Chapter 17 Madison #3
I’m wet at this point; I have to be. My body doesn’t normally make much lubrication on its own—thanks, anxiety meds—but I’ve quite literally never been this turned on. My hands dance around in their prison, wanting to touch and feel and grab onto something so I don’t float away.
He straightens. “Eyes on me, love. You’ll watch me as I touch you.”
In response, my whole body clenches at once.
As his fingers dip lower and lower, leaving a wake of goosebumps, my pulse races, and I widen my stance for him so he can get between my thighs.
I almost drop the bra from my mouth as his fingers skim over the lace covering my pussy and every muscle in my stomach quivers in anticipation.
His eyes widen as he feels the wetness that has seeped straight through. “Fuck,” he whispers, reverent and desperate.
He hooks the crotch of my panties with his index finger and moves it aside.
We both make choked noises when he slides between my lips.
His blunt fingertips strum against the hard little nub of my clitoris, and my body jerks against his hand.
A breathy noise escapes me, and the bra slips from my mouth.
He instantly retreats, pulling back. “You want me to stop?”
“No!” I gasp, scrambling through the brain fog and distracting way my body is burning and aching. “No, I just dropped it. Please don’t stop.”
His lips twitch, and he cocks his head, the confusion melting back into heated interest. “So she can be a good girl and ask nicely for what she wants.”
Irritation tightens like a whipcord, and I start to argue, but I’m cut off.
As though from out of space and time, a shrill alarm suddenly sounds, piercing right through the cloud of arousal.
We both stiffen, and he pulls back, letting me go.
He gives his fingers an almost perfunctory suck—like he needs to clean them, and how else would he?
—before he reaches for his back pocket to grab his phone. Apparently he has two.
Reeling as if I just woke in the middle of a dream, I fix my bra as he reads something that makes him curse. “It’s one of my alarms at the safe house.”
I know that look. He’s going to leave. Right in the middle of what we were doing. “Something… urgent? Life or death?” It must be if it’s more important than this. Than me.
He glances up from his screen, and his scowl melts off his features when he sees the look on my face.
He reaches out to cup my jaw, stroking the edge of my mouth with the side of his thumb.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay here—inside.
You’ll be safe for now, just… Stay away from the windows and don’t answer the door for anyone but me. ”
I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as I jerk away from his misplaced pity and concern. I’m not afraid; I’m wound so tight I might snap. I’m fucking trembling with need, and he’s going to leave me high and dry. He’s not going to finish what he started. Again.
“Bold of you to assume I’ll answer the door for you.”
He eyes me, but doesn’t try to argue. He must be in a hurry. “At least load your gun, all right?”
I make a noncommittal noise. I mean, obviously I’m going to—I’m not stupid—but I don’t want him to think it’s because he told me to. And I still want to know how he knew it wasn’t loaded.
I shuffle out of the way of the door as he shoves his feet into his boots and collects his jacket. As he grabs the knob, he throws me a look over his shoulder. “And Madison?”
I brace myself for the sheer devastation I know is going to follow whatever he says next.
“Be a good girl for me and keep those hands to yourself. At least until I tell you otherwise, yeah? Your pleasure is mine.”
I roll my eyes and jerk away. “Oh, fuck all the way off,” I say, flipping him the bird as he opens the door. “You probably wouldn’t have been able to get me there anyway.”
He freezes. “Is that a challenge?”
Trying to tune out the heat in his tone, I examine my nails. “Just a fact, baby. SSRIs are great for anxiety, but not so great for the libido.”
Quicker than I can react, he whips a hand around the back of my neck and tugs me towards him. His kiss is hard and quick but full of meaning—a statement of ownership, a promise, and an apology—and he lets go before I can really get a taste. “We’ll see about that.”
He disappears through the doorway, and I’m left totally unbalanced once again. I’m starting to really loathe the sensation. “Next time at least buy me dinner so I’m satisfied in one way!” I call after him, physically incapable of not getting the last word.
His chuckle echoes down the hallway as he exits the building, and I slam the door.
Once everything settles, the silence of my apartment is almost oppressive. Some Bills and I stare at each other in wide-eyed confusion, both wondering what the fuck just happened, but for different reasons. Probably.
Okay, that was… a lot.
The man I’ve been dating showed me hints of this, but this is the man I always hoped was in there.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved the chivalry and the teasing banter and the careful choreography of two strangers getting to know each other, but it doesn’t hold a candle to this.
He’s the proverbial cat to my mouse—the predator who wants to play.
He knows how to tease, how to provoke reactions out of me, how to keep me wanting more… how to make me want to give in.
And honestly, if he hadn’t been pulled away, I probably would have—consequences be damned. And it probably would have really complicated everything because I still need to figure out what’s going on, and being sex drunk makes that kind of difficult.
So… maybe it’s not such a bad thing he left. I can cool off and do some research of my own about this so-called hit list. Part of me believes SpyderMan’s story, but I still want proof. And if someone wants me dead, I know a few people who might know something about that.