Is this the meaning of my tattoo? Is this why he chose the black and blue butterfly for me? “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”
“Because, Brighton,” he says. “You’re the beautiful butterfly. I caught you in my net. I’ve taken you home. And I can’t promise you’re going to be the same if you spend the night with me.”
“That's where you’re wrong," I say. “I’m not fragile. I’m not going to break if you handle me too much.”
“I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You say that now ...”
“You’re giving yourself too much credit. You can’t hurt me. You might be able to bruise my ego, but that’s as much damage as you’ll ever do, I can promise you that.”
Madden swallows, his expression blanketed in seriousness. “I’m only going to tell you this once, and then whatever you decide is on you.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t want this,” he says.
“Now you’re just flattering yourself.”
“I’m being serious.”
“You act like you’re some kind of monster,” I say. “But you’re just a man who happens to be a little more complicated than everyone else.”
I visually trace the parts of his body left uncovered by his white tank top, his flawless, naturally sun-kissed skin. Not a speck of ink in sight.
“Let me ask you this,” I say, reaching out to trace the veins of his left arm. “What if the butterfly flew north on purpose? What if she wanted to see what it was like because maybe South Florida didn’t appeal to her the way it should have? Maybe she was different from all the other butterflies that looked like her?”
“All right. Fine. Justify this any way you want,” he says, his lips closing in on mine. “But don't say I didn’t warn you.”
My stomach caves when his mouth crushes mine, and I lift my arms to his broad shoulders as his fingers trace the skin beneath the hem of my shirt. Everything he touches turns electric, makes me hotter, incites a frenzy at atom level.
This is nothing like kissing Eric. Kissing Eric was mechanical, awkward at times. He was overzealous, too eager. Impatient. There was no technique to it. He just went for it, like a dog burying its face in a bowl of kibble.
But Madden … Madden takes his time. Slow, methodical, intentional.
His mouth is angled ever so slightly, his tongue soft and velvet as it slips between my lips. He places a hand along my jaw, his thumb resting at the corner of my mouth while his fingertips lace through the hair at the nape of my neck.
He tastes of beer and cinnamon, an unexpected if not exotic combination in its own right and one I’ll forever associate with this moment.
Madden’s attention finds my neck, and the sharp graze of his teeth along my collarbone comes next. I draw in a cool breath before tugging his fitted tank top over his shoulders and tossing it aside.
His chiseled torso is just as flawless as the rest of him, unmarred by drawings, bronze and tight against his muscles.
His fingers work the button of my shorts before sliding them down my thighs. A second later, his hands cup my ass before he lifts me into his arms.
I bury my face against his shoulder, breathing in his intoxicating masculinity as he carries me to his messy bed and deposits me in the center of it. Crawling over top of me, he kisses me once more, harder but still slow, still taking his time like he wants to enjoy this, like his concern is the process and not the end result.
Sitting up, his hands glide up my outer thighs, stopping when he reaches my panties. With a smirk, he rubs his thumb along the gusset with just enough pressure to tease my clit. And then he slips a finger beneath the waistband, pulling them down and throwing them over his shoulder, into the abyss of his messy living area.
My stomach caves, quivers as he lowers himself between my spread thighs, his hands hooking at my hips and his breath warm against my sex.
Eric was never into oral. He only ever wanted sex. He went down on me all of three times during our tenure together and never for more than a few minutes—hardly enough time for me to enjoy it.
The wet slip of his tongue along my slit causes me to gasp, reaching for the pillow behind my head and grabbing a fistful of the soft fabric.
Madden’s hands steady my bucking hips as his tongue traces and tastes the most sensitive parts of me.
“You’re so fucking sweet,” he says. “I could spend all night down here.”
I blush, though he can’t see it in the dark, and my heart settles, but only a little.
Eyes closed, I bite my lip and let my body relax knowing it’s in skilled hands. Literally. Madden devours me, taking his time and varying pressure and motions, always keeping it interesting, always switching things up just when I think I’m getting close.
The pressure builds several minutes later, the intensity between my legs reaching a fever pitch. I can’t lie still any longer, my hips rolling beneath his hands and the smallest sighs escaping my mouth.
It’s then that Madden stops.
Just like that.
The ache below is almost unbearable—he brought me to the edge and then dropped me.
“I was so close,” I tell him, sitting up on my elbows.
“Yeah,” he says, climbing over me and reaching into the top drawer of his nightstand. When he returns, I spot a gold foil packet between his fingers. “I know.”
Madden slides out of his jeans before lying beside me and propping himself up on pillows. With his cock in one hand, he rips the packet with his teeth before sheathing his generous hardness.
“You on the pill?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Perfect.”
My heart flutters, my nipples harden as he pulls me into his lap. I straddle him, though he isn’t inside me yet. Madden tugs my blouse over my head before sliding the straps of my bra down each shoulder and unfastening it.
With his hands wrapped around the small of my back, he buries his face in my chest, all of him pressed against all of me.
His lips pepper kisses into my prickled flesh and the pulse of his cock between my thighs incites a burst of heat below.
I want him inside me so bad it hurts. Literally.
“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers before his tongue circles a pink budded nipple.
With his hands cupping my ass, he guides me to my knees before I lower myself onto him inch by tantalizing inch. From beneath me, he thrusts himself the rest of the way in, stretching everything I have with everything he has.
Exhaling, I rock back and forth, responding to his rhythm with my own. I’ve never had sex in this position before—with Eric it was only ever missionary, half the time we were mostly clothed in case one of our roommates were to come home unexpectedly.
But there’s something freeing about this—being naked and exposed, mutually and willingly using one another, all in the name of unadulterated pleasure.
Madden's hands cup my back as he pistons into me while I ride him. With each passing minute, I find myself approaching that edge, and it takes everything I have to temper that, to keep myself from climaxing too soon.
I want to enjoy this.
I want to go all night with him.
Our eyes catch in the dark, his coffee-colored irises glinting, reflecting off the dim light from the kitchen. I expect him to look away. At least that’s what Eric always did. But he holds my gaze like he owns it.