Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maddox
The city’s still lit when I walk into my apartment.
Not that I notice any of it.
I toss my keys into the tray by the door and scrub a hand over my face, still wired from the gala.
From her.
From everything.
Two floors. That’s all that separates us now.
Sloane fucking Carrington is two floors above me, probably unzipping that green dress I haven’t stopped thinking about since the second she walked into that ballroom.
And I’m down here—pacing my apartment like a lunatic.
I pour myself a drink, only to find the only taste I want is of her.
The image of her—flushed from dancing, lips parted from laughing, hair falling loose around her shoulders—won’t let go.
Neither will the memory of her eyes finding mine across the room. Or the feel of her body in my hands, moving with me like it meant something.
It did mean something.
I don’t care how many lines are between us. Don’t care that she’s my boss, or that I’m the last man someone like her should want.
Because I do want her.
I want her in every way I’ve spent the last six weeks trying not to.
And pretending otherwise isn’t noble anymore.
It’s bullshit.
I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of my apartment, chest tight and blood hot.
She’s up there. Two floors above me.
Probably still awake. Probably pacing like I am.
Or maybe not. Maybe she’s curled into silk sheets with the weight of the night pressing down on her shoulders like it always does.
Maybe she’s already dreaming, face soft and vulnerable in a way no one else gets to see.
Maybe she’s wishing someone would come to her.
My body moves before my mind catches up.
I grab my key card and head for the door.
No more waiting. No more pretending.
I need to see her.
The elevator dings once, low and sterile, as I step into the lobby of The Apex.
Midnight hush blankets the marble floors, the sleek black walls throwing back my reflection in slashes of steel and glass.
The concierge behind the desk looks up, startled, because it’s late, and I’m sure I look like a man gone mad.
Because I have.
I’ve gone mad for my boss.
The only woman who looks and sees me.
And I’m about to break every rule I’ve set.
“Evening, Mr. Lasker,” the concierge says, his voice overly polite as he straightens in his chair.
His name tag says Aaron, and he’s maybe twenty-three, fresh-faced and eager in a way that makes me feel ancient. “Is there anything I can—?”
“I need to go up to the penthouse floor.”
I say it flat and direct. Like I’m asking for something simple.
But his expression freezes for a beat too long.
“The penthouse floor is restricted access, sir,” he says, shifting slightly in his chair. “I can call Ms. Carrington and—”
“No.”
I don’t mean for it to come out so sharp, but it does. I scrub a hand over my jaw and try again, this time softer. “Don’t buzz her.”
Aaron hesitates, hand hovering near the console. “Mr. Lasker, I really shouldn’t let anyone up unless the resident—”
“I live here,” I cut in, jaw tight. “Seventh floor. You know that. You know who I am. ”
“Yes, sir, but the penthouse—”
“I need to speak with her,” I say, locking eyes with him. “And I’m asking you to let me up. Just this once.”
His gaze flicks toward the elevator. Back to me.
He’s young but not stupid. I’m sure he can see it in my eyes. He knows exactly what this is.
Still, he hesitates.
The silence stretches.
And then he exhales, nods once, and taps a key on the panel.
“You’ve got five minutes, sir.”
The elevator doors slide open behind me with a hiss of judgment.
I step in without looking back. But just before the doors close, I lean out.
“One more thing.”
Aaron glances up.
“Don’t ever let another man go up to her floor without buzzing her first. Got it?”
His eyes widen a fraction. “Yes, sir.”
I nod once.
Then the doors slide shut, sealing me inside a box of mirrored walls and reckless intent.
She’s just a few floors away.
And I’m done pretending I can keep this clean.
The soft ding of the elevator barely registers.
All I hear is the thud of my pulse and the voice in my head telling me to turn around.
To be smart.
To stop.
But I don’t.
I cross the penthouse hallway, every step deliberate, heavy, echoing off marble and glass.
She owns the whole floor, and I know which door is the one I need. I’ve walked past it a hundred times in my head, usually with my fists clenched and my jaw tight.
This time, I lift my hand.
Knock once.
The door opens almost instantly.
And there she is.
My heart nearly stops, and my dick is fighting the constraints of my pants.
At least I still have my tux jacket on.
Hair still pinned in that elegant twist, a few strands slipping loose like she’s been pacing.
The dress still clings to her like it was sewn to her skin—dark green and glittering, low in the front, slit high enough to haunt me.
Barefoot.
Just her.
And me, barely breathing.
There’s something intimate about her being barefoot and in a dress that glitters.
She’s also shorter than I thought without the heels, but that just makes me want to possess her and protect her even more.
“Maddox,” she says, like she wasn’t sure it would be me, but hoped anyway.
I don’t answer.
I step inside, crowding her backward without touching her. She doesn’t move to close the door—it swings shut behind me like it knows what’s coming.
