Mad Love

by Ashlyn Mathews

  God, I’m a fool for thinking I would ever be enough for him. Tired of his silence, I make contact first. I send Maddox a text.

  Me: Don’t wait up. I’m staying an extra night

  The message is delivered. Gray bar with three dots show up on my screen. He’s typing out a response. I wait. The bar and dots disappear. Nothing.

  “Sweetheart?”

  I glance up. They’re staring at me.

  “I–I have a headache. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

  I leave the office and shuffle to the bedroom with my head down. Snippets of my conversation with the Shanahans run through my mind like a song I can’t get out of my head.

  At any point in time did you send men after your kidnapper?

  So long as he kept his promise, I was supposed to keep mine. I would never search for him.

  I would never search for him. My grandfather’s promise.

  I would never search for them. My promise to Roman. That I would never make contact with the team of men who were beat unconscious for failing to realize I had snuck out of Roman’s place. No one knew I was gone until Tobias checked on me. Then all hell broke lose from what Rylan told me.

  Well, didn’t everyone all around break their promises to me? Roman promised never to hurt someone I cared about. I cared for all those guys. They were good to me. Grandfather said he’d always take care of me. That’s what he said the day my family buried my parents. Worst of all is Maddox. Didn’t he vow to love me and only me until death do us part?

  I’m a fool. A lovesick fool.

  Oh, God, I fell for him.

  I groan low in the back of my throat. Throw my hands in the air. Stomp to the bedroom.

  How can someone fall in love after knowing a person for less than two weeks? A person can’t, and I’ll prove it. It’s cliché, but I’ll kill two birds with one stone. I’ll conquer my fears and nab my kidnapper.

  All this time, I’ve been on the defensive, surrounding myself with men who can keep the threats at bay. My fear of skin on skin, of being kidnapped, of having to answer questions about my time with my kidnapper, of having to make small talk with strangers because it’s expected of me as a Lexington . . . Bullshit.

  It’s time I take control of my life. I write my own destiny. My fate won’t be decided by my kidnapper, my family—the McCabes and the Lexingtons—or my husband. I’ll go on the offensive, starting with one fear first before I move on to the next.

  The best way to kill fear is to pit it against anger, and I know just how I’ll bring Maddox to heel.

  25

  Maddox

  Whoever came up with the word “chilling” is off base. I’m “chilling” on the couch with my foot on the coffee table watching another episode of a real-life crime show, with a drink in hand and my cell phone next to me.

  I should be relaxed. Chilling. Then why do I have the burning need to smash my fist into the wall?

  Blaise is spending another night with that prick? What happened with our agreement that she would only hang around for one night and one day?

  Dammit! I glance at my phone. I haven’t answered her text for a reason. I am pissed. Jealous. Never have I been this angry or jealous. The narrator’s voice drones on on the television. I channel flip. There isn’t anything interesting on. I’m wallowing in my loneliness, missing my girl.

  The phone rings. No one calls me at midnight unless it’s to tell me shit’s hit the fan. I pick up the phone. Granger’s name lights up the screen. Panic has me shooting out of my seat.

  “If that bastard hurt her—”

  “Calm the fuck down and get your ass to the Venus Nightclub. Blaise is there.”

  Not only is she spending another night with Cillian but she’s at his nightclub? Damn her. I end the call and strip off my clothes on the way to the bedroom. After changing into something more presentable, I take the elevator down to my personal underground garage. To take back what’s mine I need a fast ride. My sight lands on my gun-gray McLaren. Yep, she’ll do.

  I sit at the bar with a view of Blaise. She is in the middle of a group of men. One male holds her gloved hand to his chest. They move as one. Side to side. Back and forth. Hips swaying. They’re too close for my comfort.

  I should step in. Yank her from the guy’s hold. Except this is my chance to soak in her beauty. She is smoking hot in a red satin dress, the sides held together by strips of material. The fit of the short dress shows off her tiny waist and the curve of her hips. And those sky-high skin-tone heels? Fuck me. I’d strip her of her dress, leave her in the heels, and fuck her from behind.

