Chapter 19 Madison
Madison
He is so unbelievably charming.
I don’t know how long it’s going to be before I get another chance to visit Abuela, so I decide to spend as much of the day with her as I can.
I’m even in the room when the VP of Sunset Hills drops by after his meeting with “a board member” and breaks the good news that she’s getting an upgrade.
In true Abuela fashion, she takes the news with a show of polite gratitude for him and prickly old lady cynicism to me, once his back is turned.
Manny kicks me out when visiting hours end, and I shoot Wesley a text that I’m going home as I head to my car.
As I pause at my mailbox, I inhale the amazing scent of someone’s dinner, and my stomach growls.
Must be my upstairs neighbors, the Morettis, because it smells like tomato sauce, garlic, and home-cooked Italian love.
Maybe I’ll dig out that packaged lasagna in the freezer… unless Wesley wants to order takeout.
Warmth smacks me in the face as I throw open the door to my apartment, and I register a few things at once: the lights are all on, that smell is getting stronger, and…
Wesley’s in my kitchen, leaning on his elbow on the counter and giving Some Bills a scratch so thorough that his purring is audible from here.
“What… the fuck?” I manage.
“Hello Madison.”
“Wesley? You… Did you break into my apartment again? To… cook?”
With a smirk on his lips, he straightens, ignoring Some Bills’s meow in protest of the interruption. “You wanted to be satisfied in all ways, yes? Well, I have a chef friend who gave me a recipe ‘simple enough a child could do it.’ And if it tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll be quite chuffed.”
“You can’t just…” I trail off, heaving a breath.
Damn, it really does smell good in here.
My stomach flips over, both in hunger and at the thought that he took my offhand comment to heart, and now he’s doing something about it.
He cooked for me. He surprised me with it.
And, yeah, he totally broke in to do it, but it’s not like it’s the first time…
My ability to rationalize creepy behavior ought to be studied.
“I knew it was a waste of money to get the locks changed,” I sigh dramatically, hanging my purse on a hook.
“It was,” he smiles, like he knows how half-hearted my protest is. “It won’t matter soon anyway. We’ll be leaving for the safe house tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, will we? Good of you to let me know what our plans are.”
He chuckles. “My pleasure.”
“Hmm. Getting a bit high-handed there, Sir.”
His lips quirk up, but he refuses to rise to the challenge. It’s like he knows I’m needling him, trying to evoke a reaction. “Do you want to sit and relax while I finish up? I’ve got a bottle of red wine.”
“Fancy,” I drawl, though my heart is hammering at this ridiculously sweet gesture.
I consider him as he turns back around and stirs something on the stove.
I know if I sit and watch this gorgeous man cook, I’m going to want to jump his bones.
And I really need to do some prep work before that happens.
I’m a hairy girl—it grows thick and fast—and I swear my pussy has a five o’clock shadow by noon. “I want to shower.”
He nods, looking a little disappointed.
Inexplicably, that excites me—it makes my blood pump a little harder. How far can I push him? “It’s not gonna be a quick shower, either,” I add.
“Take your time,” he says lightly.
I start replying, but cut myself off as he reaches for a wine glass. Wait, where the hell did that come from? I don’t have wine glasses… Did he bring it?
“But first, come here.”
At the order, arousal and anticipation knot together in my stomach. Damn, I love that don’t argue with me tone. Makes me want to argue real bad.
I approach tentatively, and he sets the glass aside.
When I’m within reaching distance, he wraps a hand around my hip and jerks me against him.
A gasp slips out, and I have to catch my balance on his chest. He slides his index finger into the choker and uses it to pull me in as he curls down and slants his lips over mine.
There’s zero ramp-up to this kiss. As he fuses our mouths together, I find that he tastes earthy and acidic from the wine and tomato sauce. It makes me smile against his lips—a smile he returns against mine.
He strokes his hands down either side of my torso and lets them land on my ass.
I moan into his mouth as my core electrifies from the contact so close to where I want him to touch me.
That moan turns into a whimper when he grips me tight, squeezing and kneading as he pulls me even harder against him—something I didn’t think was possible until it happened.
Just as I’m trying to get my legs around him, he pulls back. “In case you were wondering, love, that’s a proper greeting.”
