Chapter Twenty #2
her fingertips teasing circles low on his abdomen. “Let me get mine,” she said softly, sipping kisses on the swell of his
chest, his jaw, his shoulders, all while her fingers danced over the heavy ridge behind his zipper. “Show it to me, Mad.”
A sound dragged up his vocal cords, his stomach muscles bunching in a way that looked almost painful. “Eve.”
“Show it to me so I can suck it,” she whispered, stroking him through his pants, her grip firm, her thumb tracing base to
head, teasing him there, before massaging back down to the root. “Are you going to make me say please?”
He bit off a groan, a sheen of sweat building on his chest. “I’m the beggar in this relationship, love. I’d beg for you until
my dying breath.”
Eve’s chest grew heavy and she nodded, dropping her face low to rub it against the protrusion between his thighs, dragging
her open mouth side to side, witnessing the growth of him right in front of her eyes. As her fantasies usually included two
elements—Madden and some light voyeurism—her gaze couldn’t help but slip over to the window across the room and notice the
slight gap between the curtains.
Someone could easily look in if they wanted to.
The thought alone was enough to infuse her with heat, her fingers working to free the button of his jeans—
“Caught you looking at the window, Eve,” he managed between rasping breaths.
The tips of her ears tingled hot. “Me? No.”
Madden made a skeptical sound and caught her jaw in his hand, lifting her up until their lips melded together, the growth of his beard scraping the softness of her cheeks and chin as his mouth rode over hers, seeking and hungry.
“Trust me to give you what you need,” he said, taking her mouth again, again, again, until she almost begged him to stop the torture and fuck her.
As hard as he wanted, however he wanted.
Plainly put, she’d never been so lost to lust in her life.
Nothing mattered but the next stroke of his tongue, the next position of his hands, the radiant heat of his body.
“I do trust you,” she gasped.
Madden nodded and rose from the couch, bringing her with him. He guided her across the room to the spot directly in front
of the window and knelt her down.
Then he yanked open the curtains.
In spilled the muted, stormy light across both of them as Madden unzipped his jeans, the tendons shifting and popping in his
forearms. Meanwhile, Eve was trembling, her tank top around her hips, soaked through her panties, mouth swollen . . . reeling
from the impact of what was taking place. Sure, her apartment was located on the second floor and the rain was blurring objects
on either side of the window, but there was an identical building across the parking lot and their windows faced hers. If
someone was watching, they would see her kneeling in front of Madden, half dressed.
“Mad . . .”
“Is this what you need?”
Her body was too keyed up and defenseless to make words. To make sense. Yet at the same time, in this submissive position
with an audience—be it real or imagined—she felt more powerful than she ever had in her life.
She nodded vigorously.
Madden used the back of his wrist to swipe sweat from his forehead, hesitating to gather himself before fisting his shaft and bringing it out of his jeans, showing it to her, long and engorged in his palm. Pumping it top to bottom in his grip. “Is this what you need?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer and rested the smooth head against her mouth. “Good girl. Show everyone how well you suck your husband off.”
Eve pretty much blacked out. That’s how she would remember it later. The last thing she recalled with her human brain were
those eleven words, prior to her animal brain taking over, her fingers scraping his jeans down to his ankles, along with his
black briefs, the salt and weight and texture of Madden in her mouth. Finally. God, he was huge. And generous with his approval,
moaning her name any time she did anything. Anything. Flicked her tongue across his damp slit, took him so deep her lips brushed
his balls, blinked up at him. He praised it all. He shook through it all. Eve couldn’t remember if she even stopped to breathe,
she was so eager to be a good girl, to lose herself in this moment where she was an object of hunger. A means of pleasure.
It was freeing, exciting, erotic. It was the hottest experience of her life. Everyone watching was envious of Madden. Wanted
a turn they would never be allowed. Only in their dreams.
“Love. Love, I can’t hold on to it anymore.”
“Give it to me.”
“Say that again,” he rasped, panting. “But call me your husband.”
“Please, I want my husband to give it to me.”
Eve barely finished breathing those requested words when Madden’s hips jerked, a choked sound left him, and she covered him with her suctioning mouth, whimpering at the simultaneous power and weakness of him, how susceptible he was to her touch, the salt washing down the back of her throat, the sinew of his thighs straining underneath her palms. All of him.
All of him, every part was perfect, but the fact that she was trying to express that truth was probably lost on Madden, because he was too busy praising her.
“Eve. My god. My god. Eve. You don’t know the pain of needing to fuck this mouth. You’re so beautiful. Work me. Fuck, that’s
it. Work it all out of me. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
When her animal brain winked off and her human one came back online, Eve was in a heap on the floor, struggling to breathe
while Madden zipped himself up above her. How had this happened? How had giving someone else head knocked Eve on her ass? What in the world was going on here?
She stopped caring when Madden got down on the floor and lay beside Eve on his side, studying her face while his right hand
molded her ass, his touch firm and possessive.
“Can I go down on you now?”
“What?”
Her phone rang.