4. Madelyn

CHAPTER 4

Madelyn

I f someone had told me earlier today that I’d be in the home of a complete stranger having mac and cheese, I would have laughed in their face. I don’t know why I would have, though, because I know first-hand how dramatic my life can get at times.

Things spiral out of control fast whenever I’m around. For example, being jumped in an alleyway. I truly believe that if weapons hadn’t come out during that fight, I would have been fine. But they did, and I froze, and while I hate that it happened, I’m finding it a little hard to be too annoyed at the situation.

Especially not when the end results are sitting right across from me. Dominic. Or at least that’s what he said his name was. For all I know, that could have been a lie. I have trust issues—ninety percent of the time, a person’s being dishonest with you. That’s just how people are. They lie, they deceive, and they get away with it, because mind readers don’t exist.

Instead, I’ve had to learn and adapt. Thankfully, despite not being able to mind-read, it’s been pretty easy to figure most people out. Their actions, their motivations.

Right now, with Dominic, I’m getting, nothing. Nada, zilch. The man is a brick wall. Robot is more like it. He doesn’t speak unless absolutely necessary and he’s expressionless most of the time. I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody so closed off. It should make me antsy. Everything about this entire situation should worry me, but I’m just finding it hard to let it.

I realize I’ve been staring at him for too long when he looks up from his phone and arches an eyebrow. My heart thuds in my chest and I quickly look away, embarrassed at being caught. He probably gets this all the time. Women acting foolish around him. And I honestly can’t say I blame them.

Not when he looks the way he does. His face is sharp, angular—the type of face that demands undivided attention. His entire demeanor drips with ease. The cold, blank type, the one that projects to the entire world to fuck off. It doesn’t help that his eyes are a slate gray color, impossible to read.

He’s wearing tailored black trousers and a crisp blue shirt with shiny black cuff. His dirty blonde hair is styled with not a single strand out of place. And his presence is stifling. The man looks straight out of a nightmare. Or a dream. It all depends on perspective, I guess.

“Are you done?” he asks, gesturing at the plate in my hand that has not a single morsel of food in it.

What? I was really hungry, and I’m pretty sure that was the best mac and cheese I’ve ever tasted. Not only is he built like a god, but he also cooks. This world is so unfair.

I nod and he takes my plate from me, stacking it with his and heading back into the kitchen. He finished his meal a couple minutes before me.

I quickly follow him, my bare feet gliding across the floors of his house. It’s more of an apartment, and when I looked outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, I caught glimpse of the night sky and the city’s skyline. We’re pretty high up, I’m guessing maybe a penthouse?

His kitchen is just as large as every single room in his house. The place screams luxury—marble countertops, gleaming appliances—but it’s cold. Impersonal. Like him.

He’s already standing in front of the sink, rolling up his cuffs. I hurriedly rush over.

“No, it’s fine. You cooked, I should do the dishes,” I protest.

He looks at me, a light expression in his eyes that I’m guessing is amusement, before pointing in the direction of something. It’s then that I notice the dishwasher beside the sink.

“Oh, right. Of course you have a dishwasher,” I mutter. I watch him load the plates in awkwardly. “I should probably go.”

He finishes before turning to look at me again. “Go where?”

“As hard as it might be to believe, I do have a home and a bed I sleep in at night,” I reply.

His eyebrows furrow. “Why would I find that hard to believe?”

“It was sarcasm,” I say, waving it off. “Anyway, I really should go home.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Madelyn,” he says.

I shiver at the sound of my name on his lips. He has such a sexy voice. The kind of voice you want whispering dirty, dirty things in your ear.

No… Don’t go there, Maddie.

“I know what time it is,” I murmur, trying to get rid of the X-rated thoughts in my head.

It’s perfectly normal. The man is handsome as hell and I haven’t gotten laid in a while. But it’s not cool to think about stuff like that. There’s no way he’d be interested.

His muscles bulge when he crosses his arms. “Good. Because you’re not leaving.”

My jaw falls open slightly. I hate that even his bossiness is attractive.