  She’d cry out my name. Beg me to go faster and harder. Help her come with my fingers, my mouth, and my cock. But she doesn’t like to be touched skin to skin.

  Can I live with that?

  Or will her “oddities,” as she calls her coping mechanisms to her trauma, be a deal breaker for me? Sex is all about touching. Giving and receiving. So is conversation, and Blaise has listened. Has given of herself by dropping her guard and being vulnerable. She hasn’t eaten meat since she was rescued. Blaise didn’t have to tell me that. She could’ve explained it away with a different reason.

  Maybe she’s an animal lover and the thought of eating meat doesn’t sit well with her. Or she doesn’t like the taste. There’s many reasons she could’ve given me. Instead, she gave me a truth that set her up for being judged as a freak, an oddity, a strange woman.

  Blaise isn’t any of those things. I find Blaise to be very normal. She has fears, hopes, and dreams just like everyone else. Has suffered loss, losing her parents and her grandfather. What she hasn’t experienced is falling in love. Can I give her that? Or will my selfishness for skin on skin win out?

  The guy leans close to her. Whispers something in her ear. My doubts fall to the wayside, replaced by anger. I drain my drink. Slam the glass down on the bar. Dropping a one-hundred-dollar bill next to the glass, I rise from my seat and storm onto the dance floor.

  The men surrounding Blaise see me. They cross their arms over their chests and form a solid wall of testosterone. To get to my girl, I’ll have to go through them.

  Gladly.

  I slam my fist into one man’s face. Must’ve broken his nose. The cracking of bone rises above the music. I pound my fist into his friend’s stomach. The guy doubles over. I shove him aside. The guy holding Blaise’s hand drops it like it’s burning embers.

  Good.

  I snatch her hand in mine. She sways on her heels. I pick her up.

  “What are you doing here?” She’s slurring her words.

  “You were drinking,” I accuse.

  “Guilty.”

  “This is a twenty-one-and-over club and you’re not legal, Blaise.”

  “No shit.”

  “Watch the language.”

  “Or else what?”

  “I’ll put you over my knee and spank the living daylights out of you, that’s what.”

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Blaise,” I growl. “Don’t test me, darling.”

  “God, I hate that word.”

  “Did you let him fuck you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you and Cillian sleep together?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Answering questions with more questions. Not cool, Blaise.”

  She swats my shoulder. “That’s my line.”

  “Well, did you?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I grit my teeth. We’re going round and round. Thank fuck we’re outside. I’m sweating balls. I head for the valet. A large hand settles on my shoulder.

  “I’m only going to tell you once. Let her go.”

  Lethal. Sharp as steel.

  I turn around. The group of men have regrouped and are surrounding us. I recognize the tat on the side of their necks. Cillian’s men.

  “Not on your life. She’s mine.”

  “She is Cillian’s.”

  “Is th
at true, Blaise?”

  “Set me down and I’ll tell you.”

  Goddammit, she is not making this easy for me, and . . . I fucking like it. Women give in too easily to me. I set her on her feet.

  “Yes, I’m his.”

  I see red. They did do the dirty. Fuck me.

  I grab her hand and demand the men move. “I’m taking my wife home. Now, move.”

  “We don’t take our orders from you.”

  A crowd is gathering around us. I bring my fingers to my mouth and whistle. It pierces the air and brings in the troops—my security detail. They form a circle around Cillian’s men. My men pull aside the front of their jackets. They’re packing serious firepower. An SUV pulls up to the curb and parks. Granger and Blaise’s men storm out of the blacked-out SUV.

  Granger demands they move aside and let Blaise and I pass.

  “We don’t take our orders from you,” the prick with the high and tight cut says, enunciating each word.

  Then it dawns on me. Blaise is Cillian’s. His men are her men. They are loyal to Cillian and his newest lover, my wife.

