Chapter 15 Reyna #2
Over eight million people live in New York.
I’m not self-absorbed enough to believe that the snacks at the crime scene and the almonds were a reference to me.
The only people who know about my allergy are Maddox and Kimi, and sure, I always have KitKats and a little bag of Cheetos on me, but it’s not like Maddox would know that.
It’d be stupid to even entertain the idea.
How would that conversation even go, anyway?
Maddox, I know what you are.
Say it. Out loud. Say it.
Serial killer.
Yeah, I doubt it.
“What about bees? Are you into them? Beekeeping, I mean.” I internally cringe. He’s probably not quite beekeeping age just yet.
He stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Do I strike you as the type of person who would be into beekeeping?”
That was a stupid question. “Just, um, it’s a common allergy.” I try to play it off.
“Are you allergic to bees?”
“Not as far as I’m aware.”
He frowns skeptically at me. “Good.” Shaking his head, Maddox continues, “As I was saying, it’s the same issue as last time. The kill doesn’t suit the crime.”
I nod along because I don’t trust myself not to say something ridiculous. I need to get off this couch if I want to think about anything other than Dream Maddox fucking me on it.
“Much of the film repeatedly provides themes of purity and cleanliness, yet the murder involves a substantial amount of bloodshed without reason.” He looks at me, waiting for me to say something.
“He does choke him,” I stutter.
I sound so stupid. That’s barely a complete sentence.
The killer doesn’t really choke him. It’s more of a crappy headlock that didn’t result in anything more than the victim’s physical struggle.
“You call that choking?” Maddox says, voice low.
His eyes are on my lips.
No, my throat.
The temperature rises too quickly to acclimate before it’s burning my flesh, and I’m there again, under him in my dreams, watching him thrust into me.
Real-life Maddox is right in front of me, and he too is staring at me like every thought that runs through his mind is more depraved than the last, and he’s debating whether to reenact every last one of them.
My chest tightens when his eyes darken like the beast within won the battle, and he’s spotted his prey.
“Sit back.”
The demand takes me off guard.
Rationally, I know I’m an independent woman who should fight back against a man who thinks he can order me around. Irrationally, I want to know why he’s unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves.
Following instructions was never my strong suit. My ability to listen to authority is worse. And yet I wet my bottom lip and tentatively place the notebook and cushion aside. My gaze is trained on him, tracking his every move. He does the same to me.
Every flicker of a tendon. The glide of my silk dress against my skin. The fall of my hair over my shoulder. He sees it all.
He rises from the chair. Stalks forward. Stopping right above me. “Do you know what it’s like to be choked, Miss Sinaga?”
The tension building in my core makes it hard to breathe. I shake my head once.
He hums to himself, considering. Then slowly, leisurely, like he’s making sure I’m watching, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Each move is precise. Intentional. Fold by fold, he keeps going until I can see the muscles in his forearms flex with his movements.
Desire unfurls low in my stomach, demanding friction. Through the silk dress, I can feel my nipples harden beneath the bralette that won’t hide how he’s affecting me.
Maddox sees it. I know he does because he stops rolling his sleeve, stare caught on the rise and fall of my chest. His nostrils flare.
Oh, this is bad.
But I don’t want to stop him.
With languid movements, he slides his knee between my legs to lean his weight against the edge of the sofa. He wedges himself higher until he’s inches away from the apex of my thighs, forcing my legs farther apart.
I grip the armrest to stop myself from closing the distance. He’ll feel how soaked I am if he gets any nearer.
Carefully, like he’s giving me the chance to run for the hills, Maddox places one hand on the headrest behind me and lowers the other to my throat. One by one, his fingers curl around my neck, tipping my head back so I have no choice but to drown in the sight of him.
I shiver beneath him and grasp on to the arm that’s holding me down. My grip only lasts a second before my hand falls to my side. I wholeheartedly believe that if I told him to stop, he would. So when he squeezes, I stay right where I am.
His green eyes smolder and turn into a deeper shade of emerald; then his pupils blow out completely at the part of my lips.
“There’s an art to it. Too much pressure on the front of the neck, and I’m just hitting your windpipe.
” His voice is low. Barely a rasp. He adjusts his hand to evenly distribute the pressure around my throat.
“If I press the sides, you’ll still be able to breathe.
