Make Me Bad (Page 35)

I expect her to protest, and she does try to push her dress down a little.

“I’ve never…” she says, letting the sentence hang.

I glance up so my gaze locks with hers and I kiss the inside of her knee. Then I peel her dress up and follow its path with my mouth. The material drags across her skin, goose bumps bloom, and I kiss them away, lapping her up until I reach the spot between her legs. I’m too tall for this angle. Her legs are long for her height, but still, I need more room. I wrap my hand around her calf and lift it up so her foot perches on my shoulder.

Her hand flies up to cover her eyes, like if she doesn’t look at what’s happening, she doesn’t have to be embarrassed by it.

I smirk.

It’s cute. All of it—the idea that she would turn this down because it’s out of her comfort zone, the idea that when my mouth connects with her soft, wet flesh she won’t crumble into a million pieces.

My tongue slides across her and I watch that hand curl up into a fist and fall away. Her eyes stay closed though. Her mouth drops open. So does mine. I lean in and her legs spread wider. My hands were keeping them apart, but there’s no danger of her closing them now. I let go of her thigh and bring one hand between her legs to compliment my mouth.

If I had a timer, I’d start it.

She won’t last another minute.

My middle finger slides into her and I start to pump slowly.

Madison’s eyes squeeze tightly. Her hand fists against her mouth like she’s scared of what will fly out. My tongue swirls faster and my finger matches its rhythm. That timer is counting down and Madison is grinding against me, rocking her hips, taking it and taking it, trying to stave it off as long as possible, but I’m better at this than she is. I pump faster and my tongue speeds up and the first shudder I feel is followed by a second one that’s even more powerful. Her orgasm rocks through her and she cries out, fisting my hair, keeping me there, ensuring that I help her milk every last drop of pleasure.

I kiss her and soothe her as she comes back down to earth. Her eyes blink open slowly and I’m smirking, very pleased with myself.

Her sweater dress falls back into place, the rest of her still in complete disarray. Light-socket hair. Flushed cheeks. Wide, crazy eyes.

She opens her mouth to say something and a giggle escapes instead. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, shakes her head, looks away. Apparently, she’s having a hard time piecing herself together, so I decide to help her. I pick up her panties and slide them back up her legs. When they cover her again, I pat her butt and step back.

“You’ve done that before,” she says, impressed.

I laugh.

Her brow arches. “I could return the favor, you know. I’m not opposed.”

My dick says yes, but my brain thankfully wins out.

“It’s probably best we don’t stay down here. Besides, it’s late—I’m sure your dad is wondering where you are.”

“Oh, about that…I moved out.”

She’s biting down on her lip to contain her smile.

I blink in shock. “What do you mean?”

She’s innocent now, playing with her dress, acting as if this isn’t monumental information. “Mrs. Allen has a garage apartment. She’s letting me stay there and pay rent. Well, technically, I haven’t convinced her to take my money, but I will. It’s nice. I mean, it definitely hasn’t been lived in since like the 70s. There’s green shag carpet and a smell I can’t quite seem to locate the source of, but it’s my own place, at least.”

“You moved out.”

She smiles. “I moved out.”

18

Madison

I’m in the bathroom of the library, freshening up before we leave. I try, very hard, to remove the blush from my cheeks. I fan my face, splash some cold water on it, shove my head down under the hand dryer. It’s no use.

It seems it’s permanent.

I can’t believe we just did that. In the storage room. Where I store books. Books are stored there and Ben did that and I have to get out of this bathroom. The redness is getting worse.

He’s waiting for me by the library exit with my bag in hand, checking his phone. He’s beautiful in his suit. His hair is only slightly mussed from my hands. He looks composed, nearly bored. I try to mimic his expression and probably come across looking as though I’ve had bad Taco Bell.

“All set?” he asks.

I take my bag with a little meek smile and then lead him through the door.

Mrs. Allen lives a few blocks from the library, which is the main reason I worked out the living arrangement with her. It’s not the ideal scenario. Like I told Ben, the garage apartment is not exactly the lap of luxury, but it’ll do the trick for now.

