15. Chapter 15
Maddox
The furniture’s been pushed back against the walls, leaving the living room open and bare except for the rug in the centre.
I shrug off my hoodie and toss it aside, stretching out my shoulders with slow, deliberate rolls.
Rylen stands across from me cracking his neck, he’s already barefoot, in a pair of grey sweats and some band shirt that he’s always blasting in the car.
He’s pacing back and forth like he’s been itching for an excuse to put my ass on the floor. Things have been this way ever since that night with Felicia.
“First one off the mat has to make dinner tonight. Don’t hold back,” I chuckle, lips curling into a challenge, begging him to take it.
If he doesn’t want to discuss what happened that night, then I'll just have to beat it out of him.
Rylen lets a dark smile spread, eyes blazing with a desire to draw blood.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” he laughs. Then the bastard lunges forward with a burst of speed I wasn’t anticipating, his fist slams into my ribcage, driving me back a step on the rug. He’s faster than I remember him being, gonna have to file that away for a later punishment .
“You’ve gotten slow,” Rylen taunts, shoving at my shoulder this time.
" Slow? Get fucked, not a chance, " I scoff. I could have that shit for brains on the floor in three moves flat if I really wanted. My answering grin is one of pure warning.
“Or maybe I’m letting you think you can win,” I ridicule. It’s clear that he needs this, to work out his aggression on someone, so I’ll let him use me if it means I can have my best friend back.
Besides, there’s something about the way he pushes that makes me hold back, just a fraction, to feel the contact of his scarred knuckles against my taut muscle.
We circle each other with the restless energy of hyenas testing for weak spots. He strikes again but I block it, so he comes back even harder. I side step and lunge, crashing him into a wall of furniture. Gremlin lets out a loud hiss and darts down the hallway in a frantic puff of fur.
Rylen takes my moment of distraction and uses it to hook an arm under mine, throwing me off balance and we flip over the back of the sofa, half-laughing, half-grunting, each refusing to give the other the satisfaction of yielding.
The sofa rocks, groaning beneath us as I follow Rylen down. He’s sprawling against the cushions with my forearm bracing against his chest.
“Admit it, you’re out matched,” I’m baiting him, and he knows it, but I want to hear the grit in Rylen’s voice when he stubbornly refuses to concede to me.
“Not a fuckin’ chance," he growls, throwing a cheap shot in by trying to knee me in the balls, catching me inside my thigh instead. His hand finds my shirt, yanking hard enough to stretch the fabric.
The movement shifts our weight and somehow in the tangle of it all my hand gets caught up in Rylen’s hair, twisting hard to hold him still.
It jerks his head back in a move halfway between dominance and restraint.
I know hair pulling is very girl cat-fight of me, but the fucker tried to nut me, so honestly fairs-fair in my mind.
I expect him to call me out on it, headbutt me, something to that effect—what I don’t expect is the low moan that falls out of Rylen’s mouth. And judging by the terrified look on his face, he didn’t either.
Everything stops. Even as the air around us changes, thickening to suffocating levels, and all I can hear is that sound echoing in my thoughts.
The heat radiating through my skin is reaching dangerous levels, there’s no way he can’t feel it burning through my clothes.
The space between us feels like it’s growing impossibly small.
I try to swallow but the saliva in my mouth has turned into a thick paste. Rylen is staring at me with an intensity that causes me to shiver. Why isn’t he saying anything? Is he waiting for me to speak?
I follow his gaze as it drops between us, to where our bodies are almost pressed together and fuck, his cock is hard. My heart beats frantically against my ribs as I realise that mine isn’t any softer .
For years this was a line I never crossed with him, though we danced around it; too many fights, too many nights half-drunk and me peeling away to the bathroom so I can hide my erection beneath the waistband of my pants.
I’d always kept these desires for him buried under discipline.
But right now? That tether feels like it’s fraying.
And lately I can’t contain the way my body reacts whenever he’s in the room.
Not since I stupidly kissed him while he climaxed in Felicia’s mouth.
Why the fuck did I have to go and do something so utterly idiotic?
He’s my best friend, and yeah I might be in love with him.
But I can’t lose him, so if it means that I have to accept that this isn’t what he really wants, then that’s what I'll do. If he pulls back, it’s over.
I’ll never try again. We can laugh it off, turn it into another story to throw in each other’s faces. But if he pushes…
“Ry…” My voice is low, dangerous in a different way now. Rylen’s throat works, but no words come out.
Neither one of us moves a muscle, the playful edge of our roughhousing has been replaced by something far heavier. An unspoken dare, suspended in the air between us. The only question is who’s going to break first.
My grip in his hair tightens just a fraction, testing whether Rylen will pull away or push back. He doesn’t.
His eyes narrow as I wedge my knee between his thighs. The pressure makes his hips twitch upward before he can stop himself. Or maybe he doesn’t actually want to stop? Heat coils low in my gut. I exhale sharply through my nose and quirk an eyebrow.
“You gonna tell me that was an accident?” I murmur, mere inches from his face.
Rylen swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously beneath his skin.
“Why? Gonna pretend you didn’t like it?” A sharp hiss escapes him as I push him lower into the couch cushions, grinding our straining cocks together through the infuriating fabric in a way that sends a lightning bolt straight up my spine.
My mouth hovers just over his, the faintest ghost of heat between us. “Careful,” I murmur. “You sound like you’re begging for more.”
“Maybe I am.” Rylen throws back, voice rough.