“I can’t do it anymore,” I rasp. “I can’t keep pretending this tension between us isn’t fucking real.”
She backs up until her spine hits the wall. “What are you doing here?”
“You know what I’m doing here.”
My voice is low. Ruined.
I crowd her space, bracing one hand beside her head. The other slides to her hip, grabbing a fistful of that glittering green fabric like I’m starving for it.
“I should’ve taken you in that elevator,” I whisper against her mouth, “should’ve stripped you bare and made you scream my name with the whole damn city listening.”
Her eyes flare. Her chest rises.
But she doesn’t stop me.
Her perfume wraps around me—sweet, expensive, and maddening. She’s so close, I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.
Can see the shiver ripple through her when I press harder into her body, every inch of me wound tight and reckless.
“You think I don’t remember the way you looked at me?” I growl. “The way you breathed my name when I had you caged in that corner?”
Her fingers curl into my shirt. “We can’t—”
“We already are.”
I crash my mouth to hers.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Hungry. Raw. All teeth and tongue and the kind of groan that’s been living in my chest since the first time she walked into my Boston apartment.
She kisses me back like she means it. Like she’s breaking open for me in real time.
I grip her thighs and lift her—dress hiking up, her legs wrapping tight around me.
Her back hits the door with a thud as I grind against her, every hard inch of me pressed between her legs.
“This what you wanted?” I growl into her neck, biting the skin just under her jaw. “Me pinning you just like before? Except this time, I’m not walking away.”
She moans, low and desperate. “Maddox—”
I shift my grip and tug the dress up over her hips.
“You wore this to kill me, didn’t you?”
“Maddox—”
“Say it,” I demand. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want it,” she breathes, wrecked and honest and so fucking beautiful I could die.
That’s all I need.
“You gonna stop me?” I rasp, voice dark and low against her mouth. “Tell me this is reckless? That you’re the boss and I should know better?”
She bites my bottom lip, eyes flashing.
“Not a chance.”
“Fuck,” I groan, grinding into her as I press her harder against the door. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do.”
I shift her weight in my arms and slide one hand beneath the slit of her dress, finding nothing but heat and bare skin.
No panties.
Jesus Christ.
“You wore this with nothing underneath?” I rasp, breath catching.
“I told you I wanted this.”
“I don’t know whether to punish you or call you a good girl,” I growl against her neck.
She gasps when I slide my middle finger inside her pussy, pumping it in and out, her wetness soaking my hand.
“Fuck me, you’re soaked. That’s all for me, isn’t it?”
“Yes…it’s all for you.”
“Well, then I guess that makes you a good girl.”
I slide in another finger and her hips move against my hand, her chest heaving against mine.
When I add pressure against her clit with my thumb, my name is like a prayer on her lips.
Control slips out of reach, and I fumble with my pants like a damn teenager.
I press into her, one arm braced against the doorframe, the other gripping her thigh as I angle my hips.
She’s already wet, already arching into me.
That’s when I realize there’s something different—
“Fuck,” I ground out, “I don’t have a condom.”
Her eyes meet mine, those green depths glazed with lust but also something that looks like earnestness.
“I’m on the pill and safe. And I know you just had a physical.”
“Yeah, I’m safe too.”
And I’ve never, ever had sex without a condom.
I press into her. “Too late to run, sweetheart.”
“I’m not running anywhere.”
When I finally, finally push inside her—fast, deep, raw—her cunt clasps around me like a fist.
Her head hits the door, and she moans my name like it’s the only one she remembers.
I fuck her like I’ve been starving for it. Like this is my last night on Earth and I want nothing more than to go out with my cock inside her.
But beyond the animal lust that’s driving my hips to meet hers, there’s more.
Every sharp breath, every bite of her nails in my shoulders, every hoarse whisper of my name against my ear—it all confirms what I already knew.
This isn’t a mistake.
It’s the truth I’ve been denying since the moment we met.
I want to drag it out, so I can savor every second of her falling apart in my arms.
But I can’t hold out. I’ve wanted her so bad for so long.
And when she comes—shuddering, clinging, panting against my neck—I lose whatever restraint I have left.
I spill into her with a groan, forehead pressed to hers.
We stay like that for a moment. Breathing hard. Shaking.
When I finally catch my breath, I carry her to the bedroom, her legs staying wrapped around me. Her hair falls loose, and her eyes don’t leave mine.
“I’m not done with you yet, Sloane. Not even close.”
“Thank God.”
I squeeze her ass when she kisses me, her tongue tangling with mine.
No, I’m not done in the slightest.
But this time, when I take her, it’s won’t be with the animal, caveman type lust that I had fucking her against the wall.
It’ll be about everything we haven’t said.
And everything we can’t stop feeling.