Chapter Twenty Maddie
Chapter Twenty
Maddie
I stand up straight, leaving the hem of my skirt tucked into my waistband. I am so starved for immediate gratification, but Bram Loe is a patient man, and he’s always worth the wait.
His eyes darken as I meet him at the chalkboard and take the chalk from where it sits on the ledge.
I take his hand and press his fingers to my lips before taking two of them into my mouth, holding his gaze as I do. I refuse to be the only one suffering.
He holds his fingers there for a moment, pushing against my tongue, like he’s testing me.
I hollow my cheeks and suck, then he drags his fingers away only to dip his hand under the front of my skirt and presses those same two fingers past my slit.
He cruelly avoids my swollen clitoris, but still thrusts deeper, his fingers finding no resistance as they sink into my wet cunt.
“There you are,” he says. “You’re dripping for me, Madelyn. Just absolutely drenched.” He pulls his fingers out much too quickly and I gasp at the sudden vacancy.
A frustrated noise is all I can manage as he turns me to the board and takes my hand—the one holding the chalk—and begins to write the letter F.
“Fuck,” he says as we spell the vulgar word out together. “The. Polls.”
There it is on the board, in some sort of mix of both of our handwriting.
“Repeat it back to me, Maddie.”
My mouth is dry as the words gather in my throat. It’s something I’ve thought plenty of times, but it’s hard to get past the numbers. Even if I think the polls are bullshit, that doesn’t stop them from mattering.
But polls aren’t perfect, and I am more than a series of questions and answers on a scale of one to ten. I have to be more. That has to be true.
“Fuck the polls,” I whisper.
He crouches down and gives me a sweet kiss just below my ear. “Now write it out. Do it for me, baby. Do it for you.”
Dust falls from the chalk with each line as I write those three words. Fuck the polls.
“Good girl. Again.”
I’m so enthralled by the words that I hardly feel his absence as I write the line again, and again.
But then his mouth—his goddamn mouth—is nibbling and kissing up the backs of my thighs.
I gasp, the chalk clattering onto the metal ledge below.
“Did I tell you to stop?”
“No,” I say. “No, sir.”
He lets out a guttural, feral moan, and I hear the sound of a zipper sliding behind me.
I begin to turn around, but his hands are on my ass, forcing my legs apart, and all I manage to see is him on his knees behind me, like I’m his final prayer. His last hope.
This fucking man.
For fear that he’ll stop, I pick up the chalk and begin again.
His tongue traces along the lines left by the rod and then his tongue is between my legs, dangerously close to the pucker of my asshole as he laps at my pussy.
“Oh god,” I manage to say as the chalk draws a jagged line that started as an attempt at a letter.
He sinks all the way to the floor now and wedges himself between me and the wall. Relentlessly strong hands pull me to his face so hard that I’m practically riding his mouth.
Finally—finally!—his tongue finds my clit and he swirls circles around the sensitive bud before sucking on it until the only things holding me up are the wall and his hands.
The chalk falls to the floor, my lines forgotten as I brace one hand against the board and the other in his hair.
I’m so close. I’m so close. The tension is building to the point that it hurts. It physically hurts not to come on this man’s blessed tongue.
“N-no,” I manage to sputter. “I want to come on your cock.”
He shakes his head, his mouth still latched to my pussy.
“Oh my god, Bram. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m close.”
He pulls back for just a moment, looking up at me, his face expression wild and his chin dripping. “You taste like honey. You’re going to come for me now, okay? And then you can have my cock. But I need you to say it. I need to know you’ve learned your lesson.”
My breath stutters in my chest as I manage to nod.
He slides two fingers into me without warning.
I can’t stop my head from rolling back, but his other hand keeps me in place while his warm breath on my core is a constant tease.
“Say it.”
“Fuck—”
His tongue swipes right over my clit, sending shocks down my thighs and into my toes.
I try again. “Fuck . . . the polls.”
“Good girl,” he mutters into my pussy before his tongue lets loose on my clit, his fingers thrusting in and out, making vulgar noises that should make me blush but only drive me closer to my finish.
His teeth drag against my clit, followed immediately by his soothing tongue, and that sends me over the edge.
My orgasm is electric, sending volts of pleasure through me and I hardly register myself slithering down into his lap, his fingers still inside me, lazily thrusting as I’m hit with aftershocks of pleasure.
He cradles me for a few minutes and his lips trace patterns over my neck and cheeks and hair.
