10. LYRA
LYRA
T he morning sun streams through the window, smacking me in the face with its blinding rays, and as I scrunch up my face and shift away from the light, I get one hell of a good look at Maddox Blake.
I lay sprawled in his bed, both of us tangled between the sheets as his heavy arm curls around my body, holding me against him.
It was a crazy night, and just as promised, he got exactly what he wanted, and in turn, I spent every second of my night begging him to take me, to utterly destroy me, and it was everything.
Knocking on his friend’s door was the best call I’d ever made. And to think I could have been home alone, stomping around my apartment being pissed at Hunter Cole. It’s almost funny. If only that bastard knew what I was doing while he was sitting idle by his phone, waiting for me to respond.
Asshole!
A smirk pulls across my face, but it’s gone in an instant when I realize that I’m lying here in this delicious man’s arms and still thinking about Hunter fucking Cole. Damn it. Does that make me a skank bitch whore? Surely, it does. But I don’t regret it.
Maddox is . . . shit. Maddox is exactly what every woman needs. He’s a wicked flirt and has a killer way of giving me butterflies. Not to mention, it takes a lot for a man to leave me blushing, and Maddox does it with ease.
I could easily see myself falling for him if I’m not careful, and I need to be careful because he’s dangerous, and not in the way that Hunter is.
Maddox is the kind of man who would bring me to my knees.
He’ll draw me in until all that exists in my world is him, and then he’ll leave.
He’ll grow bored of me, and I’ll be left utterly broken and struggling to pick up the pieces.
He has the potential to destroy me, whereas Hunter will destroy me in a different way. Though I haven’t quite worked out how.
He’s a red flag for sure. I just don’t know how red that flag truly is.
Maddox’s flag . . . I think it’s green, maybe just stitched together with a crimson thread. He toes the line, and I think I like that. The fact that he was so down to screw a stranger in a back alley, now that leaves me questioning his morals. Though I suppose the same could be said about me.
Slipping out from under his arm, I get to my feet and pad down the hallway to the bathroom. I splash water over my face and run my fingers through my unruly hair before stealing a toothbrush and making myself feel human. Then as I open the bathroom door, I find the most handsome boy waiting for me.
“Good morning my sweet Smoochy Bum,” I coo, bending down only to get assaulted by the dog’s rank morning breath as he kisses the crap out of my face. I laugh as I try to pull away, but this big boy is just as determined as his daddy, and I’m not let off the hook until I’ve scratched him all over.
I have to wash my face a second time before padding out to the living room and finding my phone and camera. After checking my notifications, I get a look at the time.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. It’s almost eleven.
I’m supposed to be at Black Velvet by twelve to start inventory and next week’s rosters, but it looks like I’m about to be a little late.
Whoops! I guess that’s what you get for indulging in a night of wild, soul-shattering sex with a man who could make me come just by looking at me.
I book myself an Uber before trailing back down the hallway and stopping to collect my discarded clothes on the way. Making my way back into Maddox’s room, I find him exactly where I left him, and despite the noise I’ve made trudging through his home and loving on his dog, he’s still out cold.
A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I take my camera, holding it up in front of my face and looking at him through the lens.
He’s so peaceful. So gorgeous. He’s everything.
I can imagine him as the perfect picture of innocence like this.
You know, assuming I put the cheeky flirting and wild sexcapades aside, because no man who encompasses everything that is innocence has wicked skills like that.
No man who fucks the way Maddox Blake does could ever be aligned with anything innocent.
That right there is raw, powerful, untamed and dangerous masculinity.
He’s the reason women everywhere are ignoring reg flags.
God. Maybe I am falling for this man. Is that ridiculous? I’ve known him for barely a second.
I snap a few photos before striding right to the edge of his bed and crawling right over him until I’m straddled over his hips, but with the morning light dancing across his warm skin, I can’t find it in me to put the camera down.
I snap every angle of him as he begins to wake, his hands grasping my thighs. “Mmm, Savage. Why are you wearing pants?”
“I have to go,” I tell him. “I need to be at Black Velvet in an hour.”
