My nipples pucker against my lace bra when the salty goodness pumping out of Maddox’s cock thickens. He’s close to the edge, and I’m about to take him there.
“What…” I push out in disbelief when he withdraws his cock from my mouth just as the veins keeping it hard match the frantic rhythm of the throb of my clit.
“I want to be inside of you when I come.” Maddox pounces to his knees, flips me over, arches my back, then enters me from behind.
I call out. Screaming my only response since I have nowhere to grab, and I’m being filled by a dick that deserves an upstanding applause. With my hands slippery from the heat bouncing between Maddox and me and the Twister mat being made out of plastic, I’m going down no matter how hard I fight. The floor gets closer with every brutal pump Maddox does, but I keep the knowledge of my soon-to-be collision to myself, preferring to die being fucked like I never thought possible than stop him now.
“You… oh God… yes…” I say through frantic breaths when Maddox grips my throat. His hold isn’t close to painful, but since he had to weave his arm through the gulley of my breasts to do it, I’m no longer concerned about faceplanting onto the hard floor. He has me. He has me so fucking good. “Oh God… oh. I’m going to come.”
I power through the sheer insanity engulfing me when Maddox grunts out, “Good, ‘cause I’m right-fucking-there with you.”
He pumps into me over and over again until my screams turn earthshattering, then he buries himself balls deep, grunts my name, and spills his load inside of me.
21
Demi
I stare at the bathroom door, unsure whether I should knock or not. Maddox has been in the shower for the past thirty minutes. For someone like Sloane, that isn’t a big deal. She only ever leaves the bathroom once the water runs cold. But for Maddox, a man who was pushed to the absolute brink long before I took his dick between my lips, it seems a little obsessive.
He was handling things better than expected. We ate, talked a little, then we fucked like what happened last night wasn’t real. Even with the hour being early, I was hoping to get back to the talking part of our recovery, but Maddox’s phone had other ideas. He had only just finished cleaning his cum from the inside of my thighs when it buzzed on repeat. Since it was barely five in the morning, I encouraged him to answer it, panicked it might have been important.
The expression on Maddox’s face when he read his messages revealed that was wrong of me to do, but instead of telling me the reason for the deep groove between his brows, he announced he was going to take a quick shower.
You know the story from there.
I could ask him through the door if he’s okay, but that seems a little impersonal, especially considering he’s the only person who truly knows me since he was forced to walk in my shoes only hours ago. Furthermore, the battle he’s facing is solely my fault, so shouldn’t I be the one to guide him through it?
Confident that is the case, I exhale a big breath, then push down on the handle.
“M-Maddox?” I hate the stutter his name is delivered with, but it can’t be helped. I’m genuinely petrified my uncle has forced him to become a shadow of himself. It didn’t seem like that when we fooled around on the Twister mat, but what else could be the cause for his unusually long shower? “If you stay in the shower much longer, you’ll turn into a prune.”
The cabin’s water heater must be massive. There’s enough steam to assure me the water pumping out of the showerhead is still scalding. It takes three lengthened strides to part the steam enough to spot Maddox in the shower, and when I do, my heart sinks to my feet. He’s seated on the floor, his back is resting on the marble tiles, his head is flopped backward, and his eyes are closed. The knuckle-busted hand he gripped my throat with earlier to save me from tumbling to the floor is resting on his bare thigh, and it’s uncontrollably shaking.
Even with his hands being pelted by a healthy spray of water, they’re more battered than they were only an hour ago. I’d say his new welts are complements to the grout brush dumped next to his thigh. Its white bristles are stained with blood and flecks of skin.
“Maddox…” If there weren’t a massive groove between his reddish-blond brows, I could pretend he’s fallen asleep. Unfortunately for all involved, I know that isn’t the case. “Is everything okay?”
When he pops open his eyes, the pain in them cuts through me like a knife.
He’s hurting—badly.
Past pretending this is okay, I tug off the jeans I placed on before we ate, throw open the glass shower door, then step into the steam-filled space. I hiss through the shock of the high temperature of the water while moving Maddox’s hands off his thighs. Once I have them at his sides, I straddle his lap, curl my arms around his stiff shoulders, then bury my head into his neck. Even with him remaining as stiff as a board, I hold him tightly while repeating for him to breathe through the dread crushing him.
This is the exact reason I ran yesterday. The Walshs have a reputation, but it isn’t one built on fear. Their parents raised them with respect, values, and love. That makes them incapable of killing without feeling an ounce of remorse.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper into his neck, my lips quivering. “I promise you, I will make things right.”
I’m anticipating for it to take more than a few measly words to drag Maddox off the edge he’s precariously dangling on, so you can picture my utter bewilderment when he tugs me in closer after banding one of his arms around my back. He draws me in until my chest is flat against his and his nose is buried into my hair.
When I tug the ponytail holder out of my hair, wanting absolutely nothing between us, his exhale ruffles more than my partially soaked locks. It kickstarts my heart as well. He should hate me for what I forced him to endure. He should despise me on sight. Instead, he acts as if I’m the only person capable of saving him.
“I’ll make this right, Maddox. I’ll fix the mistakes I made.”
We sit in silence for several long minutes. It hurts knowing he’s hurting, but it also feels good that he can accept my comfort without it making him feel weak. Only brave men are in touch with their emotions. The others are usually the villains of the story.
“He had a family,” Maddox confesses a short time later, his voice croaky and distant. “A wife and daughter.”
I pull back, the pain in his words too profound to disregard. “You didn’t have a choice.”
“His daughter is only three. She’s a baby.”
“You didn’t have a choice,” I echo, my words spaced by big, determined breaths. “If you hadn’t done what you did—”
“He would have hurt you.” I nearly shake my head, but his next confession steals more than words from my mouth. They pinch my resolve as well. “He was married, his wife gave him a daughter for fuck’s sake, so why did he torment me with how he was going to rape you?”
I knew there was more to his snapped response than first perceived.
Now I know what it was.
Maddox didn’t just protect me from one monster. He went against an entire warehouse of beasts.