Chapter Twenty-Five
Maddox
Twenty minutes come and go, and I’m soaked with sweat, legs aching, lungs burning, head still spinning. But it’s better than being trapped inside that bus alone with her.
I never should’ve walked her back. We’re only a week into this tour and already it’s like I’m losing my grip.
The bass of my music thuds in my ears, but it doesn’t even touch the noise in my head. Not the surprise on her face when I offered her my notebook. Not the unexpected warmth when I gave Cole her sticks. Not the way she looked at me like maybe I’m not the asshole she thought I was.
And definitely not the image that flashes behind my eyelids every time I blink—her mouth parted, skin flushed, the way I desperately want to see it again.
Crossing the street, I ignore the pressure pushing down my shoulders with each step. There’s too much. Too many eyes watching. Too many things we could lose if I slip up. I swear Beau knows. He keeps giving me these looks, already warning me with half-sentences I can’t let him finish.
I know what’s at stake. And I know what I’m risking when I glance at her bunk at night, letting those thoughts flood in like I don’t know any better.
This can’t happen.
But knowing doesn’t kill the ache inside.
My feet throb as I keep running until the tension in my legs is stronger than the knotting in my stomach. Until the edge dulls just enough that I won’t do something fucking stupid the second I see her again. Only then do I turn back.
The cool rush of air kisses the back of my neck as the bus door closes behind me. Panting, I drag a hand through my hair, sweat-soaked and clinging, my shirt tucked into the waistband of my shorts.
Heading to the fridge, I grab a bottle of water, tilting my head back and drinking deep. Ice-cold liquid hits my throat, and I swear I can feel her eyes on me before I remember she’s there. Lowering the bottle, I look over, finding Paige motionless in her booth, my notebook open on the table.
Gaze locked on me, her lips part slightly, her lashes fluttering once as she drags it down, slow and deliberate, over my shoulders, my arms, the muscles lining my pecs, like she’s mapping out my chest.
She doesn’t even try to hide it and, fuck me, that’s worse.
My body responds instantly, desire coiling low in my gut.
Her attention alone is enough to trip the wire I’ve spent the last five miles trying to defuse.
She shifts, and her eyes dart back to my lyrics, trying to pretend like she wasn’t checking me out.
But her cheeks flush, her fingers white with the death grip she has on her pen.
I swallow, trying to ignore it, trying to act casual.
“The guys back yet?” I ask, voice hoarse from the run.
She blinks, her big blue eyes wide like she’s still playing catch-up. “Huh? Oh, no. Not yet.”
Nodding, I jerk my chin toward the small bathroom. “Imma take a shower.”
Her eyes meet mine before quickly looking away again, and I disappear down the hall, feeling her stare follow me the whole way.
The scalding water hits my shoulders and down my back as I stand, palms pressed flat against the tile, head bowed, letting the burn sink in.
I needed that run, needed the space, but it didn’t clear my head the way I thought it would. Not even close. Not when all I can picture is the way she looked at me the second I came back in, panting and dripping in sweat.
Like she liked what she saw.
Cranking the temperature to cold, I tip my head back, the icy spray rushing over my face doing nothing to tame the arousal spiking in my blood just thinking about all the things I could do to her since we’re all alone.
My body reacts before I can stop it, my cock thickening between my legs, and I curse under my breath, the response always happening with her now.
Smoothing a hand down my stomach, my breath shallow, I wrap my hand around it, stroking once. It’s not even about the release. It’s about her. The memory I can’t seem to shake.
The feeling of her clenching around my fingers.
Stroke.
The way her body arched.
Stroke.
The taste of her on my tongue.
I groan, my free hand bracing against the wall, grip tightening.
You agreed. You said one time.
But one time hasn’t left me the fuck alone.
My fist flies up my shaft, my heart hammering against my ribs, my lower lip caught painfully between my teeth.
This isn’t helping. It’s not enough, not without her voice, her sounds, the way she fucking begged for more.
But I know exactly where to find it.
Killing the water, I step out and yank the towel from the hook, running it roughly over my face and chest. The second it’s knotted low on my hips, I’m moving.
If I can’t have her, at least I still have the proof of the one weakness I’ll allow myself.
Steam clings to my skin as I open the door and walk out into the main cabin. Paige is exactly where I left her, curled up on the booth, one leg tucked under her, my notebook still in her hands.
She looks up, and the air shifts, stretches, tightens, I don’t fucking know which, but I feel it everywhere.
Her eyes lock on me again, traveling from my damp hair, down my chest, continuing lower. I grip the front of my towel in my fist, painfully hard and aching, her gaze like a hand trailing along my skin, only igniting the arousal.
I could say something, tease her, run a hand down my abs just to show her I know she’s looking. But I don’t. I’m too fucking hard, too fucking keyed up, that if I stop walking, I’ll bend her over that booth.
