Chapter 2
MADDISON
Ican't breathe. I can't think. I'm vaguely aware that people are clapping, but all I can focus on is the lingering pressure of Sebastian's lips against mine, the heat of his body imprinted on my skin.
That kiss rearranged my brain, and a magnetic current slithered through my system.
Now I can't get it out of my head.
My lips tingle as he leads me away from the altar, his hand steady around mine. I'm on autopilot, smiling at faces that blur together, accepting congratulations from people whose names I should remember but can't because my brain is short-circuiting.
It's like I blinked and slid into a different version of me.
Sebastian Clay just kissed me senseless.
Sebastian freaking Clay. The man I've secretly watched while pretending not to notice how his thighs flex when he walks or how his eyes crinkle when he laughs.
The man whose acai bowl order I know by heart along with every other detail of his professional life.
And now I'm married to him. For money. For PR. For...
He leans close, his breath hot against my ear. "You okay, baby?"
That word. That deep, rumbling voice. It's not fair what it does to me.
"Fine," I say, but my voice comes out all wrong—husky, breathless. "Just trying to wrap my head around what just happened. I was single just a few minutes ago. Now I have a husband."
"Take your time. We have all night."
The promise in those words makes me shiver. I know it's just for show—the photographers are still clicking away, and everyone's been flooding social media (hashtag MadforMaddison, which was Sebastian's brilliant idea)—but my body doesn't seem to understand that.
I risk a glance at him, and it's a mistake.
He's devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, the crisp white shirt contrasting with his tanned skin.
His raven black shoulder-length hair is pulled back into a neat bun, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw.
Those blue eyes watch me with an intensity that makes heat pool low in my belly.
This is going to be a very long night.
"Dance with me." Sebastian extends his hand as the band plays something slow and jazzy. The rooftop venue glitters with string lights, the skyline creating a backdrop that even the most expensive wedding planner couldn't improve upon.
I take his hand, letting him lead me to the small dance floor where a few other couples sway. His hand slides to my lower back, large and warm through the thin material of my dress.
"Everyone's watching us," I say, hyperaware of the photographers, and it makes me self-conscious.
"Let them." He pulls me closer, the side of his mouth lifting. "You look beautiful, by the way. I didn't get to tell you earlier."
I flush at the compliment. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
"Only pretty well?" His mock offense makes me laugh. "You need to practice complimenting your husband."
I almost choke when he says that. "I've seen you sweaty and disgusting after games. Don't forget I also know what your laundry bin looks like. It ruins the mystique."
He spins me unexpectedly, then brings me back against his chest. "And here I thought you found me irresistible."
"You wish," I say, even as my body betrays me, my core pulsing at the proximity and the feel of his rough hands. I really want to focus on the dance, but I can't, not when my body feels like it's on fire.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks when I've been quiet too long.
“About how surreal this is. Yesterday, I was your PR manager, and today I'm your wife. Oops, pardon my whiplash."
His thumb traces small circles on my back. "You were never just my PR manager."
"No? What was I then?"
"A pain in my ass." His grin softens the words. "The only person who calls me on my bullshit."
I laugh. "Someone has to."
"True. Most people just tell me what they think I want to hear."
"That's what happens when you're worth millions of dollars."
"Not with you, though."
"I'm immune to your charms, Clay."
His eyebrow raises. "That kiss said otherwise."
My face burns. "That was ... acting. I'm just trying to bring my A-game here."
"Okay, baby. Whatever you say." He says it with such knowing confidence that I want to step on his foot.
"Don't fall in love with me, Sebastian. I'd hate to break your heart when this ends."
Something flashes in his eyes. Oh God. He thinks this is a challenge. "Sure."
The way he says it—all capitals, emphasized—makes me wonder if I've miscalculated somewhere. But before I can analyze it, he presses a soft kiss on my temple, and just like that, whatever coherent thought I had disintegrates into dust.
Two glasses of champagne later, we're expected to be a little more affectionate. Sebastian takes this duty seriously, pulling me onto his lap during the speeches, kissing my bare shoulder, brushing his lips along my knuckles. Each time, I feel a throb, the heat of need burning through me.
His hand rests possessively on my thigh, thumb tracing small circles that send sparks up my spine.
Without a warning, he kisses me—supposedly for the cameras, but the way his hand cups my jaw feels too intimate to be fake.
His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open to him without thinking.
He's a darn good kisser—I have to give him that—and I find myself shifting on his lap, wanting more.
When we break apart, both breathing hard as though we've just run a marathon, Sebastian's eyes are stormy. "We should do that more often."
"For the photographers?"
"Fuck the photographers." His voice drops lower. "I like kissing you."
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I unconsciously rub my thighs together. This is dangerous territory. "Sebastian..."
"Tell me you don't feel it too."
I can't lie, not with his hand on my thigh and the evidence of his arousal pressing against me. "I do. But let's not make things more complicated."
"Doesn't have to be." He kisses me again, deeper this time, and embarrassment washes over me when I hear myself moan. "Come on, baby. Let's get out of here."
"We can't just leave our own wedding reception."
"Watch me." He stands, keeping me steady as he announces our departure to hoots and whistles from his teammates. Anya catches my eye across the room, her expression carefully neutral but eyebrow raised in question. I give a small nod that I'm okay.