” Dipping his head down, his hot breath fans my warm skin.
“Every breath you take is because I’m allowing it.
If I want you to stop breathing”—he tightens his grip—“you will.”
I try to inhale, but his fingers tighten, and the world narrows to the press of his skin against my throat. The darkness I sensed lurking in his soul is coming out to play with mine, and they’re getting along far too well.
Maddox’s knee between my legs inches dangerously close, and in a moment of absolute weakness, I shift my hips to meet him halfway. What’s left of my breath stutters out in a violent shudder the moment we make contact.
I can’t think about anything else when it feels this good to press my aching sex against him. Like how he’s my professor, and I’m his student. Or that he’s choking me on his couch on campus.
There are a thousand reasons why this can’t happen. A million more on why this will tip me well over the edge so that I’ll never emotionally recover.
Every cell in my body is singing. My senses heightened, turning my gray world into various shades of colors I’ve never seen before. I’ve never felt so alive. No one has ever made me feel this way, and it’s maddening because he’s barely touched me.
I want to grasp on to the addictive feeling and never let go. After what I’ve gone through these past few years, I’m craving a slice of this: freedom. Liberation. The chance to let go because I’ll fall into a better place.
It’s more than a distraction or a means to an end. Just for today, I want to shed the weight of my past and future. Live in the now, and… I’m curious about how far this will go.
If he’s worried about his job, he can let go, and we can pretend none of this happened.
Until then, the world ending wouldn’t stop the cant of my hips against his knee. The friction has me biting my lip to stop from making a sound.
My eyelids grow heavy when a low growl builds at the back of his throat.
“The things I want to do to you, love.” His voice comes out hoarse. Strained. Possessed.
Maddox shifts his knee, applying more pressure against my core. A bolt of pleasure goes up my spine. I whimper from the ache thrumming low in my stomach that pulses to a frantic rhythm.
His scent is like my very own aphrodisiac. I’m drunk on his proximity.
I claw at his arms in a soundless request for him to do it again. He curses under his breath and lets go of my throat, placing both hands on either side of my head like he’s forbidding himself from touching me.
“Stop me from making a mistake.”
Those six words are sobering.
I don’t want to be anyone’s mistake, least of all his.
I clamor away from his leg to escape his orbit, stilling when he traps me in place by lowering his face to mine.
His stubble whispers against my skin, lips just soft enough to leave the faintest mark.
When he speaks, I don’t recognize the sound of his voice.
It’s darker, like another side of him has taken control.
“I didn’t say you could get up.”
Mixed signals. Again.
Maddox’s gaze drops to my lips, and he wets his own like he’s hungry for a taste.
“You’re dismissed when I say you’re dismissed, Miss Sinaga.”
I shiver at his deep tenor, core tightening with need. If I don’t get out of here, I’ll be the mistake he thinks I am.
“This is a bad idea.” It’s barely loud enough for him to hear.
“That’s the thing about us. We both like bad ideas.”
He stays there for a beat. Watching me. Studying me. Pushing his leg against my core one last time so he can see me squirm. Then he edges back, rolls his chair to him, and sits in front of me, close enough that I can’t close my legs with his in the way.
“If you want to leave, then I trust you’re familiar with where the door is.”
I should.
In the next five seconds, I need to get my ass off this couch and out of this room, because nothing good can come from this. Maddox is my professor.
If I screw up, my scholarship is gone. My future takes a hit. My hope of knowing my family will be decimated.
But I still don’t run. God knows why I stay exactly where I am, staring at the man who’s been setting off fireworks in my stomach.
Maddox could cause everything to come crashing down, yet I chew my bottom lip, imagining what type of kisser he’d be.
Whether he’d be a generous lover. If he’d keep looking at me like he’s obsessed.
Sealing whatever this is would destroy my psyche.
I’ve never been the type for one-night stands. I’ve already lost my parents, and I have no interest in losing anyone else I care about. Sleeping with him will make me more attached when I already shouldn’t be.
But I want to feel wanted. Cared for. Like I’m the only person in the room and the only one who matters, and right now, he’s looking at me like he can give me those things. Even if it’s only for a few minutes. Even if none of it is real. I still want it.
He takes my silence for an answer.
“Give me your foot,” he orders, leaning back in his chair.
How is he so calm right now? I feel like I’m about to explode.