8. Chapter 8
Maddie watched Heath run a rough hand over his face, exhaling hard, muttering something under his breath that Maddie couldn’t catch. Then—without looking at her, without another word—he turned and stepped out of the room.
Her stomach dropped.
The sound of his boots echoed down the hall, and she just stood there, frozen.
Watching him walk away.
Something hot and sharp flared in her chest, too fast, too strong, too much.
She knew why.
It wasn’t the cheating. It wasn’t the marriage. It was the other thing. The thing she hadn’t said outright, the thing he must have put together in his head the second the words left her mouth.
She was worthless to him now.
No man like Heath Carrington wanted a frigid, barren woman.
Her lip trembled, and the moment she felt it, she swallowed it down and shoved it away.
She wasn’t going to stand here like some wounded little girl.
If he was going to leave, he could at least have the balls to say it to her face.
Maddie marched after him, catching him just as he stopped in the hallway, bracing a hand against the wall like he needed a minute.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped.
He turned, startled, brow furrowing.
She jabbed a finger toward his chest, her voice shaking with something she didn’t want to name.
“Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you didn’t just make a decision about me—about what I’m worth—about what you—”
Before she could get another word out, he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
One second she was pushing toward him, angry, defensive—
The next, her back was against the wall, Heath’s body crowding hers in, his hands braced on either side of her head, trapping her in place.
Her breath hitched.
Because his eyes.
There was something in them she had never seen before.
Fire. Fury. Possession.
And it was all for her.
Maddie swallowed hard.
He just stared at her, breathing hard, looking at her like she was the only goddamn thing that had ever mattered.
Heath crashed into her, his mouth hot and demanding, pressing her back against the wall so hard she felt it in her spine.
Maddie barely had time to suck in a breath before he devoured her, his lips rough and unrelenting, his body flushed against hers, trapping her in a heat she wasn’t ready for—but needed.
He tasted like red wine and something darker, something completely him. His mouth was wet, hot, commanding, his tongue sliding against hers with a hunger that bordered on savage.
Her breath hitched, and for a split second—just a single, fleeting second—she let herself fall into it.
But then—
She fought it.
Fought him.
Her hands pressed against his chest, pushing back, trying to break free, trying to get air, trying to think.
But Heath was relentless.
He growled low in his throat, snatching her wrists, pinning them against the wall, his grip firm but careful, unyielding but protective.
Her pulse slammed in her throat.
“You think I’m going listen to that shit?” he muttered against her lips, his voice rough, vibrating straight through her.
She swallowed hard, shaking her head, unable to speak.
Heath’s breath was ragged, his forehead pressing to hers for a split second before he kissed her again—harder, deeper, angrier.
“I will kill him.”
The words were a promise, a snarl, a vow ripped from his soul.
And then—
He kissed her like he meant it.
Like he meant every single word.
Like he meant to erase everything that came before him.
Maddie’s last shred of resistance shattered.
She kissed him back, her body arching into him, her fingers curling into his skin, her heart racing like she was on the edge of something she couldn’t name.
And for the first time in years—
She didn’t feel frigid at all.
Maddie barely had time to breathe, barely had time to think before Heath’s hands tightened on her thighs, hoisting her up like she weighed nothing.
Her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, her fingers gripping his shoulders as he turned and carried her out of the hallway, through the house, straight to her bedroom.
The room was dark, drenched in silver light, the glow of the moon spilling through the open window. It cast long shadows across the walls, across him—all broad shoulders and raw strength, golden skin stretched tight over corded muscle.
He stepped to the edge of the bed, his breath hot against her ear.
“Tell me the truth.”
She swallowed, her heart hammering. “About what?”
He set her down, but didn’t let go, his hands gripping her hips, keeping her caged against him.
“Are you really unable to have kids, Maddie?”
Her throat closed.
She almost turned away. Almost let herself run again.
But his grip held firm, grounding her, forcing her to face it.
She licked her lips, voice quiet but certain. “I think so.”
Something flickered in his expression. Something dark.
Then—his hands tightened, his grip shifting, firm, possessive.
“Let’s test it out.”
Maddie gasped as, in one swift, ruthless motion, he ripped her tank over her head, stripped her bare before she could protest, before she could even process what was happening.
Then—he was tearing off his own shirt, shoving down his jeans, boots hitting the floor, leaving nothing between them but heat, breath, need.
