18. Phantom Control
Phantom Control
Maddox
She’s still fighting it. Fighting me .
Her breath is shaky, her body tense next to mine, but I can feel the way her pulse flutters against my fingertips. The way her thighs squeeze together, trying to chase friction. The way her body knows what it wants, even if she won’t admit it yet.
I move on top of her, pressing my weight against her, slowly, deliberately, until she’s pinned beneath me. I reach down and spread her legs so that I’m settled between her soft, bare thighs.
Lifting her sleep shirt up, I growl when I look down at her perfect cunt.
“Wait—” Her hands go to my chest, pushing—but there’s no real strength behind it.
Just resistance for the sake of resisting.
I let her pretend for a second.
I let her feel like she has a choice.
Then I roll my hips against hers, my hard cock pressing against her hot core. I inhale sharply, imagining that I’m actually sinking into her tight heat.
Not tonight, but soon…
My movements are slow— purposeful .
She gasps.
Her nails dig into my shirt, and I let out a low, knowing chuckle.
“Are we still pretending you don’t want this, angel?”
She inhales shakily, her breath catching in her throat. I roll my hips again, just enough for her to feel me. The hard length of me presses against her core again, separated only by the fabric of my pants.
She shouldn’t be this wet already.
But she is. I feel it through my jeans—the warmth of her, the damp heat seeping through the fabric, clinging to me like a brand.
Her body is betraying her in every way possible.
Her hips shift up against my cock—instinctive, desperate for more. I grip both of her wrists and press them into the pillow above her head, holding her there with one hand.
Not to restrain her.
Just to remind her who’s in control.
She squirms, her breathing uneven now, and as I dip my head to hers, I smirk against her neck. I drag my tongue up the right side of her throat, slow and deliberate, tasting the heat of her skin. And then—I bite.
Not hard. Just a slow, perfect press of my teeth against her pulse point.
She gasps, body jerking against mine. “Jesus—” she hisses, but the sound doesn’t hold any anger.
I smirk. “Not quite, angel. Try again.”
Her chest pushes against me, but it doesn’t do anything.
“I never said you could touch me,” she rasps.
I chuckle against her throat, grinding against her again.
“You never told me to stop, either.”
She lets out a breath, shifting beneath me, glaring even as her body betrays her.
“I don’t belong to you,” she spits, voice tight, forced, like she’s trying to convince herself.
Perfect . Keep trying, angel.
I tilt my head, dragging my nose along her jaw, inhaling deeply. “You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”
She tenses, her mind fighting the truth her body can’t deny.
I nip at her throat again, just to hear that little gasp, just to feel the way she twitches beneath me.
“You can fight me all you want, little warrior.” I lean in, pressing my weight into her. One of my fingers trails up her side, slow, teasing, stopping just beneath her ribs. The other holds her hands above her head. “But your body already knows who it belongs to.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and her hips shift, seeking friction.
Then she lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re so full of shit.”
I grin against her skin. God, I love her fight. Her hips shift, almost like she’s trying to get away. But in doing so, she just rubs against me harder.
She realizes it at the same time I do.
Her eyes go wide, her breath stalling.
I hum, low and pleased. “Fighting me only makes you want it more, doesn’t it? You’ve dreamt of being taken like this before, haven’t you? The thought of me doing this is one of your deepest, darkest fantasies. And you’ve been waiting for my brother to fuck you senseless, just the way you want. Isn’t that true?”
Her lips part, either to deny it or curse me out. I don’t let her. Instead, I press against her again, letting a low moan escape my lips.
And then her body fucking gives , allowing me to settle between her thighs completely.
I grind against her, slow at first, teasing. Just enough for her to whimper. I feel it through my whole fucking soul, the way she starts to tremble. Either from fear, defiance, or… complete and utter arousal.
The heat pools low in my stomach, the slow, brutal ache of wanting her for so damn long sinks into me, until all I can think about is finding my release. Again.
She tilts her head back, exposing her throat.
A silent surrender.
But I want more.
I move against her again, rolling my hips, pressing her deeper into the mattress. Her thighs tremble and her breath stutters.
I murmur against her skin, my voice dark and possessive. “Every time you squirm, every time you fight me, you just press that sweet little pussy harder against my cock.”
She squeezes her legs around my waist as her body arches against me. I don’t rush it. I just keep moving. Grinding against her.
Slow.
Deep.
I roll my hips against her, letting her feel how hard she’s made me. How fucking desperate I am.
A groan claws up my throat, raw and shattered. She’s so fucking drenched for me. Already mine in every way that matters.
She lets out a shaky moan, her fingers twisting against my hand above her head.
My control frays at the edges, unraveling with every slow, torturous roll of her hips. A tremor racks through me, muscles locking tight as I drop my forehead to hers, grinding harder now, chasing friction, chasing her.
