Chapter Thirty-Three
Maddox
On my fingers, she tasted sweet.
Directly on my tongue? She’s fucking addictive.
Wet and warm and wicked, my cock throbs with every slow, desperate swipe.
I smile against her, craving to hear that gasp as it spills from her lips, her back arching off the bed. Her hand flies to my hair, tangling in the strands and holding me to her like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
As if I could fucking stop.
With a deep and guttural groan, I greedily run my tongue up one side before moving to the other.
Flicking fast around her clit before sucking it between my lips, feeling her hips roll against my face.
When I plunge it inside, spearing her tight cunt, I nearly lose it, my eyes rolling in the back of my head.
She’s soaked, flooding every sense I have with her taste, my chin dripping in her arousal, making a mess that feels a shame to waste.
But it’s not just how wet she is for me; it’s the image of her on the bull, hips rolling in perfect rhythm like she was made to move like that.
Like sex.
Like sin.
Like mine.
And now, I want her just like that. On top, in control, riding me.
With another hard suck on her clit, I tear myself away as she cries out, my nostrils flaring, lust in overdrive.
“Come here,” I growl, fingers digging into her hips, dragging her on top of me as I lie back. I pull her higher, setting her thighs either side of my head, her perfect pussy hovering above me, begging to be fucked. “Show me how well you can ride.”
Her eyes go wide, pupils blown, breath caught between shock and uninhibited need. “W-what?”
“You heard me.” I cup the round globes of her ass, guiding her down. “Just like you rode that bull. Grind this pussy on my tongue. Show me how you come when you’re using my mouth to get yourself off.”
Her thighs tremble as she lowers, suspended just above my mouth. She braces against the headboard, arms tense, watching me like she doesn’t know if she can really do this.
I don’t give her time to overthink. I lean up, tongue sliding through her pussy, dragging a shudder that makes her slip, forcing her exactly where I want her.
She shifts, pressing herself against me with a broken whimper, tearing a groan from my throat, the sound vibrating through her as she starts to fuck my face with a need I feel all the way to my core. Grinding, bucking, using my mouth like a toy, chasing her release.
I’m hard as steel as my hands grip her ass, each guide of her dirty rhythm, her moans a naughty symphony, making my cock leak.
Her muscles tense under my palms, her thighs tremble against my jaw, hips jerking every time I lap at her clit with my tongue or scrape it with my teeth hard enough to make her scream.
I look up to watch her. How could I not?
She’s fucking feral. A goddess among men.
One hand grips the headboard as the other cups her tit now completely free from her cami, squeezing, tweaking, pinching her nipple.
She looks absolutely debauched, hair flowing like flames down her back, mascara smudged, eyes slammed shut, her top half-falling down her gorgeous body, clinging for dear life as she becomes a vision of insatiable need.
I groan again, louder than before, my tongue relentless, swirling and fucking into her.
One hand stays clamped on her ass, keeping her on my face, as I’d rather suffocate than have her move off me, while the other drops to my jeans, palming my cock through the denim, the bite of the metal zipper sending zaps of pleasure to my balls.
I’m so fucking hard it hurts.
I could come just from this. From the taste of her. From the sound of her falling apart on top of me.
“Fuck, Maddox, I…” she cries out, and I press down harder, rutting against my own hand like a goddamn teenager tasting pussy for the first time. I’m more animal than man, lost in the primal instinct to feast as she whimpers my name.
“That’s it,” I rasp, voice hoarse as my hand slips lower, teasing the curve of her ass before sliding between her legs, fingers coating in her slick and my spit, before my middle finger sinks into her cunt, making her shudder. “Give me everything. Soak me. Drench me. Don’t fucking hold back.”
My lips seal around her clit again, nipping and sucking relentlessly until her rhythm breaks, a ragged sob tearing from her throat as she throws her head back, her thighs clamping around my head like a vise.
I don’t stop, keep licking her through the quake of her orgasm, tongue punishing and worshiping all at once.
She screams shamelessly, echoing off the walls in the safety of this hotel room.
Writhing above me, her body jerks, hips twitching out of control as she coats my mouth and jaw in everything she has.
The pressure building in my cock detonates white-hot and blinding. I grind into nothing, groaning into her soaked cunt as my hips piston upward, helpless to stop it, muscles locking as I come in my pants, cock pulsing, and I don’t give a single fuck.
Not when one of her hands is tangled in my hair, pulling the strands hard, like she never wants this to end. And all I can do is keep licking, swallowing every drop as she shakes and moans above me, until she finally collapses forward, forehead braced on the headboard, panting.
“Holy shit,” she breathes, easing off me slowly. Her legs tremble as she flops down beside me with a shaky laugh. “And here I thought that sharp tongue of yours was only good for arguing.”
Her laughter fades as she glances down, noting the obvious shift in my breathing. Her eyes flick to mine, then back.
“Wait… Did you…?”
I drag a hand down my face, half-exhausted, half-wired. “You rode my face like you were a damn rodeo queen. What did you expect?”
She grins, curling onto her side to face me. “That good, huh?”
“Your pussy should come with a warning label.”
That makes her laugh again as she lies flat on her back, the sound smug and far too satisfied for someone who just destroyed my ability to walk straight.
“Guess I’m better at riding than I thought,” she mutters, biting her lip.
“Yeah?” I rasp. “No shit.”
She sighs, glancing at me again. “You okay?”
I nod, but it’s not convincing. Not even close. I’m wrecked. Not just from the sight of her above me, wild and completely fucking unreal… But from her in general.
Fingers find mine in the space between us as she links them together. No pressure. Just connection.
Just her.
And fuck, I want to stay. I want to roll her under me, get drunk on her skin, and do it all over again.
But I can’t.
I sit up slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
“I should go,” I mutter, though I don’t move.
She pushes onto one elbow, those blue eyes searching mine. “You can stay…if you want.”
But we both know I won’t. I reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, tracing the line of her jaw. Then I kiss her, slow and quiet and stupid with meaning, like maybe it can say things I won’t.
Breaking away, I slide from the bed, grabbing my shirt and tugging it over my head as I move to the door. My hand curls around the handle, and I glance back at the beautiful woman lying in the center of the bed, skin flushed, lips parted, eyes fixed on me.
And I know, with a bone-deep certainty, this won’t be the last time. Because I’ve stopped looking for loopholes. Next time? I won’t be hiding behind any excuses.