” My voice cracks, the words caught somewhere between begging and disbelief.
“Don’t come yet, baby. Let me enjoy this,” he murmurs, his mouth still pressed against my skin, the words vibrating against me as much as I hear them.
I come hard, thighs trembling around his shoulders, body breaking in half. He holds me steady through all of it, mouth still on me, letting me ride it out until I have nothing left but the frantic thrum of satisfaction in my veins and the cotton in my brain.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are puffy, and he looks far too pleased with himself.
“Hi,” he says, eyes dark. “Still think I’d make a shit boyfriend?”
I can’t answer. I just stare at him, chest heaving, legs barely holding me up.
He grins, then rises and frames my face in both hands, thumbs brushing lightly over my damp cheeks. His eyes search mine, steady and warm. “You okay?”
“No,” I blurt out, with a half-cynical laugh.
His smile turns into something downright smug. Falters. “I’ll never get enough of this. Of you.”
I should say something back. Something clever or nonchalant or anything that doesn’t make me sound like I’m about to cry over how good he just made me feel. But all I can think is—if this is what falling for him feels like, I’m so, so screwed.