He guides me to his car and then I direct him to her house. Thankfully, the apartment has its own entrance and exit in the back alley, so I can come and go as I please.

We park and Ben sits quietly for a second. It’s an ominous silence, the kind that leads into bad conversations I don’t want to have.

I prepare myself for the following possibilities:

“Madison, that was fun, but I want to keep this casual.”

“Madison, now that I’ve sampled the milk, I don’t really care to purchase the cow.”

“Madison, bye.”

Instead, he turns to me, eyes narrowed in frustration. “That’s the entrance to the apartment?”

I turn to see where he’s pointing. The staircase off the alley leads straight to the front door. The light overhead flickers like we’re in a horror film. It’s charming, right?

“Yup. Just up the stairs.”

“And the apartment doesn’t connect to Mrs. Allen’s house?”

“No, thank God.”

His frown intensifies. “Has your dad been here?”

I’m confused. What’s he getting at?

“Not yet.”

My dad took the news of me moving out surprisingly well—so well, in fact, that I suspect he’s been waiting for me to be ready to leave the nest for a while now. I truly thought he needed me there. I thought I was doing him a favor by staying and looking after him, cooking him meals and keeping tabs on his health, but as it turns out, it might have been the other way around.

I’m wondering about the hilarity of that when Ben leans forward.

“Madison, this alley has no security cameras. Nothing. That door doesn’t even have a deadbolt.”

I frown, not quite seeing his point. Clifton Cove is safe. There’s nothing to worry about.

“You were held up at gunpoint a few blocks over from here—what makes you think that couldn’t happen again? Or worse?”

“So…you don’t want to come up and see it?”

He emits a low grumble—more like a growl, really—and then follows me up the stairs. Looking at it from his perspective, I can see his point.

“I was so eager to get out of my dad’s house, I didn’t really have many options,” I say, turning my key and pushing the door open. “The rent here is cheap, and it’s just supposed to be temporary.”

I step inside and the room seems even smaller than when I left this morning. I didn’t want to move any of my furniture over here since it’s not technically mine. My dad bought that stuff. I need new, adult stuff that I purchase with my own money, so I’m currently sleeping on a futon. The other furniture is all stuff that was already up here collecting dust. There’s a funky gold floor lamp beside the futon. A card table is currently covered with my two duffel bags full of clothes. Behind a door on the right, there’s a toilet and a shower. The toilet only flushes when it feels like it and I haven’t figured out how to get hot water in the shower, but I’m sure if I keep at it, I’ll figure it out. Easy peasy.

“Madison,” Ben says, his tone just as hard as it was down in his car. He doesn’t see the same charm that I do.

“What? It’s homey!” I say, pointing to the Bob Ross-style landscape painting covering most of one wall.

“Come stay with me,” he says, as if it’s the simplest idea in the world.

“For a night?”

“Yeah, sure, or for…longer.”

For a second there, I thought he was going to say forever. My eyes bug out of my head. “No. Way too soon. I can’t believe you’d even suggest it.”

“Is it too soon? I’m thirty-one. I’ve dated a lot of women.”

“Well I haven’t dated a lot of women, or men, for that matter. I’ve been living with my dad and I don’t want to jump from his house to yours. I’d like to stand on my own two feet, at least for a while.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long is a while?”

“I don’t know.” I turn and walk away from him, pretending I have some important task I need to take care of. I refold a shirt on the card table before I shrug. “A month…two months. I’ve never thought about it.” I’m annoyed that he’s forcing me to put a specific timeline on my figurative goal. “I just don’t want to look back at my life and feel like I was never confident enough to pave my own way.”

“I admire that, but I’d also like to point out that your dad wasn’t supporting you. You work full-time. You take care of yourself. I understand what you’re saying and I’ll let you do what you need to do, but I’d just like to point out that you’ve been standing on your own two feet for a while now—you just don’t realize it.”