Chapter 26 Madison #2
That does it. Decision made, he cups the back of my head and pulls me in for a bruising kiss.
The instant our lips touch, he cradles the nape of my neck and fuses his mouth to mine.
He bites at my lips, plunders my mouth with his tongue, and our teeth hit each other almost hard enough to make me pull away.
I can feel how badly he wants to tear off my clothes and flip me over.
I can taste how badly he wants to take control.
I place a hand on his chest, feeling his warmth and the steady beating of his heart against my palm. “On the bed.”
While I like being on my knees because of the interesting feeling of the power dynamic, I can appreciate the comfort of a soft mattress. I take his hand and pull him with me, waiting as he gets settled propped against the headboard.
I climb onto the mattress straight into his open arms, straddling him, putting our faces close enough to breathe the same air.
He’s so handsome. I could live in his gray eyes, could spend hours tracing lines between the faint freckles on his nose that I never saw until now.
I love white guys—between the freckles and random tiny moles everywhere, they’re covered in brown spots, like tortillas.
As we kiss, I grind on him, rocking my hips to tease him. When I can feel him stiffening against me, I shift back, off his lap. My eyes drop, and my hand slides down his hard chest, skating over the ridges of his abdomen through his button-down, and settles on his belt buckle.
“I’m in control now, Sir. Your safe word is ‘don’t stop,’” I joke with a wink.
I open his fly with a flick of my long nails. I watch and salivate as his cock pops out of the hole in his boxers, hard and shining with precum. Once he’s settled in place, I lean forward and lick that pearly drop. He hisses and his abs tense, but to his credit he doesn’t grab for me at all.
My hair follows the trail I make as I flip up the bottom of his shirt and press a soft kiss to every tattoo I can see and dip my tongue into every ridge where muscle meets muscle.
I take my time, feeling his desire shifting into something more urgent.
After a few minutes of lips and gentle brushes of my hair on the most sensitive part of him, he’s panting, sweating, so tense it’s like he’s going to snap at any second.
I glance up and see that his eyes are squeezed shut so hard that it’s carving deep lines between his brows and around his eyes.
I blow some cool air on the head of his cock, and the whole thing jerks.
“Fuuuuck,” he hisses.
I grin. “Be as loud as you like. Scream my name, Sir,” I croon, teasingly throwing his words back at him.
“Fuck, Madison,” he breathes, emphatic with the rush of air he was holding in. “You’re having too much fun with this.”
The agony in his tone is music to my ears. I smile against his skin on the next kiss. “I’ll take What not to say to a brat when she’s in control for $800, Alex.”
“Bollocks,” he whispers through a broken laugh, and the word itself sends shivers down my spine.
“This is hard for you, isn’t it?” I ask, cocking my head as I gaze up at him.
“I think you’ll find it’s hard for you,” he grits out.
I giggle at my unintentional double entendre. “I meant this,” I gesture to the way he’s gripping the sheet with white knuckles instead of my head. “Not being in control.”
After a second, he nods. “It’s not… my normal way. Only for you,” he says softly. “I’d only do it for you.”
That bowls me over. I guess I didn’t realize how deep that dominant streak went.
I suppose it makes sense, though. He’s a man used to controlling everything, including a network of informants and the information itself.
It shows in little ways, too, like how clean and meticulous and organized he is.
And that is so exciting. Because while I’m having fun, I’m just a tourist. Giving the orders doesn’t get me going nearly as much as taking them. Or, rather, playfully deciding whether or not to follow them.
It’s only fun for me now because he’s not truly submissive—I’m just borrowing the power. Honestly, the real rush I’m getting is from teetering on the edge of his control. If I tease him hard enough, will he flip us over and take what he wants? It’s exhilarating.
“I guess it’s lucky that I’m much more of a bottom than a top,” I assure him.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he groans. “What are you going to do? Tell me.”
“Ah ah,” I chide, rearing up and shaking my head like I’m admonishing him. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be making noise, not asking questions. Now who’s the brat?”
His laugh this time is edged with mania and turns into a whining noise as I let my hair brush against his length.
It’s gotten almost impossibly harder with all my teasing.
He loves this, and the intensity of his desire for me is fucking everything.
His hips buck, and I press my hand against his lower abdomen, tsking.
“Madison,” he growls, reaching for my hip.
With a grin, I take pity on him, kneeling over him, gripping the base of his cock, and swiping my tongue across the slit at the top.
His moan is low, primal. I take the head into my mouth and swirl my tongue around the tip, pressing hard against that spot just under the flare on the back part, where most guys are sensitive.
And he’s one of them. He practically jack-knifes as his thighs lift off the mattress. “Oh fuck! Madison, my love, that feels amazing.”
I close my eyes. My love. I let it wash over me like a warm wave of bliss. I push deeper, drooling all over his cock to ease my way down, reveling in every helpless, desperate noise he makes. I know he’s trying so hard not to grab my head…
His restraint nearly breaks at one point, and I nearly ask him to just do it—to fuck my face like he wants—but I suppose this is better. I’m a gal who enjoys a good face-fucking, but bent over like this is not the best position—that’s how you lose your breakfast.
“Fuck, you’re so good at that. You’re taking me so well… fuck.”
