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“Maybe,” Maddox says, then clears his throat. “I hate to cut this short, but I have some phone calls I need to make soon.”
“Oh, sure, no problem,” Dad says, then stands. We’ll leave you to it.”
I hold the arms of the chair and am about to surge to my feet, when his gaze connects with mine and pins me to the spot.
“I still have a question for you, Whitney,” Maddox says. “About the posting you’ll do later.”
“Sure,” I say, and plop down on the chair again.
Dad leaves and closes the door behind him.
Quietly, Maddox stands and walks up to the door, and locks it. “You’re upset,” he says, picking a chair next to mine and sitting.
I cross my legs, then uncross them and cross them again. “What? No,” I say in a hissy voice that betrays my words. I’m upset, and also embarrassed for being upset about him not acknowledging he’s seeing someone to my father. And maybe a tad jealous. What if Dad really tries to find him a date? My heart lurches. The idea of him with another woman gives me instant acid reflux.
He runs his fingers down his face, then sighs. “I couldn’t tell him about you.”
I shrug. “I know. But, the way you said maybe, he’ll set you up with someone.”
A panty-melting smile forms in his lips. “Maybe I should go, give you a taste of what you put me through the other night,” he says, referencing to when I took a friend to Dad’s birthday party.
“We weren’t together then,” I say. My fake date with Ashton was merely utilitarian. Though I guess he has a point.
“And we are now,” he says, then looks at me with so much intensity, all my pulsing points go on high alert.
“We are?” I ask, my voice soft. Does this mean what I think it means?
“I never felt as together with anyone more than I do with you,” he says.
His words send me on an emotional spin. It’s like it’s Christmas morning and I’m about to unwrap a gift I’ve been dreaming about, but my anxiety skyrockets because even though I wanted it, it’s such a cool gift I’m not even sure I deserve it. Who am I kidding? I don’t deserve it.
My phone buzzes in my tote, and I take advantage of the annoying sound to give my fidgety hands something to do, and fumble inside to silence it. Then I touch something soft on the bottom of the tote—among my small make up bag, gum and other items. His tie that I removed the other day at the photo shoot—feels like forever ago.
I fish it out, and give it to him. “This is your tie, I’ve been meaning to give it back.” But I selfishly kept it, and smelled it once or twice. Okay, a few times.
He holds it, with an appreciative look. “I remember you said there was no need for it.”
“Yes.”
“I bet we could put it to good use,” he says, then takes my wrists in his, and in a swift movement, wraps the tie around them. I gasp, surprised, lips parted but without nothing to say. A shot of lust travels through me, landing in between my legs, my pussy getting wet already.
Then, he pulls me into his arms, and lowers his lips to mine, in a kiss that quickly escalates—the temperature hotter than hell, the sensations better than heaven.
I melt into his touch, his teeth grazing my lower lip, his hands reaching down to my ass and pulling me up from the chair and onto the table. I want to hug him, to have my hands all over him, to caress his cock. But I can’t. I’m not allowed to, which amplifies the sensations he provokes in my body.
He, however, has his hands all over me, touching me, teasing me. The way he looks at me it’s like he sees me for the first time, his gaze slowly navigating my body, following his touch. At first, he outlines my lips with his fingertip, and I part my mouth, my breath catching in my throat.
The little hairs at the back of my neck stand on end, my inside nerves sizzling with awareness. I arch my body forward, so desperate, so eager, so willing to give myself to him… now and always.
“Maddox.”
“Yes?” He lifts my chin so I can see him through half-opened lids.
“I want you.”
“Until when?” he says, stroking my cheek.
I swallow. Realization unfurls inside me. He needs a promise from me. I didn’t think he’d ever need that. I thought he always knew. Maybe he’s been asking himself some of the same questions I’ve asked myself. There’s a trace of anxiety in his expression, the way he holds my chin up, not wavering.