Instead, I dart to my bunk, snatch up my laptop, and head into the backroom.
It’s dim, barely lit by the small lamp on the dresser.
Tossing the laptop onto the bed, it bounces, and I hit the door with my foot, kicking it shut.
Towel still in a death grip, I sit on the edge on the mattress, setting the laptop on my thighs.
My fingers move over the trackpad on their own, locating the file in a heartbeat.
I pause, swallowing thickly, the cursor blinking up at me.
I shouldn’t…
But my cock is rock hard and aching, trying to punch a damn hole through my laptop, desperate for relief…desperate for her.
I double-click without another thought, the program opening with a flourish, the waveform barely a ripple, a few seconds of static at first, then the sound.
Her gasp, her throaty whine as I hear myself ask, “Tell me what you want.”
“Don’t stop,” she replies.
The noise that leaves me isn’t even human as I slide the laptop to the other side of the bed, unwrapping the towel and dropping back against the mattress. The file keeps playing, my voice, her moans, her pleasure echoing in the tight space.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I grip myself harder, pre-cum leaking excessively, the slick arousal fueling my fist flying up my shaft. This is ridiculous to the point of obsession, but it’s all I’ve got. The one thing I let myself keep, the moment I cannot forget.
“You have no idea what your desperate cries do to me.”
A groan rips from my throat as I stroke myself harder, my eyes slamming shut as her voice wraps around me like a sin. Every second of that night rushes back, the memory only becoming more vivid with each playback. Her wetness, her pussy pulsing, my name on her lips.
I don’t even hear her coming in, not at first. It’s the sound of the door creaking open, the light from outside slicing in, her breath catching.
My eyes snap open, landing on her in the doorway, face red and wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling like she ran the entire length of the bus just to get here.
I freeze, but make no move to cover up, no move to stop the recording still playing.
Let her see.
Let her see exactly what she does to me.
“Maddox—” Her voice is a breathy whisper.
Her eyes on me are almost enough to unravel me completely.
“Paige,” I rasp roughly.
Her tongue flicks out, wetting her bottom lip, her attention darting to the laptop.
“So that’s what you’re using it for?”
“You knew I kept it.”
“Yeah. I just didn’t think you’d actually listen to it.”
Her eyes catch mine again, and something electric passes between us. Not shame. Not regret. Just unadulterated hunger.
“You could’ve deleted it,” she says, voice dropping. “But you didn’t.”
“Why would I?” I ask, flexing my hand deliberately around the base of my cock, not bothering to hide the effect she has on me. “When it’s the best recording I’ve ever heard.”
Her throat works on a swallow, breath hitching.
I lean back slightly, but don’t stop touching myself. “What are you doing in here?”
“You didn’t close the door properly,” she bites out, squaring her shoulders, the fight I’m starting to thrive on seeping into her body. “And your laptop isn’t exactly quiet.”
“So, what?” My eyes narrow. “You think I wanted to get caught?”
Did I?
Maybe. Maybe I fucking did.
“What if someone else heard it? What if Beau or Eli walked in?”
I stop stroking, just for a second, and look her dead in the eye. “You think I’d let anyone else hear you like that?”
Her eyes flash with fire as my hand starts to move again. “This part of you…it’s mine. Every breath. Every moan. Every fucking sound you made? I’ll never fucking share that.”
She shifts, thighs pressing together, like she’s trying not to react. But I can see her pulse rioting through her veins, the way her eyes try to focus on my face, but fail, dragging back to my hand.
“You like that, don’t you?” I ask, mouth quirking. “You like that I’ve kept it. That I’ve played it more than once.”
“You’re such a cocky asshole,” she snaps, but it’s too breathless to really land.
“And yet you’re still standing here.” I smirk, my gaze doing a lazy sweep over her. “So either close the door…or turn around and walk out.”
Her arms cross over her chest, and yeah, I see the way her nipples push tight against her shirt, my mouth watering to suck them in between my teeth and bite.
“So what are you gonna do, Paige?” I taunt. “Pretend you never decided to walk in here, unaware of what I was doing? Or are you going to join me so I can make good on my promise and make you come quicker this time?”
She doesn’t blink, but doesn’t back away either.
“We said it would only happen one time,” she whispers, almost like she’s reminding herself, like she knows she’s already halfway to letting it happen again.
“Then it’s a good thing I won’t be the one touching you.” I let the implication land as a coy smile tugs at my lips. “Loophole, Paige. Take it.”
“Maddox—” She says my name like it’s a plea, like she needs one last thing to help her cross the line.
“Come on, baby,” I drawl, baiting her with every word. “You came all this way.”
She doesn’t move, hand curled tightly around the door jamb.
Come on.
Another breath.
Another second.
And then she reaches for the handle and steps inside.