Madden was theirs.
The world got to stand at his altar too.
They got to praise the sex god with a voice of a fucking devil.
Madden traced his bottom lip again before the words came out. He looked like straight sex when he licked his lips, the slow way he did it made me so fucking hot and I hated it. He was family and somehow, somewhere, we lost touch of that. As soon as he belted out the first line, I froze. His eyes came down to me and if there was no one around, I would have wanted to touch myself.
Hell, I would have if there was no one else to witness.
His eyes were half-lidded, his lips moving with a sensual draw, and the way he only looked at me made me want to sit on his face and ask him to sing to my clit as I rode him. The room changed as the music began to play. The beat entranced me, and the guitars took my breath away. People began to bang their heads and jump, but I couldn’t move. It was his penetrating gaze, though, that kept me rooted in place.
As if he knew where my mind was, he smirked, continuing his song. And I got lost in the way he touched every part of my body with his words alone.
You burned me without touching
Just a caress
A lick of the flame
It lit me on fire from the inside out
Pain upon pain
Kerosene kisses as my fingers begged for you, did it taste sweet, little demon?
Do you like the burn too?
Little demon
I’m coming for you
Little demon
I know you feel it too.
Shh, little demon, we’ll be together soon
Pain upon pain
Kerosene kisses I gave to you
Kerosene kisses before the flames devoured you
My body felt achy. Warmth sluiced through me as my thighs felt damp from the wetness of my body as he finished his song. Was this how fangirls felt when they listened to their favorite artists? Like they’d jump their bones if the singer simply consented to it?
Because right now—with the throbbing between my thighs and absolute need in my body—I’d do some pretty illegal shit to touch Madden.
Just once.
Therein lies the problem. It was selfish of me to even indulge in fantasies with another man while engaged to be married in three weeks.
Yet as he sang his lungs out for me, my engagement ring felt invisible, and my heart felt like his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
One Day the Only Butterflies Left Will Be in Your Chest as You March Towards Your Death – Bring Me the Horizon & Amy Lee
Madden
I didn’t expect her to be here. Hell, I didn’t expect to be singing, but Al sold me out. He wanted me to get out and then he threw me under the bus for his friend.
When I looked down and she stared at me with those fuck-me eyes, I couldn't resist flirting a little. Why was she here of all places and why did it excite me?
Was this her choosing me instead of Brandon?
I belted out the lyrics—my words. Could she tell it was written with her in mind?
My little demon.
The forbidden taste I yearned for.
After the song, I left the stage quickly, needing to find her—to talk to her. She might have listened to me sing with the expression of unrestrained lust but it didn’t mean she’d stay for the aftermath. Every time we shared carnal moments together, she ran. When it got tough and real shit happened, she got scared.
“Where are you going?” Al hollered, chasing after me.
“Nowhere,” I returned, not wanting to tell him I planned on finding my aunt and making her pick tonight. Waiting wasn’t my strong suit and since the other night, I hadn’t been able to think of anything but her. I wanted to devour her whole and destroy anyone who dared touch her.
She was mine; she just didn’t know it yet.
Usually, I had someone over to keep my bed warm, but not since the other night, before seeing Andy for the first time in five years. I couldn’t do it. The desire wasn’t there.
It was only Andy.
Andy.
Andy.
Andy.
My poison and antidote in the same vein.
A hand clamped onto my shoulder, stopping me. My body reacted immediately, flinching. They really needed to stop touching me.
“Don’t leave because you’re mad, Reav,” Stony said, bringing me to the annoyance of being forced on stage when I hadn’t mentally prepared. While going on the tour was a choice, it was also something that fed my demons; being randomly shoved onto a stage without my mental vices felt like being thrown to the fucking wolves covered in blood, begging for them to not make a meal out of me.
“I’ve got to go,” I muttered, not lying. If she was gone again while he distracted me, I’d punch his stupid face.
He put his hands up as if he could tell the sneer on my face meant I was seconds away from doing just that. “I just wanted to give you a tease for our tour.”
“Yeah, what did it accomplish?”
“We’ll all get laid?” he offered dumbly.
“You act like we all can’t do that every fucking day. I don’t like surprises.”
“I know,” he muttered apologetically, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I just wanted someone special to see it.”
Was he talking about Andy? There was no way for him to know—
“Hey, Mads,” Carson’s voice hit my ears, stopping me in my tracks. His voice used to bring peace, comfort, now it only made my hackles rise. Not one fucking surprise but two. I hadn’t set eyes on my best friend in five years, much like Andy. He went to my parents’ funeral and not even I offered them that courtesy.
Pain wasn’t an emotion I allotted much time with, unless I chose to put a blade or needle to my skin. Otherwise, it messed me up, a chaotic reaction I couldn’t compartmentalize naturally.
Carson’s hand tapped my shoulder but I couldn’t face him. I won’t. Not while I wasn’t sober, not while I still cut my arms every night, not while I hated every fucking thing in this world.
I was a mess, and he was a fixer.
I was chaos, and he was calm.
I was war, and he was the white flag.
Carson was really fucking important to me and seeing him would destroy me. Closing my eyes, I flattened my lips, not wanting to be harsh but not wanting the anger and pain and sadness inside me either. He evoked emotions like Andy, but unlike Andy, I couldn’t escape Cars. He reminded me of my home, of everywhere my parents existed.
Andy somehow didn’t.
“I can’t do this, Carson.”
“You won’t even look at me,” he commented, his voice strained and sad as shit. Broken. Like me. “Five years, Mads, and you still make me suffer alone.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have fucking blindsided me,” I growled, using a tone I never used with Cars before this moment. He wasn’t a softie by any means, but I reserved this tone for enemies, for someone who deserved it. Yet, he was here, undeserving of my wrath, and I still threw it at him.
“Don’t act this way,” he begged, the guy I saved on the field pouring out. Turning toward him, I felt the agony immediately.
In the five years I’d been gone, he’d changed a lot. The confidence he lacked when he first visited Brightmore was nowhere to be found. He had heavy liner on his eyes, a smoky shadow look going on, and the hard and sharp angles of his face reminded me of a time before this.