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“I mean it,” I snarl.
“How do you reach the top shelves?” she murmurs.
I pick you up. And I catch a greedy feel of that perfect body as I do so.
“There’s a ladder,” I tell her.
I walk out onto the balcony and take a seat at the table. Maddie walks past me, her juicy ass shifting in the light fabric of her dress, and leans over the balcony railing.
“This is incredible,” she says. “You can see the whole freaking city from up here. Do you mind if I take a picture?”
I have to struggle to hear her question as my eyes fixate on her ass, so round, so fleshy, so plump. She’s got an ass I could spend hours caressing, stroking up and down, and feeling the way she vibrates and whimpers as she gets closer and closer to the edge.
“Yes,” I growl, pushing past the never ending obsessive thoughts. “I mean – no, no, go ahead.”
She takes out her phone and snaps the city, and then tucks it back into her bag.
When she turns back to me, it’s with that just-Maddie mixture of nervousness and excitement, that potent perfect mixture that makes me want to roar.
As she takes her seat across to me, one thought blares louder than all the others in my mind.
How the fuck am I going to get through this lesson without kissing her?
Chapter Thirteen
Maddison
My heart won’t stop freaking pounding like a drum in my chest, heavy and distracting as I take my seat next to Madden. I hope he can’t tell how nervous I am – flurrying nerves coursing through my body – as I fumble with the zipper of my laptop bag.
I’m in Madden Mitchell’s apartment.
As I walked through the living room – with all those wonderful bookshelves – I found myself scanning for any sign of a woman in his life.
In a perverse sort of way, that would make things so much easier. If he had a woman, then at least I could tell myself all this craziness is a waste of energy.
But then, do I really think that would stop my endless fantasizing?
“I’m sorry for how we left things last time, Maddie.”
I snap my gaze up to him, shock gripping me at the darkness in his tone. Darkness, and something else…
Emotion, writhing beneath his grim tenor, something different from the anger I felt last time.
He’s wearing a pale blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up, his top button undone to show me a tempting glimpse of his rock hard pec muscles. His forearms twitch every time he so much as freaking moves. His face is stern, his lips flat, but there’s something in his eyes.
Lust, my mind whispers. He wants you. He wants this.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I say quickly, realizing I’m drifting off into the clouds again. “I know it must be hard, talking about your childhood.”
“It’s so much easier in letters, isn’t it?” he says with a soft smirk, his voice husky and intense.
I laugh, mostly because it’s either laugh or do something crazy like reach across and run my fingers along his square jaw, feeling the tension in him, telling myself it’s the same tension coursing through me.
Matters aren’t helped when Boxcar sniffs his way into the living room, his footsteps getting quieter and quieter until it’s just me and Madden.
Madden seems to notice the sudden privacy too, as he sits forward, rests his throbbing forearms on the table, and stares at me with that twinkling light in his eyes.
“Shall we get started?”
I warn myself to tame my thoughts, to not let myself think stupid things like he’s noticing the privacy.
As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a girl with a similar past to him – in terms of our parents – and a girl who he’s doing some charity work for.
That’s how he views me. As a project, not a partner.
Heck, maybe he’s even going to write a book about this, the philanthropic millionaire who helped a girl from a bad neighborhood.
I unfold my laptop and turn it on, and then look over the top of it as he continues to stare at me, into me, causing countless signals to whisper through my body.
“Open your word processor,” he says a moment later. “There’s an exercise I’d like to try with you. It’s a little hippy-ish, I guess you’d call it. But it often helps me as a warm up to my actual writing.”
“A warm up?” I ask.
He nods. “It’s like when I exercise. I like to warm up beforehand, let my muscles know it’s time to kick into gear. I want my mind to know it’s time to do the same. It helps me focus.”
“Okay…”
I have to push the word out as my thoughts flood with images of Madden working out, sweat dripping down his massive muscular body. I imagine his shirt turning transparent when he’s soaked through it, imagine how he would feel if I clawed onto his muscles and squeezed, my fingernails digging into his skin.