“Are you serious? You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But I’m also not letting you leave by yourself in the middle of the night.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“You probably said that to yourself before you walked into an alley and got jumped by three men.”

My lips curve up into a smile at that. “You’re not going to let that go, are you? It was a lapse in judgment.”

“Something tells me you suffer from such lapses frequently.”

Okay, that’s a little insulting. My eyes narrow at him.

“I’m an adult woman and I can leave if I want to.”

He fixes the cuffs of his sleeves, looking completely at ease with the situation.“You’re not going anywhere, Madelyn.”

I grit my teeth. Okay, so maybe the bossiness isn’t as attractive as it was earlier.

“What would you suggest I do in the meantime?”

“Sleep?” he offers. “You can go back into the bedroom I had you in earlier.”

“There’s no way I can fall asleep in a house that’s not mine in a bedroom that’s also not mine.”

It’s hard enough falling asleep without trying to do so with a stranger. Albeit one that makes me feel safe. As inane as that sounds.

He nods like that’s perfectly understandable. “So what would you rather do instead?”

I chew on my bottom lip for a minute, trying to figure out a way to gain control of the situation. Then I smile, remembering something.

“Please tell me you have some tequila,” I state.

He looks surprised by the request. “You want alcohol?” he asks slowly.

“Yeah. I was actually on my way to get plastered earlier when shit hit the fan. No time like the present.”

“I see,” he murmurs. “You know you’re weird, right?”

“I thought we established I was certifiably insane,” I remind him.

“Right. Well, I don’t have tequila, but I do have wine.”

I pout. “It’ll have to do. But what kind of person doesn’t have actual booze in this house?”

“Wine contains alcohol as well.”

“Sure, but it’s a drink for old people.” Or the snobby rich ones, a category I’m guessing he falls into. “How old are you anyway?” I ask, peering at him.

If I had to guess, I’d say he’s somewhere between my age to early thirties.

“Old enough,” is his reply.

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer, instead waving me in the direction of the mini bar in the house. “You can get a bottle of wine that way. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Hold up, wait. You’re going to leave me alone?”

“Yes.”

“No,” I return. “You’re holding me hostage. The least you can do is entertain me until the sun rises.”

Slate gray eyes meet mine. “I’m not holding you hostage.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘You’re not going anywhere, Madelyn.’”

I even throw in a poor imitation of his voice for effect. He’s not amused.

“I don’t do entertainment,” he enunciates.

“Trust me, I can tell,” I say with a smile. “But you don’t really have to do anything, to be honest. Just have a drink with me or two. We can talk.”

“Talk,” he says, like this is a foreign concept.

“Yes, you tell me about yourself. And I’ll tell you stuff, too,” I explain unnecessarily.

I think he’s going to say hell no and tell me to fuck off, but he does the opposite. His eyes grow lighter for a moment before he heads off in the direction of the mini bar. When he returns, he’s holding two wine glasses and a bottle of expensive-looking wine.

“Living room,” he states, leading the way.

I follow like a lost puppy, watching as he takes a seat and undoes the cuffs of his shirt. I’m still standing at the entrance.

“Are you cold?” he asks. setting the wine glasses on the table. He starts opening the bottle with a corkscrew.

“What?”

“You haven’t taken off your coat,” he points out.

I look down and sure enough, I’m still wearing my brown coat. Huh, I hardly noticed. It’s warm enough inside the house that I don’t need to be wearing it, though. I slowly slide it off to reveal my clothes underneath. I’m wearing a simple off-shoulder black dress that hugs my curves. As soon as the coat comes off, the temperature in the room goes up a notch.

When I look at him, his piercing gaze is already on me. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s checking me out. His eyes slowly glide from my face down to my body. Heat simmers within me and I realize I might have made a mistake.

Once he’s done undressing me with his eyes, he points to the couch beside him, gesturing for me to take a seat. I make sure to put enough space between us when I sit down. Our fingers meet when he hands me a glass of wine and I feel a zap of energy at the contact. I check to see if he felt anything, but his face is still the same blank, emotionless wall it is always is.

“Why did you save me?”