“The fuck you do. I need to be buried inside you in an hour, and every hour after that.”
I laugh and snap a few more pictures before leaning down and kissing him. “I had fun,” I murmur against his lips. “That was exactly what I needed.”
“ I’m exactly what you need.”
I roll my eyes and sit up again, and as a dorky grin cuts across his lips, my heart races.
“You might be right about that.” I snap another picture.
This man is so fine. I can’t wait to get home after my shift tonight and develop these images in my dark room.
Photography is my peace. It’s where I find comfort, and if I’d never bought Black Velvet, then I might have taken photography a little more seriously.
There’s just something about following the journey of taking the picture and then developing it.
It keeps me calm, settles me. And had Maddox not answered the door last night, I likely would have ended up in some lonely place, taking still images of who the hell knows what, only to spend hours in my dark room.
But the idea of developing photos of Maddox after a night of him being inside of me.
Well, shit. Why does that have me all giddy?
“I’m always right, Savage.”
I hold his stare, unsure where to go from here, but he cuts the silence as he tightens his grasp on my thighs and pulls me closer. “Let me drive you home.”
I shake my head, and as if on cue, I hear my ride pulling to a stop in the driveway. “No need,” I tell him, pulling away. “Uber’s here.”
His jaw drops, looking offended as he sits up and gapes at me in outrage. “You called an Uber?”
A laugh rumbles up my throat as my feet hit the hardwood floor. “You were sleeping,” I say, slipping my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and double-checking I have everything I came with. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Always wake me.”
“I’ll know better for next time.”
“Next time?” he questions, getting to his feet and capturing my arm before pulling me back against him, my chest colliding against his strong torso. “When exactly is that going to be? And don’t tell me after some other guy pisses you off.”
I grin, and he grabs my ass, hauling me into his arms. Instinctively, I lock my legs around his waist as he starts walking me back up the hallway. “If you’re going to fuck me like you did last night, then every night I have is yours.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I’m gonna hold you to that.”
“I hope you do.”
We make it to the door and he kisses me once before settling me back on my feet, and as he opens the door, a wave of hesitation washes through me.
I’d give anything to stay here, to spend my day wrapped in his arms and letting him do all kinds of nasty things to me, but I’m also not that desperate girl who’s going to fall head over heels in love with some guy she only just met.
Besides, what if he has skeletons in his closet that I’m not nearly ready to discover?
Smooch comes to the door to say goodbye and thoroughly assaults me with sloppy kisses.
Once I’m finally able to break free, I hurry out the door, knowing without a doubt that I’m going to be late.
Though it’s not like it matters. I’ll be the only one there, but I like to get everything done before the girls come in for their shift so I can help open the bar for the day.
Fridays and Saturdays are our wild nights.
We open early and don’t close until four in the morning.
That’s the crowd taking wet pussy shots and grinding on the dance floor until the lights come on.
Sundays are a little more relaxed. We still get a lot of people through the door, but it’s a different crowd.
Sunday bargoers are a little older than the wild-night crowd, a little more sophisticated.
They’re drinking dry whiskey and martinis on date night and heading out way earlier.
Sundays are great. Sundays are chill, and that’s exactly what I need after an almost sleepless night.
I get back to my apartment in no time and dive straight into the shower, standing under the hot water for way too long. I wash my hair and scrub the night off me, and knowing I’m racing against the clock, I reluctantly get out before tightening my towel around my chest.
Within the space of twenty minutes, my hair is dried, and I’m finally ready to get my ass to work. When I glance at the time, I realize there’s just enough time to walk. A smile settles on my lips, and I grab my camera, phone, and keys before hightailing it out of here.
It’s a nice day. The sun is high above the rows of towering apartment buildings on either side of the street, and it warms my face as I walk.
It’s only a few blocks before the boring apartments start to thin out, and I hit the heart of Onyx Heights.
As I walk, I’m snapping pictures of everything around me.
When my phone buzzes from my pocket, I let my camera swing from the strap around my neck and pull it out. As I read over the text, I can’t help but laugh.