Her skin flushed under the cool night air, but she had no time to feel exposed, no time to feel vulnerable, because Heath was already moving.
He grabbed her, spinning her effortlessly, bending her over the bed.
Maddie’s breath hitched, palms pressing into the mattress, her body arching beneath the sheer force of him, the dominance, the possessiveness in his every touch.
His hands swept over her bare back, over her hips, slow and deliberate.
“Fuck, McAuley,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, low and deep and full of something primal.
She shivered. “Heath—”
His fingers dug into her skin, his body pressing closer.
“You’re mine now,” he rasped, his breath hot against the back of her neck. “And I’m about to prove it.”
Maddie barely had time to brace herself before Heath’s hands slid roughly down her spine, slow and deliberate, his touch firm enough to make her breath hitch. His fingers traced along her bare skin, his palms claiming every inch of her as he dragged them over her hips, lower, testing, teasing.
She shuddered. Her body knew what it wanted.
Her mind, though—her mind was still fighting.
“You think I’m not going to correct you?” Heath’s voice was dark, low, a quiet promise of punishment. He leaned in, his breath warm at her ear. “You think I’ll let you believe that bullshit for one second longer?”
She bit her lip, stifling a response, her hands gripping the bedding as she fought against the heat pooling in her belly.
He didn’t give her the chance to hold on to it.
His hands traveled up the backs of her thighs, firm and slow, making her shiver as he pushed her legs apart just enough—a silent command.
Maddie tensed. “Heath—”
“Tell me.” His fingers skimmed dangerously close to where she ached for him, but he didn’t give her what she needed. Not yet. “Tell me what you were thinking about Sunday morning.”
Her stomach twisted—heat, shame, desire all tangled into something dangerously potent.
“I—”
He rewarded her hesitation with a sharp squeeze at her hip, his grip possessive, unforgiving. “Don’t lie to me, Maddie.”
She swallowed, shaking her head. “I don’t—”
His lips brushed over the base of her spine, then lower, dragging slow, hot kisses over the curve of her ass, down to the sensitive skin at the backs of her thighs. She gasped, barely biting back a sound, her knuckles going white as she gripped the sheets.
“You don’t what?” His voice was dangerous now—smooth, coaxing, relentless.
She squeezed her eyes shut, humiliation burning through her. “I don’t want to say it.”
Heath hummed, his hands tightening on her thighs, spreading her just enough to make her breath catch. “That’s too bad,” he murmured against her skin, his lips teasing, his voice full of dark amusement.
She knew what he was waiting for.
He wanted her to admit it.
He wanted to break through her last bit of resistance, strip her bare in every way.
And God help her—she wanted to let him.
Maddie’s nails dug into the sheets. Her whole body trembled. And then, finally, in a whisper so quiet it was barely there—
“I was thinking about you.”
Heath stilled.
A long silence stretched between them, thick with heat, anticipation, and something dangerous.
Then—his lips curved against her skin, a satisfied, knowing smirk.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
And then—he gave her exactly what she needed.
Heat coiled deep in her belly, her breath ragged as Heath’s grip tightened on her hips, holding her bent over in front of him, exactly where he wanted her.
His tongue flicked up the slit of her pussy, slow, deliberate, teasing—each brush of his lips setting off a chain reaction inside her.
His fingers found her clit, rolling it slowing.
She wasn’t supposed to be here… bent over in front of her contractor as he ate her out from behind.
Wasn’t supposed to be doing this…
And she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be telling him what she had thought about Sunday morning, alone in her bed, her hand between her thighs, imagining him.
But he was making her.
And God help her—she wanted to give it to him.
His hands slid lower, rough palms kneading into her skin, coaxing, demanding. “You thought about me,” Heath murmured, voice low and dangerous, his breath warm at her ear. “Tell me what I was doing, Maddie.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, chest rising and falling too fast.
He traced his fingers over the backs of her thighs, teasing, making her gasp. “Say it,” he pressed, his voice dark velvet, coaxing, relentless.
Maddie swallowed hard, her fingers gripping the sheets. She couldn’t.
She shook her head.
His grip tightened. His lips brushed slowly over the dip of her lower back.
“Tell me,” he growled, his hands spreading over her hips, holding her still.
Her body betrayed her, shivering beneath him.
“I…” Her breath shook. “I thought about you fixing things around my house.”