If I had to rank my favorite sex acts I’ve done with other people, giving head wouldn’t be at the top, but there’s something different about having this kind of power over Wesley. Giving him pleasure makes me feel so good about myself. It doesn’t hurt that he tastes and smells incredible.
So I give him everything I’ve got—I suck and roll my tongue across his shaft; I use a hand when I can’t fit more of him in my mouth without gagging, and I use the other to reach into his pants and cup and play with his balls.
I lose myself in the repetition of bobbing my head, and the feeling of the smooth skin on my tongue. Just as I’m about to pull away for a break, he groans and jerks under me. My mouth fills with the earthy, salty taste of him.
“Swallow it all,” he orders, sounding transfixed as he finally gives in and weaves his fingers into my hair. Brushing it back so he can have a view. “Good girl. That was such a good job. Goddamn, Madison.”
My pussy pulses at the reverence in his voice and soft praise. I sit up, and he follows, placing his warm hand around my throat, like a comfort. I welcome its presence, reaching out to clutch at him. We stare at each other with soft smiles.
“Ready to go?” I ask brightly.
He chuckles and tucks a green forelock behind my ear. “After the blood returns to my brain, sure,” he jokes, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my lips.
Once he recovers, we head down to the garage. I give him the address; he types it into his phone’s GPS and lifts a brow at what comes up.
I shrug. “That’s where he’ll be. Two birds with one stone—we can grab lunch!” I enthuse.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever had a proper, authentic tamale.”
“Then you’re in for a treat.”
With a smile, he sets the phone into the holder clamped to the handlebar and kicks the bike into gear.
And then I’m clutching Wesley for my damn life.
I really thought motorcycles would be cool and fun, but I’m just cold and terrified.
My stomach bottoms out every time he has to lean and shift his momentum to take a turn.
And even the powerful rumbling between my legs and Wesley’s soft stroking of my thighs as a comfort whenever we stop at a red light can’t bring me out of it.
It almost works, though.
Wesley rolls to a stop. He dismounts first, glancing around as he helps me off. I can tell he’s assessing his surroundings, and I wonder if he’s ever been to this part of the city.
On the whole, Ulysses is tired and underserved by a local government stacked with corruption.
City Hall sits in the northern part of the city, in streets lined with old elms and metered parking.
The southern part of the city is where they shove all the ugliest parts they don’t want to think about.
But there are a few blocks, right in the middle of it all, that are a bright spot amidst the dereliction and decay.
None of the buildings here are crumbling, and the cars on the street have all their tires.
After all, when you’re at the top of a crime-adjacent empire and you employ half the neighborhood, no one would dare graffiti your building. People don’t care how dirty the money is when it’s poured into the local community; they’ll deny ever having heard your name when the cops come around.
The people who live here are like one big family, and Mama B is a second abuela to me. She’ll cluck over my outfit and tell me I’m not eating enough beans. Oh, shit… I didn’t brush my teeth after what Wesley and I did…
I lift my hand, cupping it in front of my face, and do the breath-sniff test. All I can smell is my own skin. Why do I bother? It never works.
I nudge Wesley and murmur, “Does my breath smell like dick?”
“What?” he asks, throwing me a look over his shoulder.
I blow air in his face—or as close as I can get, 10 inches below him—and he makes a face of surprise. “Dick breath?” I ask.
A grin splits his face, and he chuckles. Suddenly, I’m pulled into his body with a thick arm around my waist. “Yes,” he says fondly, leaning down, kissing me and promptly sticking his tongue in my mouth. “And now so does mine. That’ll really confuse them, don’t you think?”
I throw my head back and laugh with my whole body.
We climb up the concrete steps, and I inhale deeply as the warmth spills out, meeting me in the doorway.
Mama B’s Tamales is like a warm hug from my childhood—the air is fragrant with chiles y tomates, the walls are covered in colorful murals, neon-colored paper cutouts hang from the corners of the drop ceiling, and the travertine tile floor smells like lavender Fabuloso.
Mama B greets me with a deeply lined smile and a tight hug.
“Hi Mama B. Good to see you. This is Wesley,” I say, jerking my thumb at him. She waggles her brows at me, a silent approval.
After giving him a motherly pat on the cheek, she lifts her voice, calling towards the back.
“?Hijo! Madison está aquí y trajo a su novio. Iré a buscarlo, no me oye desde esa oficina,” she says, releasing me and heading towards the back of the restaurant, where Tío keeps one of his many offices.
As she goes, she urges, “?Siéntate! Te traeré tortillas.”
Wesley seems surprised at her abrupt departure. “She’ll be back. Her first instinct is to feed everyone. I’ve known her all my life,” I explain.
Wesley and I are choosing a table to sit at when a familiar face appears in the hallway. Dark hair, dark eyes, tattoos, a permanent smirk…
“Tío,” I say, stepping to the side so I’m not blocking Wesley. “I’d like you to meet—”
“You,” Tío says from the doorway, eyes wide in shock.
“You!” Wesley echoes, grabbing my arm and tucking me protectively behind him.
I scowl, but before I can ask what the fuck is going on and how they know each other, Tío Felix produces a gun and points it at Wesley. “Madison, why don’t you step away from the nice hitman?”