The words tumble out before I can stop them, a question I’m not sure I want answered. His unreadable gray eyes meet mine as I sip the red wine, trying to avoid the feeling as my chest tightens in the silence that follows.

Damn, that’s really good. I check the label but it’s in French and I probably couldn’t afford it anyway.

“Why did I save you?” he repeats.

“Yeah. You don’t seem like the knight-in-shining-armor type.” He’s more like the prince of darkness. “And you especially don’t seem like the type of person to dig his nose in other people’s business.”

“I’m not.”

“So why?”

He shrugs. Seriously? That’s all I get in reply. A shrug?

“Alright, fine. Next question. What do you do for work?”

He glances at me. “Why do you want to know?”

Evasion is an art and the man in front of me has mastered it to a T.

“Hello? We’re standing in an apartment that probably costs ten times more than I earn in a year.”

“And?”

“I just want to know how you can afford it. You don’t seem all that old.”

“Still trying to figure out my age?” he questions with an arched eyebrow.

“Are you going to keep evading every question I ask?” I say in frustration.

He thinks on that for a moment. “Would you like to answer my questions instead?”

“What?”

“I have questions, too. Are you going to answer them?”

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “That depends on the questions.”

He smirks, studying me intently as if trying to peel off my skin and peek inside of me. No one has ever looked at me that deeply. Then he looks away and I inhale some much-needed air, finally able to breathe.

“You work for the FBI,” he starts.

My eyes widen and I shoot him a sharp, suspicious look. “How the hell do you know that?”

He rolls his eyes. “You yelled it at the men who tried to assault you earlier. Remember?”

“Oh, right. You were there for that long?” I relax slightly. He simply looks at me without saying anything, and I sigh. “Alright, fine. What was your question?”

“How did you find yourself in that line of work?”

“What? The FBI? I submitted an application. I’m good with computers so I got hired to be an intelligence analyst. It’s mostly a desk job so nothing too glamorous,” I tell him.

He stares at me like he’s taking apart every single word I said. And then his eyes gleam with amusement.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Pretty sure I did,” I shoot back. “You asked how I found myself in that line of work. And my reply is that it just happened.”

“You just fell into working with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he drawls. “For no specific reason.”

“Of course there’s a reason,” I correct. “I did it to put food on the table and a roof over my head. We can’t all be rich and handsome.”

“That’s the second time you’ve commented on my looks. Careful, I might think you have a crush on me.”

I make a face. “Kindly get over yourself.”

He smirks back. “Alright, next question. Why did you get so scared when you saw the knife?”

“I told you, I didn’t,” I grit out. “You seriously need to let that go.”

“You’re pretty dishonest for someone who’s wearing a cross around her neck.”

I look down, and sure enough, the silver cross is dangling across my front. I hurriedly tuck it back into my clothes before glaring at him.

“I didn’t think you’d be religious,” he states.

“I’m not. And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”

“Easy with the defensiveness. I haven’t even done anything and you’re already riled up.”

I huff out a breath before downing my entire glass of wine. Then I shift forward for another pour.

“You know what? I was wrong. I don’t want to talk anymore. Let’s just sit in silence and drink,” I mutter.

I was trying to gain some information on him, but instead he ended up unravelling me and pissing me off.

Why can’t I leave again? The front door is looking more enticing with each moment that passes.

Like I asked, we stay silent. Twenty minutes and three glasses of wine later, I’m the one who ends up breaking it.

“What are your Christmas plans?” I ask him.

His brows furrow. “What?”

“Your Christmas plans,” I repeat.

He pauses to stare at me, probably trying to figure out why I’m asking about that of all things.

“Even if I cared about the holiday—which I don’t—Christmas is, like, a month away,” he answers blandly.

I make a short sound of disbelief. “What do you mean you don’t care about Christmas?”

“I mean I don’t care about Christmas,” he repeats.

“That’s, like, blasphemous, Dominic. Everyone should care about Christmas.”

He smirks at that.

“What?”

“That’s the first time you’ve used my name,” he clarifies. “Why?”

