Chapter Twenty
Maddox
What am I doing?
I’ve crossed the line straight into insanity, and I’m dragging everything I’ve built down with me. The band, the music, the one thing I swore I wouldn’t fucking touch.
I should pull back. Walk away. I wasn’t lying when I said that if I kissed her, I wouldn’t be able to stop, and now I’m preparing to do something much worse than a kiss. But the sound of her breath hitching, the way her body’s arching into mine, I’d rather burn it to the ground than stop now.
I told her I nothing her, but that was a damn lie. Every time she’s near, I can’t think, caught up in a chaotic swirl of desire, guilt, want, fear. Each one trying to rip me apart. But that sure as hell doesn’t stop me.
The need to ruin her has shifted from destructive to something more carnal, and now I want to fucking consume her.
And I hate myself for it.
She’s already shaking, her thighs twitching like she’s trying to hold herself together. I’ve barely touched her yet, just the mere suggestion of it as my knuckles ghost over the silk of her underwear.
Her hips shift involuntarily, chasing me as I drag my fingers lower, following the seam until they graze where she’s soaked through the fabric.
It’s like fucking lightning, a high voltage jolt making her body buck as I don’t do more than tease her, wanting to savor this moment, committing everything to memory; the way her eyes flutter, the way her lips roll between her teeth like she’s trying to hold back a moan.
Slipping a finger under, I inhale a sharp breath, finding her slick and hot and goddamn perfect. I push farther inside, circling over that tight, aching bundle of nerves nestled between her legs.
Paige gasps, her head tipping back, throat bared like an offering.
Her nails dig into my biceps, the sharp bite of pain only making it worse.
My cock is rock hard, straining behind my zipper, every muscle in my body taut with a restraint I don’t have.
I feel rabid, like I’ve been starved solely for her and now she’s here for the taking.
I curl my finger, just enough to breach her entrance, drawing a broken, breathy whimper that shoots straight through me.
Running my nose up her throat, I nip at her jaw, tasting her skin, all salt and heat and sin, feeding the toxically infatuated part of me that doesn’t just want her, but wants to brand her.
The scent of her, sweet and heady, fills my lungs as I push inside, one finger sinking deep. Her body clenches around me as she moans, reacting like I’m the only one who’s ever touched her like this, and fuck if that doesn’t make me want more.
And it might just destroy us both.
Because I already know once isn’t going to be enough.
“This what you needed?” I breathe against her ear, pushing down the urge to rush through this, experiencing everything that is Paige as my lips brush skin I should never have touched, my tongue flicking the edge before I bite, hard.
“I’ve had better,” she says shakily, but the underlying bite to her words makes me smirk.
Even with my finger deep inside her pussy, she’s still full of sass. We’re playing with fire, pouring gasoline over every inch of us and sparking the match. But the way she moans as I pull out and rub her clit, I don’t care.
“Fighting me and still so fucking needy.” I laugh, dark and mocking, as her hips roll against my hand.
“Fuck you, I’m not ne—”
I tap my finger harder against her clit, creating a dirty rhythm just for her. Three fast, two slow, each one sending ripples through her body, eliciting a throaty gasp that cuts her off.
Her legs shake and her hand flies back to catch herself, knocking gear across the desk, not that she seems to notice. She’s losing herself in my touch, eyes closing, mouth parting in that silent, wanton way that I know is going to kill me.
I circle slowly, before one finger turns into two, and I imagine it’s not my fingers buried inside her. My hips twitch at the thought, my cock like steel and desperate for friction. She widens her legs farther, grinding down on me, chasing her release, too far gone to care.
She’s fucking breathtaking.
“You sure?” I ask against her throat, lips grazing skin I want to bite, bruise, mark. “Then why does it feel like you want more?”
I suck the spot between her shoulder and neck, making her shudder.
“Tell me what you want,” I rasp, needing to hear it to know she needs this as badly as I do.
“Don’t stop,” she pants, her plea tangled in a moan.
That does it. I fuck her with my fingers, hard and deep, curling just right until she lets out this high, guttural cry that makes my cock leak in my jeans.
She rides my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her together, one leg tangled between mine, so beautiful in the way she begs for it, screams for it.
If I wasn’t already fucking obsessed, this would end me.
“You have no idea what your desperate cries do to me,” I growl as I press my lower body against her thigh, needing even the slightest bit of relief from the pressure crushing me. Looking down, she watches the way I rut against her, her eyes slowly lifting back up, a coy smile on her lips.
“I think I do.” She rubs her thigh against mine, dragging a tortured groan from my chest. “You already know what you do to me. I think you should show me exactly what I do to you. Show me how you can’t get enough of me, and let me feel all of you.”
I grind down harder, the friction sending sparks straight to my balls, her breathy gasp only making it worse. I’m not even embarrassed, too close to the edge of losing control because nothing compares to the way she feels beneath me, around me, so fucking close to coming.