Heat surges through me, a sharp pulse of pleasure building too fast, too strong. My breath shudders, a ragged sound against her lips, and I can feel it—the edge, the fucking precipice—I’m right there. My cock throbs, the pressure unbearable, the slick warmth of her making it impossible to hold back.
A low, quiet, guttural sound rips from my throat, my hips jerking of their own accord. I’m going to come. Fuck, I’m going to come just from this—just from her. From the way she clings to me, from the way her body moves like she already belongs to me.
And I don’t know if I want to stop it.
Her head tilts back against the pillow, her eyes squeezing shut.
She gasps, her whole body locking up.
And then—she falls apart beneath me.
Fuck .
I feel it happen. The soft, pulsing grip of her thighs around me, the way her body spasms. I grind against her harder, chasing my own release, letting myself fucking drown in her. And then it hits me.
Hard. Violent. Uncontrollable.
A rough groan tears from my throat as my body locks up. Pleasure crashes through me, pulsing, hot, and raw. My muscles tense, my cock throbbing as I spill into my jeans, untouched, just from feeling her like this.
I barely hold myself up as my body shudders, every ounce of restraint ripped from me.
She feels it.
She knows.
And fuck me if that doesn’t make it even hotter.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is our uneven, heavy breathing. I let my forehead rest against hers once more, my fingers still wrapped around her wrists. Then I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips parted, her eyes still hazy, her breath still shaky. I run my thumb over her cheek.
I adjust myself, letting out a sharp exhale, glancing at her one last time. She stares at the ceiling, dazed, breathless, completely spent. I press my lips to her temple, lingering. Then, I shift away, rolling off her and sitting up.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pulse stuttering at the thought that perhaps maybe I hurt her, or…
“I’m fine,” she says, sitting up now. Her voice is clipped, almost defiant. She doesn’t look at me. Just adjusts her shirt and tosses her hair over one shoulder like it’s a shield, blinking like she’s trying to process what the fuck just happened. Her gaze darts to the door, to the dark, empty hallway beyond it. I can practically hear her thoughts racing. Her voice wavers. “But we shouldn’t have done that.”
And then I stand, adjusting my hoodie, my voice low and firm. “Probably not.”
I wait for her to say something else, but she doesn’t, so I attempt to make light of the situation.
“That’s twice now, angel.”
My voice is gravelly, strained, still catching up to the wreckage of what she just did to me.
Her brow knit together, her breathing still unsteady. “Twice?”
I smirk. “That I’ve come in my fucking pants because of you.”
A blush crawls up her throat, and I fucking love it.
Then, she lets out a breathy laugh—light, too light. “Don’t let it go to your head. You’re not the first guy who couldn’t keep it together with me.”
The words are casual. Careless. But they land flat. Her bravado doesn’t reach her eyes. Not when they finally meet mine. There’s a flicker of something behind them—panic, maybe. Or guilt. Or fear of what she just let happen.
And fuck, I feel it. The tremble in her fingers as she wipes her palms on her bare thighs. The way her legs won’t quite hold still.
She’s unraveling. She just doesn’t want me to see it.
I don’t move. I let her have the illusion of space. Let her pretend she’s still got a grip on her world, even as it’s slipping through her fingers.
But then?
Her eyes flick down to where I’m still adjusting myself, the dark stain on my jeans undeniable. A shaky breath leaves her, and the smallest smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, wry and sharp despite the turmoil still written all over her.
The blush is still crawling up her throat. Her bravado is thin, a shield barely holding against the storm raging behind her eyes, but it’s there. And fuck if it doesn’t make me fall a little harder.
Surprise lashes through me. I lean in, letting her feel the heat of my breath against her swollen lips as I grip her hips firmly.
“I won’t be nearly this patient again, little warrior.” I pause, just long enough to let the words sink in, just long enough to feel her shiver beneath me. “And next time?” I press my thumb against her slick, trembling lips, dragging it down her chin. “You’ll beg me not to be.”
With that, I lower my mouth to her ear, voice dipping into something low and lethal. “Sleep tight, angel. Don’t you dare dream about anyone else but me,” I murmur, my fingers brushing over her throat, a slow, dangerous caress.
A sharp inhale. A flicker of something dark and conflicted in her gaze.
Good. I want her to question everything. I want her to crave me.
I tilt my head, trailing my nose along the column of her throat before pressing one last kiss there. Then I pull back, standing upright, adjusting my hoodie. Before I leave, I glance down at her—still on the bed, her body wrecked, her breaths uneven.
And I grin as I walk out of her bedroom, still feeling wholly out of control and completely insatiable when it comes to Ariana Clarke.