I look down at my skirt. “Because I couldn’t be sure if it was real. I know it’s weird, but I don’t trust people’s names.”

I don’t even trust mine.

When I look back at him, I expect him to be staring at me like I’m cuckoo, or at the very least sporting a confused expression. Instead, I glimpse some understanding.

“Dominic’s real. I promise,” he says gently.

My heart speeds up and something flutters in my stomach. I reach for the bottle of wine, but he stops me, placing a hand on my wrist. Goosebumps break out along my skin. His touch is soft, featherlight.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’ve had four glasses,” I protest.

“Precisely.” He sets his own glass on the table, still his first which he never even managed to actually finish. And then he takes my empty glass from my hand.

“Seriously, I’d like to have some more. I’m as sober as a judge,” I tell him.

That’s a lie. I’m slightly tipsy and I’d probably feel it if I stood up, but I’m still pretty clear-headed.

“That makes no sense,” Dominic informs me.

“It’s an expression. You don’t have to take it literally. What are you, the expression police?” I question on a frown.

“No more wine, Madelyn,” he says assertively.

“I told you I wanted to get plastered.”

“That’s probably not a good idea right now.”

“Why the hell not?”

He doesn’t give me a verbal answer, but the way he looks at me makes it pretty clear what he’s insinuating. And I mean, he really looks at me. I finally understand the term “eye-fucking.” Dominic stares at me like I’m a meal to be devoured, and I don’t have enough grace to be scared. My body grows warmer.

“Would you stop?” I ask, unable to take it anymore.

I’m all hot and bothered and I seriously need to get out of here.

“Stop what?” he asks with fake innocence.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I snap.

He places his arm around the back of the couch. “Like what?”

“Like you want to have sex with me.”

I blame the wine for how easily those words left my lips. Dominic grins wolfishly.

“I don’t have sex with women, Madelyn. I fuck them, hard and rough.”

Fuck me. I clench my legs together, feeling a dull aching throb spreading between my thighs. He stares at me from above his wine glass, a smug expression on his face.

“You look hot,” he observes. “Something wrong?”

My fists clench when my stomach takes a plunge at the sound of his voice. You know what? I’ve already gone through a lot in the past couple of hours. I’ve been in a fight, passed out, and woken up in the company of a stranger. I might as well toss my dignity to the side as well.

“I have a proposition,” I start.

“Go on.”

“Since you refuse to let me go, I say we pass the time some other way. I propose we have sex. I can tell you want to.”

“And do you? Want to?” he questions calmly, not even fazed by my request.

I would think he was unaffected, except for the heat flaring in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t. It’s just for tonight. And then in the morning I can leave and we’ll put all of this behind us.”

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully.

“So?”

Instead of answering, he gets to his feet, rolling up his sleeves reveal toned forearms. My mouth goes a little dry at the sight.

“Stand up,” he orders.

My eyes narrow. “Attitude much?”

“Stand up now if you don’t want me to spank you, Madelyn.”

I can feel my arousal further dampening my panties at those words. I had no idea I had a spanking kink. What the actual fuck?

Still, I do as he said. I slowly rise to my feet obediently until I’m standing in front of him.

“Remember what I said earlier?” he asks, lifting his hand to my face.

An involuntary shudder passes through me. He rubs his thumb across my cheek, over my lips. The air around us is still and I’m not sure I’m even breathing right now.

“W-what?” I stammer, surprisingly myself because I never stammer.

“I said I don’t have sex with women, I fuck them,” he says in a low voice. “Would you like me to fuck you, Madelyn?”

I swallow softly, too far gone to consider salvation. Maybe this is exactly what I need. Nothing else needs to make sense. At least not for tonight. Tonight, I want to forget everything. Who I am, where I’m from. I want to forget the fact that I don’t actually have the answers to those questions.

“Yes,” I say confidently. “Fuck me, Dominic.”

His hand goes down to my neck, his fingers gliding over it delicately. And then he squeezes hard enough to bruise.

“You’re probably going to regret this,” he says, right before his lips descend on mine, robbing me of breath.