25. Maddie
Maddie
I look at him, really look at him, and the panic that was clawing at my throat five minutes ago starts to settle into something else. Something hotter. Something that feels like power.
"I want you to take it, Dean," I whisper, my voice steadier than I expected. "I don't want to think about who was in here. I want to think about you.”
Dean’s expression softens, but his eyes stay dark, focused. "That’s exactly how this works, Baby. You’re the one in charge of my control. If at any point this is too much, or if you just want it to end, you say the word."
I take a breath, my heart thudding against my ribs. "Red Hots," I say, the ridiculousness of the words a sharp contrast to the intensity between us. "That’s the word."
"Red Hots," he repeats, his voice like velvet. He reaches down, taking my hand and placing it on his thigh, right above the knee. "And if you can't find the words? Squeeze right here. Three times. If I feel that, I stop. Instantly. Everything else stays outside that door. In here, it’s just us."
He stands back, his massive frame creating a shadow that feels like a shield. "Now," he commands, and the shift in his tone makes my stomach flip. "Get on your knees, Maddie.”
I obey, the carpet soft beneath me, my gaze fixed on his belt. I’m not small because he’s making me be; I’m small because I want to be exactly where I am.
"Good girl," he praises, the words vibrating in the air. "Now, I want you to reach out. Pull me out. I want you to be the one who starts this."
My fingers are shaking as I reach for him and undo his belt, the heat of him radiating through the fabric. I free him, my breath hitching at the sight of him—thick, heavy, and entirely mine.
"Look at me while you do it," he rasps. I look up, meeting his hooded gaze as I guide him to my lips. "Slowly. Take as much as you want. Show me how much you need this.”
I take him in, the slide of him against my tongue a sensory overload with his piercing that finally pushes the image of my ex out of my mind.
Dean’s hand finds the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he doesn't push. He guides. He waits until I’ve adjusted, until I’m the one leaning forward, before he starts to move.
He works himself into my mouth, his rhythm steady and demanding, his breath hitching as I take him deeper. Every time I hit the back of my throat, his grip in my hair tightens just a fraction, a silent praise that makes me want to give him everything.
When he finally pulls out, he’s breathing hard, his face a mask of primal focus. He doesn't move toward the bed. Instead, he walks over to the armchair in the corner of my room and sits down, his legs spread wide, his hands gripping the armrests.
He looks like a king on a throne.
"You're doing so well, Baby," he murmurs, his eyes scanning every inch of me. "But I’m not done with you yet. Come here. I want to see you ride my dick. I want to see you take exactly what you want from me right here in the middle of this room.”
I walk toward him, my knees still a little weak from the taste of him, but my heart is steady.
"Come here, Baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, vibrating friction that makes my skin prickle.
I don’t hesitate. I move between his spread legs, my hands finding his shoulders for balance as I lift my legs to straddle him. The heat radiating off him is staggering, a living wall of fire.
"Look at me," he commands, his hands coming up to rest on my waist. His grip is massive—holding me steady, but not forcing me down. "Tell me what you see."
"I see you," I whisper, my breath hitching as I lower myself slowly. I can feel him at the entrance, thick and ready—and the anticipation is a physical ache in my chest. "I only see you, Dean."
"Good." He lets out a pained, guttural groan as I finally sink down, taking all of him in one long, sliding breath. My eyes flutter shut, my head falling back as the fullness of him stretches me, filling every hollow space I had left.
"Eyes on me, Maddie. Don't hide."
I snap my eyes open, locking onto his hooded, dark gaze. He’s not moving yet. He’s waiting, his hands firm on my hips, while I adjust to the length of him.
"You're in control," he reminds me, his voice a dark, steady promise. "You move when you're ready. You take what you need. I'm just here to make sure you get it."
I start to move, a slow, tentative grind that has me gasping for air.
Every time I lift and drop, the friction sends a jolt through me that makes my toes curl into the fabric of the chair.
Dean’s hands stay on my hips, his thumbs digging slightly into the bone, guiding my rhythm but letting me set the pace.
"That's it," he rasps, his head falling back against the top of the chair, his throat a long, corded line of tension. "Take it, Baby.”
I sob, my pace getting more frantic as I feel the pressure building, that tight, electric coil winding up in my stomach. "I'm yours."
"Yeah, you are," he growls, his hands finally leaving my hips to find my hair, pulling my head down so he can kiss me—deep, hard, and possessive. His hips bucking upward to meet my descent. "Are we still good, Baby? You still with me?"
"Yes," I cry out, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my body vibrating with a release that starts in my toes and crashes through my heart. "Yes, Dean. Please."
He doesn't stop. He keeps the rhythm steady, his eyes never leaving mine as I come apart on top of him, his presence the only thing keeping me from shattering into a million pieces.
The quiet in Addy and Luka’s house feels different.
Not like Dean’s place.
Not like my apartment.
This kind of quiet is… lived in. Warm. Familiar in a way that settles into my chest the second I step inside, even though my mind is still trying to catch up with everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Dean didn’t stay.
He followed me all the way here, his headlights steady in my rearview the entire drive, close enough that I never felt alone but far enough that he wasn’t crowding me.
And when I pulled into the driveway, he didn’t even hesitate.
Just waited long enough to see me get out of the car—and then he was gone.
Like he trusted I was where I needed to be. Like he knew I’d be okay here.
The front door had barely opened before Addy was there.
No questions. No hesitation.
Just her hand wrapping around mine, warm and firm, pulling me inside like she needed to physically confirm I was in one piece before anything else.
“Maddie—” she started, her voice already tight with worry.
“I’m okay,” I told her quickly, even though I wasn’t sure what that meant anymore.
She didn’t argue. Didn’t slow down.
She just tightened her grip on my hand and started walking, dragging me through the house like she had a destination in mind and nothing was going to stop her from getting me there.
Past the kitchen. Down the hall. Into one of the spare rooms.
The door shuts behind us with a soft click, and suddenly everything feels smaller. Contained. Just the two of us.
“Okay, spill.” She sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me down with her, her eyes already scanning my face, my posture, every little thing like she’s trying to piece it together before I even start talking.
I take a breath. And then I tell her. Not everything. Not about Dean. But Tyler. The note. The boxes. The way it felt walking into my apartment and knowing he’d been there, touching things that weren’t his, making decisions that weren’t his to make.
Addy’s expression darkens the longer I talk, her jaw tightening, her fingers curling into the comforter beneath us like she’s holding onto something she’d rather throw.
“I don’t care about that asshole,” she cuts in the second I pause for air, her voice sharp in a way that makes it clear she means it. “He’s going to get what he deserves. Eventually.”
There’s no doubt in it. No hesitation. And coming from her—I believe it.
Her eyes lock onto mine again, sharper now, more focused. “I wanna know about you and Dean.”
My stomach flips. Not violently. Just enough to remind me that everything I didn’t say is still sitting right there, waiting to be acknowledged.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, too quickly, my gaze dropping for half a second before I force it back up. “I needed somewhere to go. He offered.”
The words sound flat even to me. Like they don’t match what I felt. Like they don’t even come close. Addy just stares at me.
Then she rolls her eyes.
“Fine,” she says, drawing the word out like she doesn’t believe me for a second. “I’ll drop it…” A beat. “…for now.”
There’s a warning in it. A promise.
And somehow—that feels easier to deal with than actually answering her.