Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sloane
His hands are everywhere.
Not frantic, not greedy.
Claiming. Certain.
He lays me down like I’m something he’s fought for—bled for—and now that he has me, he’s not wasting a second.
The dress slips under his palms as I shift back on the bed, satin catching on skin. He watches the motion like it’s sacred, like he’ll memorize every inch before he lets himself taste it.
“You’re unreal,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Laid out for me like this…”
He swipes a hand down the inside of my thigh, his knuckles grazing the slit in my dress. “This was all night. All fucking night.”
The fabric pools at my ribs as he works it up slowly, his breath heavy above me. When I lift to help him, he shakes his head.
“Don’t. I’ve got you.”
It’s like he wants to unwrap me, worship me.
I fall back against the sheets, arms above my head, giving him everything.
He draws the dress over my head with maddening care, inch by inch until I’m left completely bare for his eyes to feast.
His gaze rakes down my body, heat and hunger colliding with something deeper—reverent and raw.
“I’ve imagined this,” he says, low and rough. “Too many goddamn times.”
“Maddox…”
“Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. Not after watching you in that dress, dancing with every man who wanted a piece of you.”
His hands slide up my calves, over my knees, along my thighs until they’re braced wide on either side of him.
“But you were mine the whole time, weren’t you?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t have to.
My body arches, and I gasp as his mouth finds the top of my thigh, then higher. He doesn’t rush this time.
Just takes his time, leisurely kissing my skin around everywhere but where I want it the most.
My hands find his hair, and I try to guide him where I want him. Where my body needs him to be.
When he drags his tongue up my seam and sucks on my clit, I nearly lose my damn mind.
His mouth works me over with heat and possession until I’m writhing, whispering his name like it’s a vow.
And just about when the crest begins to build higher and higher, he pulls away.
I can’t help it.
I beg.
“Maddox, come back please.”
His smirk just makes the flames licking in my core hotter.
Especially since he’s unbuttoning his shirt and I get to see that gorgeous chest again.
“Patience, pretty baby. I got more for you.”
I lick my lips like the cat in heat I am while I watch him undress.
My eyes widen slightly when I get a look at his cock. I’ve felt it inside me so I knew it was big, but I didn’t expect it to look as perfect as it felt.
His smirk widens as he strokes himself. “Like what you see, don’t you?”
I lift my gaze to his, wanting to be coy but finding that at this moment, I just don’t have it in me. “Yeah, I do. And I want more of it.”
His eyes darken and he growls, crawling his way up my body.
Yessss…is all I can think when his bare skin touches mine. He’s warm and strong and hard in all the right places.
Something shifts in my chest, and while I know this should only be about sex, I can’t help but feel that it’s more.
I just hope I’m not alone in that feeling.
By the time he presses into me—slow, deep, and anchoring—I’m nearly ready to detonate.
His head drops to the curve of my neck as he moves, his hips meeting mine over and over.
Each thrust is thick with everything we’ve never said out loud.
This shouldn’t happen.
It was always going to.
“I should stop,” he growls, driving deeper. “Tell me to stop.”
“I won’t.”
He lifts his head, eyes black with need. “Then tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours. I’ve been yours since I first saw your picture.”
That breaks him.
His rhythm turns desperate, hips snapping harder, one hand tangled in my hair.
He kisses me like we’ll burn for it later, but every singe is worth it.
Every thrust drives me higher and higher until I’m once again begging him not to stop.
And when I shatter beneath him, he lets go too, spilling everything into me with a growl I feel in my bones.
Leaning his forehead against mine, he kisses me softly, our breath mingles.
Then he rolls us over and wraps his arms around me like he’s holding the only thing tethering him to this world.
The room is quiet except for the soft whisper of the HVAC and the rustle of sheets as I shift. His arm tightens around me.
He's awake.
Has been, maybe. Or maybe the movement stirred him.
I don’t open my eyes at first. I just let myself feel it—the warmth of his skin, the steady beat of his heart, the way my body fits into his like it was built to belong there.
“You ever gonna sleep?” I murmur against his chest.
Maddox huffs a breath that might be a laugh. “I can’t. Not when I’m this close to you.”
I glance up, eyes meeting his. He brushes a piece of hair off my cheek, fingertips lingering.
Laying there, I just watch him for a moment.
His hair’s a mess. His mouth is still kiss-bitten. There’s a faint pink scratch on his shoulder from my nails.
God help me—I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.
He stares back at me with that look.
That same look from the elevator, the look in his eyes when he entered my body.
Raw. Real.
“You always like to stare after?” he murmurs.
I smile, lazy. “Only when the view’s this good.”
He huffs a quiet laugh and closes his eyes, his long lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones.
Damn, I’d kill for lashes like that. It takes a stupid expensive bottle of mascara to make that happen.
Silence stretches between us, but it’s not awkward. It’s heavy with something…softer.
Safer.
I trail a finger across the line of his ribs. “So,” I say, keeping my voice low, “how’d you end up playing hockey?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
For a second, I think maybe I’ve stepped somewhere I shouldn’t, but then his voice comes, rough and quiet.
“My mom used to flood the backyard in the winter. We didn’t have a lot, but she made sure I had skates. I’d stay out there for hours. I think it was the only time I didn’t feel like the walls were closing in.”
I go still.
He doesn’t elaborate, but I don’t need him to. I hear it.