Christ, Ry’s always been reckless and willing to take the punishment just to taste the reward…
I just never thought that would apply to me.
I should draw it out, make him work for it, make him regret showing me how needy he is.
But his eyes are locked on my mouth, and all I can think about is how easy it would be to give him what he’s asking for.
A flash of teeth in a predatory grin is all the warning Rylen gets before I yank his head back again, making his back arch and I meet each thrust with a roll of my hips. My cock is already leaking precum at the sight of him beneath me like this; his throat exposed, pulse hammering under taut skin.
My mouth closes around it, sucking and massaging my tongue against flesh until I taste blood.
Rylen’s writhing under me, his fingers clutching the back of my shirt and twisting into my wavy hair, holding on through the rush of building pleasure.
His breathy moans against my ear have my head spinning.
"Fuck,” Rylen curses under his breath, the tension between us has no room left to grow. He could walk away right now and I’d still feel his hands in my hair for days. I release his neck with a wet pop, reveling in the blooming mark, next to the fading one I made the last time.
I lean in, planting soft kisses up the side of his jaw and whisper. “Tell me to stop," I say, repeating his words from yesterday. I plant another one on the corner of his mouth. “You can’t, can you?”
His breath catches, fingers curling even tighter in my shirt not letting me pull away. “Still running your mouth?” he snarks, but the fight is fading. I’m wearing his defences down. He wants this, wants me , he just needs to let himself go. “Still on top of you,” I shoot back, voice full of need.
My hand releases his hair and wraps around that beautiful throat of his, squeezing lightly.
I’m so hard it feels like my skin might split.
My cock grinds into the soft hollow of Rylen’s pelvis, with his pressing hard against the ridges of my lower stomach.
Warm breath ghosts over my skin, raising the hairs on my neck before his tongue drags against it.
“And what are you going to do about that, Mads?” he challenges.
The words barely leave his lips before our mouths snap together, the kiss is messy and rough, nothing cautious about it.
I’m hungry for another taste and all I needed was the hint of permission.
Rylen opens his mouth in invitation, our tongues sliding together with an urgency that’s been building in me every minute of every day since our first kiss.
He shifts underneath me pressing our bodies impossibly close until our cocks are grinding with a maddening friction, the need to fuck him is growing unbearable.
He bites down hard on my lip until it draws blood and all I can taste is the bitter metallic flavour. Then he stops, pushing me back and fuck, I blew it. I know I did.
“Don’t get too cocky,” he narrows his eyes with a knowing look. Blood falls from my lip onto his and before I can even react, his tongue flicks out to lick it away. God damn, if that isn’t the hottest thing I've ever seen. I can’t drag my gaze away from his plump mouth.
“Too late,” I murmur, not even totally in control of what I'm saying anymore. I’m mesmerised by him, still in complete disbelief that this is even really happening.
“I’ve been waiting years to draw that sound out of you,” I whisper the words, afraid that speaking them too loud will ruin everything. Rylen’s chest rises against mine, our breaths jagged and too fast. His voice is low, almost amused. “Then maybe you should pull harder next time."
A short, dark chuckle rips from my chest and I snake my fingers back into his hair and tug harsh enough to make him hiss.
Without another word, Rylen’s lips lock onto mine with a fierce passion and he swallows my moan whole.
My hands don’t hesitate to rip at his shirt, shredding the barrier until my fingers press against his skin, covered in dark ink.
They trace the tense planes of his chest, sliding lower, committing every muscle and bump to memory like a road map.
Rylen responds with equal urgency, fingers digging into my shoulder blades. I welcome the sting of his nails carving small crescents into my body. Every touch sends fire coursing through my veins, I’ve never felt more alive than I do in this moment.
My hand slips beneath the waistband of Rylen’s pants, fingertips closing around the velvety smooth hardness that’s aching to be touched.
A low growl rumbles from his throat, hips setting a relentless pace as he fucks my hand, chasing his release.
I nip at his neck, chuckling as I force him to drop to a painfully slow stroke.
“You want this,” my teeth grazing a slow, searing trail that makes him shiver.
“You want me to take it. To make you come,” I say teasingly.
My thumb brushing over the sensitive tip that’s dripping with precum, then I bring it to my lips and my eyes roll back at how fucking good he tastes.
I don’t even try to stifle my moan. Rylen’s breath hitches, his fingers tugging on my scalp in a silent command to keep going.
My hand returns to his cock and begins to stroke him with growing confidence.
Our hips roll against each other in time, my heart is thundering inside my chest, my head falls to his shoulder.
“Harder,” he pleads, his free hand ripping my shorts down to free my cock.
He fists it in a speed that matches my own, fingers tightening, strokes gaining pace and pressure until Rylen’s knees start to tremble, the coil inside him ready to snap.
The room echoes with the hum of breathy groans, punctuated by the slick slide of skin on skin.
Our bodies move as one, dissolving into pleasure.
When Rylen finally comes, it rips through him in the form of clenched muscles, trembling gasps and fingers gripping onto my back for dear life. My own release follows moments later. We collapse into each other, chests still heaving, skin slick with sweat.
When his breathing evens, Rylen glances down at his bare chest covered in my blood and a mixture of our cum.
His mouth twists, then he shoves me off without warning, dumping me on the floor with a hard thump.
“That was my favourite shirt, asshole,” he chides, already striding towards the bathroom.
The door slams, and I can’t help but laugh at the bite in his grumbling tone over the sound of running water.