  “Call off your dogs, Blaise.”

  “Don’t speak of them like that. They are good guys.”

  “One had his hands on you. Call off your dogs or I will cut off his hands and his dick, darling.”

  “Why are you being such a jerk?”

  I’m the jerk? The red in my vision flares into this molten hot anger that takes over my being. I push through the first layer of men. Command my men to hold off Blaise’s dogs. I glance over my shoulder, making certain there’s not a bloodbath behind us, and catch Blaise exchanging heated glances with the guy who was holding her hand on the dance floor.

  Who the hell is the douchebag who didn’t say a word? He stood by and observed everything with a calm and confidence that annoys the fuck out of me. Is he Blaise’s lover too?

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere private to talk. I’m too pissed at you to drive us home right now.”

  “Who says I want to go anywhere with you?”

  “You’re mine, Blaise. Don’t ever forget that.” I stomp off into the darkness, putting distance between us and the onlookers.

  “I’m a business arrangement.”

  “You’re my wife.” Gritting my teeth, I up my pace and yank her behind me.

  “I’m a means to getting what you want. Betty.”

  “I’ll give up Betty if I can have you. I only want you, Blaise.”

  “You’ve never wanted me.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.” I pull her to me and push her up against the nearest wall. “I’m telling you now, I want you.”

  She tips her chin. “You don’t.”

  I growl low in my throat. “What did I just say, Blaise. Don’t put words in my—”

  She grabs me by the hair, and wrenching me down to her level, Blaise clamps her mouth on mine. She robs me of breath. Steals any attempt on my part of thinking rationally. I need to touch her. Need to show her who she belongs to. My hands settle on her waist. Caress up and down her sides. Her skin is soft, warm awakening the nerve endings on my fingertips. She moans into my mouth, and I can’t hold back my hunger for her. Deepening the kiss, I slide my fingers in her luscious thick hair, and tilt her head to the side.

  I end the kiss, and she protests. Her protest doesn’t last long. I kiss down the elegant column of her neck. Linger on her pulse point. Inhale her sweet scent.

  “Jesus, baby, you smell good.”

  I drag my nose across her cleavage, and craving a taste of her, I tug down the front of her dress and circle my tongue over her nipple before I take the little bud in my mouth.

  “Maddox, oh, God. More. Please, I need more.”

  What she wants, I’ll give. I cup her other breast. Pinch and tweak her nipple. Slip my other hand under her dress. The dress is tight. There’s not much wiggle room. Time to change that. With both hands, I tear up the side of her dress. The flimsy strips break off along the edge, and the dress falls open in the front.

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re not wearing a bra or panties.”

  Eyes hooded and lips parted, she whispers a breathy, “Guilty.”

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I cup her tiny waist. Feast on her round, perky breasts with my eyes. Take in all of her from her flat stomach to her smooth mound. All mine.

  “You’re mine.”

  “Then take what you want, Maddox.” Defiant tip of her chin.

  Growling low, I slam my mouth over hers. Tangle our tongues. Taste the inner walls of her mouth. She moans. Clasps my head between her palms. Strokes down the sides of my face with fingers that are warm and . . . bare.

  Jesus H. Christ, she’s taken off her gloves. Her bare hands go under my shirt. Her fingers skim over my chest hair and down the ridges of my abs. My abs flex beneath her soft touch. My dick hardens more when she trenches her fingers in my chest hair and tugs. Pleasure and pain.

  “I gotta have you, baby,” I say against her mouth, hating that I had to break off our scorching hot kiss to tell her I need her.

  “Make me yours.”

  “Not here. Not in an alley.”

  “Cillian would.”

  Fuck me. Fuck me, why’d she have to go and say those words? I lock my jaw. Ball my hand. Blaise covers my hand. Unfurls my fist. Brings my hand low.

  “Touch me. Please, Maddox.”