I want to watch her shatter because of me.
I want to own every tremble, every breath, every fucking sound she makes.
“I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?” I ask, voice like gravel. “You gonna make a mess all over my hand, knowing exactly what you do to me?”
She whimpers, hips stuttering, fingers twisting in my shirt and drawing me closer.
“You talk too much,” she moans, her gaze wild, her tongue swiping across her lower lip as she stares at my mouth. She wants me to kiss her, her pulse a shaky rhythm I can see in her neck.
I lean in, inch by inch, close but not touching, just enough to feel her breath on my lips, then shift at the last second, bypassing her mouth and landing at her ear instead.
“You want my mouth?” Curling my fingers inside her, slow and deliberate, I pull another broken sound from her. “You think I’m gonna kiss you sweet while you’re dripping down my hand? You think I’m going to muffle those sexy-as-fuck noises you’re making?”
I press deeper, letting the slick, obscene sounds fill the space between us. She pants, fluttering tight around me like the words alone pushed her closer.
“I want to hear them, Paige. I want to memorize everything,” I growl against her skin. “How you sound. How you feel. How you look falling apart for me.”
A raw moan tears from her throat. She stiffens, rising onto her toes like she’s trying to outrun the inferno of pleasure I know is burning through her, but there’s no escaping me.
She shudders, forehead pressed to my shoulder, arousal coating her thighs as I work her through it, every tremble of her orgasm winding tighter around my ribs.
I lean back slightly, watching her lashes flutter uncontrollably, catching something just behind her that I hadn’t noticed before: the faint red glow of a light on the console beside us.
I look down at Paige’s hand splayed wide next to the keyboard, the mic for talking into the studio angled differently, the counter rolling on the screen.
Eight minutes and fourteen seconds.
Adrenaline surges through my blood. Every sound, every moan, every filthy word. It’s all there in wavelengths and frequencies.
I should stop it, reach for the mouse and put an end to our impromptu X-rated B-roll. Do the right thing. But I don’t. I simply stare at that red light and, fuck, it makes me even harder.
I slow down, drawing out every twitch, every whimper, milking her through the end until there’s nothing left but sweat and a beautiful mess.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her temple as she slumps forward into me, breaths labored, legs weak from exhaustion. “Fuck, Paige…”
“Maddox,” she pants, her voice broken as the last shivers of her orgasm pulse around my fingers.
I pull out slowly, my hand glistening with her, the sound of her soft pants filling my ears. She’s not just wrecked, she’s undone.
And I like it. Too much.
I wait for the guilt to sink in, for the voice to tell me I don’t deserve this.
It’s the same voice I had that night in her dressing room, the one that stopped me from kissing her.
But it doesn’t come. What comes instead is darker, primal, a type of satisfaction I can feel in my bones.
Because now I know what it’s like to watch her in a complete state of euphoric bliss, all I want is to do it again.
Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I lick off the taste of her, savoring the sweet and salty flavor that’s instantly addictive. She watches me, unblinking, unwavering, looking like she can’t decide if she wants to slap me or drag me back in. And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more.
I glance at the monitor again.
Ten minutes, twenty-three seconds.
Ten minutes of us.
I should delete it. Erase every trace of what we’ve done, but I can’t bring myself to.
Instead, I open the nearest drawer and rummage inside, finding what I need.
Hitting stop on the recording, my hands shake as I slot the USB into the drive and quickly copy the file over.
Every second drags as I watch it upload into the folder, the completion bar creeping upward until it’s done.
Then I delete it from everywhere else—software, backups, trash—until it’s gone.
Except from the little silver device.
Rearranging myself, I pocket the USB, knowing I’m going to have to take care of this before we start practice, the taste of her still on my tongue only making me starve for more.
And now I have this…memento. For nothing more than proof.
Proof that I felt something real.
Proof that I don’t want to let it go.
Paige’s eyes widen, looking from the soundboard and back to me like she’s just remembering where we are. What we did. What I have.
“Maddox, what are you—”
I close the space between us before she can finish, lifting my hand and dragging the finger I had inside her seconds ago across her lower lip. Her breath catches but not in shock or anger.
Something else entirely.
I step back, tension still thick between us, my heart pounding like I’ve done something irreversible.
“Why did you…?” She swallows, her eyes cutting to my pocket, then back to me. “What are you going to do with it?”
A smirk pulls at my mouth, and I brush the outline of the drive with my fingers. “Think I’ll call it your second audition.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she quips, fastening up her pants.
“Yet I just made you come in under eleven minutes.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Like that’s impressive. I’ve made myself come quicker than that.”
I smile wider this time, not because it’s funny, but because I like this more than I should, this back and forth, heat and bite, tension and denial.
“Then I’ll have to do better next time.”