“You owe me your cock,” I tell him when I can finally speak.
His pants are unzipped, but his erection is still clothed in his boxer briefs.
“Greedy, aren’t we?”
I grind down on his crotch, and his hand on my hip tightens.
He quickly unbuttons his flannel shirt and tosses it out in front of us.
“On your knees, Ms. Kowalczk.”
I quickly comply and let his shirt be the barrier between me and the hard floor.
He crowds behind me as he yanks my sweater up and pulls the cups of my bra down so that my breasts spill out. His fingers twist and tug on my nipples and he watches over my shoulder, hypnotized.
Gently, he pushes me forward so that I’m on all fours.
Because I love to watch, I glance back over my shoulder as he takes his dick in his hand, roughly fisting it three times before dipping it through my wet crease.
I purr as the tip of his penis nudges my clit.
He continues to toy with me, dragging his cock back and forth, like he’s a predator playing with his food.
Stretching back, I press against him and he pushes just the tip inside me before pulling back out.
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
“Yes, thank you,” he says as he thrusts into me a little deeper this time.
He does it again, still not fully sheathing himself, and I’ve had enough.
This time as he starts to pull out, I ram my hips back and fuck myself onto him.
His fingers dig into my waist and the curve of my shoulder as I take him by surprise. “God, that’s so fucking hot. I should punish you for that, but I love watching you use my cock and take what you need.”
I rock back again, and this time he thrusts his hips to meet me and we both let out a chorus of groans.
Bram pushes me down so that my face is pressed into his flannel shirt and his cock slides even deeper.
“Touch yourself, Maddie.”
I nod and slide a hand between my legs. My fingers find that overly stimulated spot and it doesn’t feel as good as his tongue, but the burning stretch of his cock sliding in and out of me makes up for it.
Bram wastes no time picking up the pace and using my hips as an anchor as he drives himself into me.
My fingers move in tight circles and I clench around Bram’s thick inches.
“I need you to fill me,” I tell him. I’ve never felt as greedy for a man’s come as I have with Bram, but there’s something positively primal about how necessary it feels.
“Anything for my filthy little good girl.”
He plunges into me four more times, pulling me upright and flush against his chest. One hand curves around my neck while the other replaces my hand on my clit, applying diligent pressure as he continues to buck into me from behind.
“Bram,” I pant. “Bram. I’m—”
“Let go,” he tells me. “Come for me.”
As my mounting pleasure begins to unfurl, Bram bites down on the thin skin where my neck meets my shoulder.
“Fuck.” It’s the only warning he gives before his seed is spilling inside me. Warm and filling me full. So full that I can feel it dripping down his cock and between my thighs.
My head rests in the dip of his shoulder as we both shudder through our orgasms until he pulls me back into his lap and drapes the flannel shirt over us both.
Outside the gray sky is turning darker and soon the festival will make a turn for the spooky and be overrun with teenagers as the young ones go home with their parents.
“You’re perfect,” Bram says as he kisses along my hairline. “I need you to know that you’re perfect.”
For the first time in an incredibly long time, I feel like myself. I feel like the person Bram claims to see. And maybe I’ve been here all along, lying dormant and protected from the threat of Gentry and his family and Penelope Pike.
When we finally move to get dressed, Bram helps me into my tights, rolling them up my legs. We both make no move to clean his ejaculate from the inside of my legs. I want it—the evidence of us—there just as badly as he does.
We return to the festival, and I take the twins home to get ready for bed while Bram stays late with Fern and Leo and Sloane.
When they get home, Fern is buzzing. The numbers aren’t final, but it looks like she has secured free menstrual products for every student bathroom at Mount Astra High School and is the reigning student body president.
With the twins tucked in bed, the three of us celebrate Fern’s victory with late-night pizza and the first Scream movie, despite Bram’s protests. *
Fern falls asleep halfway through and Bram switches over to the nature series narrated by Barack Obama that he loves so much. I fall asleep splayed across his chest as he plays with my hair before loosely braiding it for me and walking me to bed.
The next day, Sloane takes Fern and me to her salon. When I sit down in the chair and see myself reflected back in the mirror, nearly an inch of dark roots coming in and the ends of my hair so obviously dead, I begin to swipe through the camera roll on my phone.
“What are we thinking for today?” the stylist asks as he snaps the cape around my neck.
“I think it’s time to get back to my roots,” I tell him. “And not as a metaphor.”