Chapter 36
Madelene
Water pounds down on my shoulders, the warmth of it already having time to settle in my bones.
I fully expected Hollis to join me, but I feel like I’ve been in here forever and he hasn’t even darkened the open doorway.
This bathroom is more what I’m used to, a hundred levels above what he had back in McAllen, Texas, but I find myself missing the confined space. It’s as if all the room here makes me feel like I’m missing something and can’t put it into words. I know it has to do with everything that happened.
I’ve gone through the spectrum of emotions tonight. I may not have had a great relationship with my father, he may have been the one to hand me over to monsters, but my mother loved him, and I loved her. It made it nearly impossible to watch the recording of his torture and death.
I look down at my body, now free from Alessio’s blood. Bruises mark my wrists from the way the Severino men tied them together so carelessly, but that seems like the only physical proof I have from such an intense day.
I huff a laugh. Intense? What a fucking word.
I turn off the water, once again taking my time in hopes that Hollis will join me, but as I towel dry, he doesn’t show.
Maybe I read too much into that kiss. Maybe he was just being overprotective in the way he held me close the entire drive to this hotel.
Maybe he’s glad I’m okay, but second-guessing what happens next.
I made him choose. He wanted me to go to him, but I couldn’t. I need him to make that call, but now I’m feeling as if I read it all wrong the way he comforted me, the way his heart rate calmed once he had me pulled in tight to his body.
I wrap the towel around my body, finding myself once again without clean clothes to wear. Slowly, I make my way from the room, freezing at the sight of Hollis leaned back in the armed chair on the far side of the room, his hand wrapped around a glass of dark liquid—whiskey if I had to guess.
He looks as annoyed as I felt showering alone, and it makes me restless, feeling naked and vulnerable, but I’m past all that shit.
I was before Nash stopped the train that was coming by pulling Hollis off of me in McAllen.
I’d made a plan then. I was going to take what I wanted from this man.
I was tired of living in fear. I spoke of wanting a choice but refused to choose when I had the opportunity.
The weeks I spent with him, keeping my distance, only giving him exactly what he demanded of me while ignoring the wants of my body, were wasted time.
I didn’t want to waste time any longer, but I may not have a choice anymore.
I step up to the tray, picking up the second glass on it and tossing the liquid back.
His jaw twitches when I scrunch my nose at the taste, taking a deep breath when it burns my throat.
Definitely whiskey.
I lift the stainless-steel cloche, my mouth instantly watering at the sight of the bacon cheeseburger and fries.
“Seventeen dollars for the whiskey,” he says.
My eyes slowly rise from the food to look at him. I pull a french fry from the plate and bite the end of it.
“The fries weren’t even included with the meal. Another twelve dollars.”
“Yeah?” I chew, trying not to smile and finding myself unable. “That’s really expensive.”
“It is,” he agrees, his thumb running back and forth over the rim of his glass of whiskey.
“I’m broke. Bank doesn’t open until morning.”
His smile is slow, a little menacing. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Eat your fill,” he urges. “You’ll be expected to pay back every single bite.”
I knew this was the game we were playing before he ever opened his mouth, and it fucking thrills me to no end.
I fight the urge to squeeze my thighs together.
“This burger will be better than any of the others?”
He shrugs. “Probably not, but it will definitely cost more.”
I lift the gooey thing, wondering if I honestly shouldn’t pull up a chair and have a meal, but my need for other things right now wins out.
I take a bite, an actual fucking moan rumbling inside of me because of how hungry I am.
I chew slowly, liking the power I feel when his eyes drop to my lips and then my throat as I swallow.
“How much was the water?” I ask, lifting the frosty cup from the room service tray and taking a long drink.
“It was complimentary, but it took time to order it.”
“So there’s a fee attached?”
He nods, lifting his whiskey to his lips and draining the glass.
I inch forward as he places it on the side table.
“I only have one way to pay,” I tell him, dropping the towel. “I hope this is enough.”
His eyes scan my body, taking in every inch of me slowly. He pauses on the bruises on my wrists but doesn’t mention them.
“It’s not.”
“Maybe this will cover it,” I say, walking closer and straddling his body.
I lift his hand until it’s cupping my breast, and although he seems enthralled, he still shakes his head.
“This?” I ask, barely able to keep from moving faster, considering we’re practically picking up right where we left off days ago.