I hum thoughtfully, lips stretching into a grin as I unwind from around his neck and drop back fully onto my feet. “Not ‘what the hell are you doing in my house’?”
He shakes his head.
“Not ‘hands off my pussy’?”
“I hope not,” he chuckles, glancing over at Some Bills. “I think he quite likes me.”
“Well, then… Pip pip, my apologies,” I tease, attempting a British accent and failing miserably.
With a soft smile, he reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “What do you think ‘pip pip’ means?”
I shrug.
“It’s a farewell, and it’s quite old-fashioned—mostly said ironically, now.”
“Oh,” I say. Backing away, I move towards my bedroom door. “Well… Pip pip, then. I’ll see you in about an hour.”
He nods and turns back to the stove. “When you’re finished, we’ll eat, then we’ll discuss the important stuff—logistics, our plan, etc—and then we’ll play.”
A thrill zings through me. I love how casually his dominance comes out sometimes. Because he just said it like it was a foregone conclusion. Like there’s no room for argument. “You mean you actually plan to try to make me come this time?” I taunt.
Once again, he refuses to rise to the bait. “I do. And you will.”
That simple, straightforward reassurance replays in my mind while I shower, making me shiver despite the boiling temperature of water I prefer.
After the everything shower that leaves me languid and tingling, I take a quick peek into the main room and my heart does a happy dance. He’s sitting on the couch, reading something on his phone and stroking a totally blissed out cat.
I duck back into my room to dry my hair and consider my next move.
I’m liking Wesley’s little delayed gratification game plan less and less.
I just… I need to know what he feels like inside me.
I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sit across from him for an hour when I know the night is going to end in my bed.
Do I go along with the plan that means I get what I want, but not exactly how or when I want it?
Nah, not really my style.
I have a lot more pretty underwear he’d probably like, though I wonder if that’s enough to tempt him to veer from his little plan. And, I mean, if we’re just going to get naked after dinner, I don’t really need to put on clothes…
Oh, ding ding. That’s the one. We’ve got a winner.
When I emerge, Wesley is still on the couch. He doesn’t look up as I step into the room, so I clear my throat pointedly.
He glances up, then does a double take. His phone nearly slips from his hand as his jaw drops and his eyes go down, up, then back down my naked body.
I watch as he takes in the decorative ink that I love so much, then locks in on the swells of my breasts.
My nipples pebble under the attention, and excitement thrums in my veins as I recognize the same look he wore when I dropped my dress last night.
“I want to play first,” I explain, sensing he’s going to be speechless for a little while longer.
That snaps him out of it. “First?”
“Before dinner. I’m not that hungry,” I say lightly. But it’s like the thought of food activates my stomach, because in that instant it betrays my lie and lets out a loud growl. My eyes widen, hand going to my middle.
He shoots me a knowing look. “No?” he teases, lifting a brow.
“Okay, so I am hungry. But I’m hungrier for something else.” I let my gaze drop meaningfully to the front of his pants, where the fabric has tented around a very impressive, very mouthwatering hard-on.
He reaches down and adjusts his cock, making me smirk in anticipation. Fuck yeah. He’s excited. I bet he’s spent the day in just as much painful anticipation as I have. He’ll give me what I want. Score one for the brat.
Setting Some Bills gently aside, he stands, brushes some hair off his pants, and starts rolling up his sleeves in a move that would light my panties on fire if I were wearing any. I track the motion, mouth going dry at the slow reveal of ink, pale skin, and veins.
I didn’t need to be more turned on, but here we are, I guess…
“No. Sit. I’ll get you a plate. Once you’ve eaten and had plenty of water, then we’ll play. You’re going to need the calories, and I don’t intend to stop for a snack break.”
So caught up in the forearm burlesque show, it takes a second for his message to sink in. I heave a playful sigh and roll my eyes. “Fine.” I turn.
“Madison,” he says sharply, halting me in my tracks. “I told you to sit.”
“I know, I was going to—”
He pulls out one of the stools and gestures to it. “Before you showered, I explained how the night would go. You remember?”
Tentatively, I nod.
“But you decided you wanted something different, so you came out here naked to tempt me to get what you wanted?”
I nod again, slower this time. It’s not dread mounting in me, per se, because he’s so calm. But there’s an odd, fluttering, nervous feeling in my chest.