The silence between words.
The kind of childhood that shapes you.
“You were good early?” I ask gently.
He shrugs. “I was fast. Aggressive. Had a mean slapshot.” A pause. “It gave me somewhere to put the anger. Somewhere it made sense.”
My throat tightens.
I know what it’s like to carry a storm inside. To need somewhere to put it.
“Your mom must’ve been proud.”
“She died before I got drafted,” he says quietly. “Cancer. Fast and mean. Like everything else in our life.”
My heart breaks for him, and it’s one more thing that ties us together.
I know what it’s like to lose your mother to cancer.
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen. Which was a good thing so I didn’t have to live at home anymore.”
He doesn’t elaborate on what that means, and I get the sense that I shouldn’t push.
God. I reach out, covering his hand with mine.
He doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper.
He looks over again, eyes searching mine like he’s trying to decide if I really see him now.
I do.
And maybe that’s why, when he finally speaks, his voice sounds different.
Less guarded. More him.
“I’ve never done that before.” His voice is low and rough, yet soft.
His voice alone is a turn on.
I blink. “Told someone about your mom?”
“No.” His gaze drops to our tangled legs. “Had sex without a condom.”
I freeze.
Not because I’m worried, but because I can feel the weight of what he just said.
“You’re serious.”
He nods once, jaw tight. “Always been careful. Didn’t want to screw up someone’s life. Or mine.”
My chest pulls tight.
“But with you…” His voice lowers. “I didn’t even think about it. Not once. Just—knew. Like it was supposed to happen.”
The ache that blooms behind my ribs isn’t lust. It’s something deeper.
A recognition.
A promise.
I lean in and kiss him—slow and reverent.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
He rolls on top of me, mouth brushing mine, voice like gravel and heat.
“Next time, you’ll thank me with your mouth.”
I run my hands in his hair, loving the feel of his body heavy and delicious between my legs, and arch a brow.
“Oh, you want me to thank you with my mouth, huh?”
His grin is slow and dangerous, all dark edges and dimples.
“I’ll even say please.”
“Maddox Lasker saying please for something?”
His gaze pins me to the bed. “For you? I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I bite my lip, trying to keep all the emotion flooding my body in check.
It’s almost too much to bear.
So I fall back on the physical to keep from losing all of myself this soon.
“Well, since you put it that way…”
Pushing on his shoulder—and yes, the one with the scars that he didn’t hide and I didn’t say anything about—I roll him over before sliding down his body in one fluid motion.
I drag my fingers across his chest, his abs, the sharp cut of his hips.
Dear God, the V of his hips is sexy as hell.
He watches me the whole way, propped on one elbow now, mouth parted like he’s already halfway gone.
Good.
I settle between his legs, one hand braced on his thigh, the other wrapping around him.
He’s already hard again. Already thick and hot in my palm.
I lick him once—just the head—slow and teasing.
His groan is immediate, low and broken.
“Fuck, Sloane.”
“I said I’d thank you,” I whisper, eyes locked on his. “Let me.”
And then I do.
I take him into my mouth, deep and wet, slow at first—because I want this for him.
Want to worship him the way I just know in my soul he’s never been worshipped.
I want to undo him and ruin him like he ruined me.
His hips jerk, and his head falls back against the pillow. He threads a hand into my hair but doesn’t push—just holds.
Lets me take control.
Lets me give.
I hum against him, feel him throb against the back of my throat.
His hand tightens and his breath shortens.
And right when he’s on the edge, I pull off with a pop and crawl back up his body.
“You’re a fucking menace,” he growls.
I smile sweetly.
Then straddle his hips, take him in my hand, and sink down on him in one slow, slick slide.
His hands clamp hard around my hips and the delicious burn there makes my pussy clench around him. “Christ.”
I roll my hips once just to feel it. The stretch, the ache, the way he fills every inch of me like he was made for me.
His head drops back against the pillow, jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep control, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
Like he needs to see me take it.
All of it.
“You always this bossy in bed?” he grits out.
I dig my nails into his chest, grinding down until his breath punches out.
“You don’t like it?”
“Didn’t say that.” His hands slip up, fingers brushing over the curve of my waist. “I fucking love it.”
I brace one hand beside his head, the other dragging down the slope of his chest. “Good,” I whisper. “Because I’m not done yet.”
And then I move. Slide up and down his cock, dragging out the motion to make him crazy like he did me.
I ride him slow, every roll of my hips a taunt.
A promise.
A confession.
This isn’t just sex.
I’m claiming him like he claimed me.
I’m surrendering to him, even while I’m in control above him.
His hands roam—hips, ribs, thighs. He cups my breast, strokes his thumb over my nipple, and watches the way I gasp and clench around him.
“Sloane.” My name breaks from his throat like a warning.
“Come for me, Maddox,” I breathe. “I want to feel you.”
His hands tighten. His eyes flare. And when he comes, it’s with a guttural sound that cracks something wide open inside me.
My hips pick up speed and I chase down my orgasm until I collapse against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around me as our hearts pound in tandem.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our breathing and the soft rustle of sheets as he shifts to hold me closer.
I could fall asleep like this.
Wrapped in him.
Wrecked by him.
But he kisses the top of my head, then murmurs, “You're gonna be the death of me.”
I smile against his chest.
“Then I guess I’m doing something right.”