I roll my hips, the movement a little awkward feeling with my inexperience.
“You’re getting there.”
He lifts his arms when I tug at the hem of his shirt, not wasting a second to press my skin to his. The light smattering of chest hair he has brushes my nipples, and it sends an urgency I’ve never felt before up my spine.
His hands fall to my ass, taking a handful and urging another roll from my hips.
His erection rubs against me, still confined by his jeans, and it just won’t do.
I reach lower, whimpering with need when I bump my pussy as I try to unbutton and unzip his pants.
He helps, a simple lift of his hips when I slide off of him and try to drag the denim down his legs.
I don’t bother with his boots. Once I run my cheek up his leaking cock, he doesn’t seem very concerned at all that his clothes are tangled around his calves.
“Mads,” he says, taking a handful of my damp hair in his hands as I drop to my knees.
He doesn’t try to stop me, doesn’t tell me that he doesn’t need what I’m offering.
I like that about him more than I can say. He isn’t fucking fake, and despite what has happened to me, he isn’t going to lie and tell me he doesn’t want it. Every man wants every blow job offered to them. Some may turn them down, some may explain the fact away, but it doesn’t make it less true.
He hisses when I lick the tip of him, the taste of his precum igniting my tastebuds.
He pulls me off, his grip on my hair tight and stinging, yet somehow nothing like the way it’s hurt me in the past. I meet his eyes, staring into their darkness as if they’re a place for comfort not pain.
“Slowly,” he growls.
I nod my head in understanding, only dropping my mouth back down when he loosens his grip enough to allow it.
It’s a warning. It’s him letting me know he’s not here to hurt me, but he’s also not giving up his own power.
I double my effort, letting the salty warmth of his skin glide along my tongue. His thighs under my hands tremble, betraying this calm demeanor he’s trying to convince me he has, as if this blow job is no different to any of the other lackluster ones he may have received before.
It’s different for me, the first one I’ve given freely, willingly.
I swallow, my throat constricting around the head, but instead of trying to press further, to reach deeper parts of me, he pulls me off, his breaths making his muscled chest rise and fall erratically.
“You’re not sucking me off tonight, Mads.”
Mads… I freaking love his nickname for me. It speaks of a connection, of familiarity.
“Take my fucking boots and jeans off.”
His release of my hair is a relief physically, but I scramble to do as he instructs because I’m desperate, in need of another connection from him.
It doesn’t take long to pull the wad of clothing around his calves from his body, both of us ignoring what has to be Rocco’s blood on them.
He doesn’t urge me closer, doesn’t pull my mouth back on his cock. He stands, forcing me to look up at him from my knees. The way he traces my face, looking reverent and grateful for a long moment, feels both familiar and not at the same time. It reads as forced but perfect as well.
My heart pounds, the rhythm of it dictating my breathing, another thing I’m experiencing that fluctuates with his every move.
“I’m not going to stop,” he says, urging me to stand.
I press into him once I’m on my feet, his huge hand immediately grabbing my ass, his erection stiff and leaking against my stomach, leaving behind a trail of wetness on my skin.
The man is virile, huge, and I know I should be scared about what happens. Just the pain should make me want to run from the room, but I’m locked in place by need and nothing else.
It feels dangerous what we’re doing, but it also feels like a choice, as if I really pumped the brakes on this, the night could end much differently than the direction we’re heading right now.
I don’t want different.
I don’t want soft.
I don’t want him whispering that I’ll be fine in my ear as he slowly takes the only part left of me to give.
He has to know it’s been his.
Maybe he knew long before I knew it belonged to him.
I’m tired of waiting.
I’m so fucking glad he is too.
“I’m not going to stop once I get started,” he repeats.
“Okay,” I agree.
“I’ll fucking marry you tomorrow if it’s what you want, but this is happening tonight.”
I nod, knowing it won’t go over well to tell him my virginity is something Alessio put a value on, not me. I’ve held on to it for my own safety after my dad made his vow, not because it was some spectacular thing that really meant something.
“Your pussy is mine, Mads. If you giving it to me makes you a whore, then that makes you my whore, understand?”
It’s not the first time I’ve been referenced that way, but it’s the first time the word has ever sent a zing of need through my body.
“Your whore,” I quickly agree, licking at my suddenly dry lips.