  She pulls me down again. Captures my mouth in hers. The kiss is slow. All-consuming. This woman unravels me with her words. I press my thumb to her clit. Stroke the swollen nub. Circle her clit. She is wet, ready. I slip a finger inside her tight, wet pussy. Slip in another. Finger fuck her until she’s begging me to help her come.

  I aim to please.

  I get down on my knees and eat her out. Her legs shake. She trenches her fingers in my hair. Guides my face over her sex. I lap up her flavor. Inhale her musky scent. Take a slow drawl of her clit. She shatters on my face. Comes down from her orgasm with a soft sigh.

  “Make me yours, please. Please, Maddox.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” I glance up. She’s rolling her head side to side on the wall, her eyes closed.

  “You’ll hurt me more if you don’t give this to me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as my name is Blaise Stassi.”

  Blaise Stassi. My wife. My woman.

  I get up off my knees and undo my pants. I let them fall and pool at my feet. Blaise stares at the outline of my erection.

  “I want a taste.”

  Jesus.

  I nod, too turned on to speak worth a damn.

  She tugs down my boxers and my cock springs free. I grab my rod and yank it side to side and back and forth. She gets down on her knees. No way in hell will I let my woman kneel on grimy pavement. I haul her up before her knees hit the ground.

  “Wait, baby.”

  Buttons be damned, I grab the front of my shirt and yank until the top buttons fly off. I pull my dress shirt over my head and drop it on the ground at my feet.

  “Now you can blow me.”

  She gets down on her knees, grabs my cock in her bare hand, and strokes up and down my length. Her touch is softer than the satin gloves she’d worn.

  “You feel so good,” she purrs, her lips on my rod. “So soft. Velvety head. All these ridges.” She licks up and down my length. Mouths the head. I groan. Tip my head back. Put my palms on the wall for leverage. Otherwise, I’ll keel over from how good her small mouth feels on my cock.

  “Jesus, baby, your mouth is tight like a fist.”

  I slide my fingers in her hair. Guide her up and down my cock. My legs shake. The air is cold on my bare ass cheeks. She goes harder and deeper. My balls tighten. I’m ready to blow my load.

  “I gotta get inside you, baby.”

  I yank her up by her arms, and grabbing the back of her legs, I hoist her up and onto my rod. I slide inside her tight, wet pussy inch by inch. She sets her hands on my shou
lders. Wraps her legs around my waist. Goes up and down on the head.

  “You okay so far?”

  I’m breaking a sweat. I don’t want to hurt her. I want to make her feel good.

  “More.” She seats herself further on my dick.

  Down.

  Further down.

  She bites down on her bottom lip. Runs her fingers up and down my arms.

  “I love how soft your skin is. How strong you are.” Her fingers trace the outline of the muscles on my arms. I flex my muscles. Her eyes widen. I slide in more. Break through a barrier. She’s a virgin. Blaise is still a virgin.

  Overjoyed is an understatement.

  Tears fill her eyes.

  My gut clenches.

  “Was I too rough, baby?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then why the tears?”

  “Touching you with my bare hands. You touching me without gloves on . . . I miss what touching someone feels like. I missed out on so much because of my fears.”

  “Aw, baby. You’re the strongest person I know.” She is so fucking strong. And she is mine.

  Grabbing her by the waist, I help her move up and down on my cock. Her nails dig into my shoulders. There is no barrier between us. No gloves. No condom. The last thought doesn’t linger long.

  I slam her up and down on my rod. Her inner muscles clench my cock.

  “Kiss me, Blaise.”

  She cups my head in her palms, and kissing me so well and thoroughly my toes curl, I come the same time she does. We’re in harmony. Flesh on flesh. Sweating and panting in the cold open air.

  “Maddox?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I care for you.”

  “Aw, babe, I care for you too.”

  No falling for one another. No asking for more. A friends-with-benefits arrangement. How exactly does that work in a marriage that is becoming more of a marriage than a business arrangement?

  There’s a way to find out. I’ll do everything I can to show Blaise what we have is more marriage than business.