“Then sitting here naked while you eat the lovely meal I made for you is the appropriate consequence, don’t you agree?”
That taut thread of tension snaps, and I nearly laugh in relief. I didn’t realize until now that I was a little nervous about how he’d react. My lips twitch as I take a half step towards the stool. “If I say no, will it get me punished?”
He chuckles. “I will never punish you for honesty or telling me what you really think, only for trying to manipulate me or bend the rules that have been clearly stated and agreed upon.”
Oh okay. So it’s gonna be like that. I think I’m starting to understand what kind of dynamic this is—and it fills me with excitement because he’s deliciously dominant AF and seems to really like the bratty flavor of my submission. We’re a match made in heaven, slowly descending into hell.
“I think I’m picking up what you’re putting down. I had to try, though, you know?” I say with a rueful smile and a shrug. ”I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
“We have that in common.”
I wriggle as I settle bare, throbbing skin against the cold, unyielding, rough wood of the chair’s seat. Knowing I have to sit here like this because he told me to… fuck, it gets me going.
I’m often naked in my own apartment, but I still feel exposed and sort of on display for him like this. I hope he’s got some butter for all these rolls—he can lick it off. He looks like he wants to; his eyes are practically burning holes into my skin, they’re so hot with desire.
Dios, he makes me feel so damn sexy. I fully believe that the hottest thing a person can be is self-confident, but it’s just so much fucking easier when the person you’re with is so open about their appreciation.
Hopefully, it’s a quick meal.
He pours me a glass of wine first, grinning in what must be self-satisfaction as I shift around, trying to find a comfortable position. I eye the glass. He went out of his way to buy it, and it’s probably perfectly matched to the dish or something… Maybe I can be a classy bitch for one night.
“Thank you,” I say demurely, reaching for and taking a large sip of the wine. I nearly cough instead of swallowing. “Yup. Confirmed. Don’t like wine. It tastes like sour grapes and feet.”
He laughs as he places my plate down. “What should I get instead next time?”
Next time. Swoon.
I shrug as I pick up the fork. “Not sure I understand the concept of drinking alcohol for the flavor. I’ve done, like, shots. But that’s about getting drunk. None of it tastes good. Except margaritas,” I amend.
“I’m more partial to champagne, myself.” He grabs a plate for himself and slides into the seat next to me.
Huh. An even classier bitch.
Now that he’s seated, I load up my fork. “This is really good!” I say, eyes wide and mouth full. Frozen lasagna can suck it.
“Thank you,” he inclines his head and takes a bite.
“Not to sound ungrateful for the meal, but you know you didn’t actually need to wine and dine me, right?” I smirk, twirling another noodle.
“That was fairly obvious from the seduction attempt, yes. But I wanted to. We’re starting over.” He sits back and gestures to the meal, his smile filled with pride. “This is our first date.”
“I thought our first date was tacos and stories of our misspent youth.”
“That was Peter and Madison’s first date,” he counters. “This is SpyderMan and mermaidav’s first date.”
Gah, he is so unbelievably charming. I hide my smile in another bite of noodles. “So, SpyderMan, tell me about yourself. Is it true you’re an assassin?”
“I am—only the wankers who really have it coming, though, I promise. And I usually refer to myself as a hitman. It feels less formal somehow.”
“How are the benefits?”
He quirks a smile. “The life insurance sucks, if I’m honest.” When I laugh, he joins me, and the moment feels 10 times lighter.
“I meant to ask earlier, how did you know my gun wasn’t loaded last night? Part of your hitman training?”
He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “About six months ago, you told me that guns scare you and that you’d never keep one loaded in your home.”
“Six months ago?” I repeat, disbelief creeping into my tone. “You remember a conversation we had six months ago?”
“I’ve told you before, Madison. I remember every conversation we’ve ever had.”
His voice is so sincere, goosebumps crawl down my arms and across my chest. “I think I’m starting to believe that,” I murmur, almost too low for him to hear.
But he does hear, and he grins. “All right, my turn. Operating system: Windows or Mac?”
“Trick question.”
His grin turns sly. “Is it?”
“You know it is. The correct answer is Linux.”
“Only for those of us who can’t build their own.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I cry. “You built your own operating system?”
“Several, in fact. My first when I was 18.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “You are such a nerd.”