Am I? I don't know. All I know is I want this, whatever he's offering. I can blame it on the alcohol, sure, but Sebastian and I both know I can easily drink him under the table. I handle my liquor well, and I haven't had anything stronger than champagne.
No, whatever's about to happen, it's all on me.
Sebastian guides me toward the elevator, murmuring excuses about an early flight tomorrow for our honeymoon. It's a lie. We're spending the night at an exclusive boutique hotel that occupies the top floors of one of the city's sleekest skyscrapers.
The moment the elevator doors close, leaving us alone, something shifts in the air. There has always been some kind of weird tension between us—as we argued, as we talked, as we existed in the same space.
Tonight, though, it's different.
Something's different. And I don't know if I should be glad or scared. Our gazes lock, and electricity crackles.
"Fuck, I've wanted to do this all night." Sebastian backs me against the wall, his mouth hot and demanding on mine.
I should stop this. I should remind him this marriage is for show. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his hands slide down to grip my ass.
"You've been driving me crazy," he growls, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he pins me to the wall with his hips, grinding against me, the friction driving me crazy. "All night. That fucking dress."
His mouth moves to my neck, and I tilt my head back, gasping as he sucks at my pulse point. "Sebastian..."
He puts me down and drops to his knees suddenly, pushing my dress up my thighs. "I need to know what you taste like."
We're in an elevator, for God's sake, but the look in his eyes burns away any hesitation. I'm so tired of denying I don't want this, too. His fingers hook in my panties, drawing them down my legs as he peppers my thighs with soft kisses.
He lifts one of my legs over his shoulder. "Fucking perfect and wet."
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out, my hand flying to his hair, pulling it from its neat bun. He groans against me, the vibration adding to the sensation as he drags his tongue along my slit.
"Oh God," I gasp, my hips shamelessly rocking against his face.
But Sebastian is relentless, circling and sucking in a rhythm that has me climbing rapidly toward release. His large hands grip my thighs, holding me open for him as he devours me, pressing open-mouthed kisses on my folds.
The elevator seems to be moving impossibly slowly, or maybe he's hit the stop button, I'm not coherent enough to check. All I know is the wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of stubble against my sensitive skin, the pressure building inside me.
"That's it, baby," he says between licking my pussy and sucking on my clit. "Let me feel you come."
His words push me over the edge. I shatter against his mouth, thighs trembling, fingers tight in his hair as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. He doesn't let up, working me through every aftershock until I'm whimpering from sensitivity and my legs have turned to wet noodles.
When he finally pulls away, his chin is wet and his eyes are wild. He stands slowly, licking his lips. "You taste so much better than I imagined, baby. And I've imagined you plenty."
Before I can process that admission, the elevator doors slide open. Sebastian retrieves my panties from where they've fallen, tucking them into his pocket with a wicked grin. "Don't worry. You won't need these tonight. As a matter of fact, you don't need underwear when you're with me."
We stumble into the hallway, his arm around my waist, keeping me steady on shaky legs. The adrenaline and afterglow of orgasm make me bold. As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I push him against the wall, which looks pretty funny considering our difference in size.
"My turn," I say, sinking to my knees.
His eyes widen. "Fuck, Mad. You don't have to—"
"I want to." And I do. I want to taste him, to feel him lose control because of me.
Time to return the favor.
I make quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing him from the confines of his tuxedo pants. When his cock juts proudly against his stomach, I swallow hard. He's thick and veiny and as hard as a crowbar, already leaking from the tip. The sight makes my mouth water.
"Jesus Christ," he growls as I take him in my hand, stroking experimentally.
I glance up, maintaining eye contact as I lean forward and lick him from base to tip. His head falls back against the wall with a thud, one hand coming to rest in my hair.
"You're going to kill me, baby."
I take him into my mouth slowly, savoring the weight on my tongue, the taste of him. His fingers tighten in my hair but don't push, letting me set the pace. I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper with each bob of my head.
"Fuck, your mouth. So fucking perfect."
I've never felt so powerful. Sebastian Clay, hockey superstar, millionaire athlete, reduced to incoherent groans because of me. I hum around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily.
"Sorry, baby. You just feel so good."
I take him deeper in response, relaxing my throat to accommodate his size. His breath comes in harsh pants, his thighs trembling under my hands. I can tell he's close by the way he swells against my tongue.
"Mad, baby, I'm going to … you should—"
I double my efforts, making it clear I'm not going anywhere. He comes with a shout, his body going rigid as I swallow around him, taking everything he gives.
When I finally pull back, he looks wrecked in the best way. Nowhere near the heartthrob hockey player the public knows. No, this version of Sebastian is mine and mine alone.
He helps me to my feet, pulling me against him for a kiss that's somehow more intimate than what we just did.
We stand in the hallway, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in. There's no going back from this. Whatever pretense we had about this being just for show is gone. We've crossed a line, and I have no idea what's waiting for us on the other side.
Sebastian kisses me again, softer this time. "Let's go inside. I'm nowhere near done with you tonight."
As he leads me toward our suite, I realize with perfect clarity that I'm in serious trouble. Because fake marriage or not, I'm falling for Sebastian. Or maybe I already did all those years ago.
And there's not a thing I can do about it.