Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Leaning back on the patio chair, I nibbled on my bottom lip as I stared at the man sitting across from me, who was chewing the last of his breakfast bagel while scrolling through his phone. “So,” I began, “I have a question.”

Dax’s gaze lifted to mine. “Go on.”

“Halloween is coming up in, like, three days. How would you feel about me hanging up some decorations?”

A fine line dented his brow. “You already have. There’s an autumn wreath hanging on the front door, and there are pumpkins on the ground either side of it. We’ve got throw cushions with leaves and gnomes and acorns on the covers. And you’ve put dandelion garlands here, there, and everywhere.” None of which he seemed impressed by.

I lifted my finger. “Those are fall decorations.” He’d okayed me shaking up the décor, but he’d done it rather begrudgingly. “That’s different.”

“Why do we need both kinds?”

“Because it would fill me with child-like joy.” I pouted. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

He looked close to rolling his eyes. “Fine.”

I smiled, nodding. “Thank you.” I tipped my head to the side. “So you don’t usually decorate for the holidays?”

“No,” he replied, lifting his mug.

“But surely you make an exception at Christmas, right?”

“No.” He chugged back some coffee.

“Any particular reason why, or is it just because you’re something of a minimalist?”

“The latter.”

Huh. I couldn’t imagine not wanting to spice up the décor at such times. I loved that stuff. It got me in the mood for the holidays and filled me with feelings of nostalgia. But I understood that it wasn’t everyone’s idea of fun.

“It won’t make you uncomfortable if I spruce things up for Halloween, though?” I checked. “Because I’ll skip it if it’s something that will bother you.”

The line between his brows smoothed away. “It won’t bother me. What would bother me is if you sulk over the lack of festive décor.”

“I wouldn’t sulk.” I’d just be a little cranky. “If you’re sure you’re fine with it, I’ll dig out my decorations later. Speaking of later … I’ll be stopping off at my grandparents’ house on my way home from work so I can check in on Wyatt.”

He was doing fine, having taken the doctor’s advice and done as instructed. Though he was beginning to chafe at having people popping in to see him every day like he was, in his words, “a small child trying to stick a clothing hanger in an electric socket.” We weren’t that bad. Just still a little freaked out over his health scare.

Breaking out of my thoughts, I told Dax, “You can have dinner without me if you want.”

“I’ll wait for you to get home.” He set down his cup and gave me a pointed look. “You always wait for me.”

Grateful, I gave him a soft smile. “Thank you, hubby.”

He rolled his eyes. “On the subject of holidays, my mother called me while you were in the shower earlier; she’s invited us to spend Thanksgiving at her table. Raven and my brothers will also be there.”

I grimaced. “My mom threw out the same invite for us and all my siblings. She mentioned it last night over the phone but I forgot to tell you.” I worried my lower lip. “Maybe we could split our time. Have dinner at one house and then eat dessert at the other. Or something. It’s not ideal, but Ollie and Marleigh do the same thing every year so neither has to give up time with their family at Thanksgiving.”

Dax pursed his lips, pensive. “That would work.”

“Then the question is … which house do we visit first?”

He hummed. “I have no real preference.”

I did. “We’ll have dinner with your family and eat dessert with mine.”

“Why?”

“Because I would rather you didn’t have to eat a full meal while you have my father being … well, my father. He’s less rude nowadays, but still.” And surely no one could properly enjoy their food while being glared at. It sure wouldn’t be good for a person’s digestion.

A dismissive frown settled over Dax’s face. “You know I don’t care that he acts that way.”

“Well, I care. I’m determined to put an end to this ‘I can’t be nice to my daughter’s husband on principle’ idiocy once and for all.”

He gave his head a slight shake. “You’re wasting your time trying to make him welcome me into the family.”

I let out a stubborn sniff. “I don’t see why. It’s not as if you two have no shot at getting along. He actually likes you, and he doesn’t like many people outside our family.”

“Doesn’t matter. I had the downright nerve to marry his baby girl. That changes things. I’ve explained this already.”

“Yes, but it’s positively ridiculous. I’m going to be hopeful that things will improve.”

He gave a fluid shrug. “You’re only setting yourself up for disappointment.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I have to leave now. I have an early meeting to attend.”

As he rose from his seat, I shot him a bright smile. “Have a good day, sweetums.”

He stilled, the image of unimpressed. “No. Just no.”

“Yeah, sounds cringy when I say it out loud,” I conceded. “But don’t think I don’t know that you want to smile right now.”

Amusement briefly flickered in his gaze. “Later.” His lips ever so slightly quirking, he rounded the table and walked away.

∞∞∞

Tensing in his armchair, Wyatt sighed up at his wife. “Woman, stop hovering.”

Melinda gave him an arch look. “I’ll hover as much as I like. Now eat.”

Wyatt cast a sad glance at the salad on his lap tray. “Can’t a man have a cheeseburger in his own home?”

“Not when he recently had a heart attack,” she retorted.

He scowled. “Even the birds wouldn’t eat this.”

“Of course they wouldn’t. It isn’t a plate of seeds. Eat.”

Wyatt looked at me. “Do you see how she treats me?”

Stifling a smile, I shifted a little on the sofa to better face him. “You gave us all a scare, especially Melinda. She’s trying to ensure you don’t end up back in hospital. You should be putting in the same effort.”

She gave me a serene smile. “Thank you, Addie.”

He grunted and lifted his cutlery. “At least some good has come of all this. The damn neighbors have stopped being a problem.”

Yes, I’d heard that the young couple had gotten such a fright from him having a heart attack right in front of them that they hadn’t thrown one of their usual overloud parties since then. I suspected they wouldn’t ever again, since I knew my dad had had a little chat with the couple—he would ensure they kept a lower profile from now on. And if that didn’t turn out to be enough, Dax would likely step in.

“So, how’s everything with work?” Melinda asked me.

“Fine. Busy.” I’d only been away from the office two hours and I had another shit-ton of emails and a fair few voicemails waiting for a response.

The three of us chatted and laughed as Wyatt ate. Well, tried to eat. He kept grimacing and shuddering and cursing beneath his breath like she’d fed him goddamn gruel, the drama king.

About an hour or so later, when it was time to leave, I gave them both hugs and assured them I’d be back for another visit soon. Pulling my key fob out of my purse, I walked down the path and over to my car.

Hearing a boyish giggle, I glanced to my left to see a small kid pointing at the front window of a nearby Chevy while grinning up at the woman holding his hand. I suspected his source of amusement was the huge splatter of bird shit on the glass.

I hopped into my car, brought the engine roaring to life, and then began making my way home. I was looking forward to getting there, excited to pull out and hang up my Halloween decorations.

In many ways, I was like my dad. But there were some instances where I took after my mom—like her, I regressed during Halloween. Poor Dax was about to find that out the hard way.

I wondered how he’d feel when I blurted out the news that, yes, we’d be welcoming trick or treaters to our door. Knowing Dax, he’d retreat upstairs to get some peace and quiet.

Not used to celebrating Halloween alone, I would have invited my sisters to the villa so I’d have some company, but Alicia had a date and Harri was attending a fancy dress gig. Likewise, Sabrina and Tamara had plans—they were heading to a spooky festival. I would have invited Ollie and Marleigh but he, much like our father, wasn’t a fan of the holiday.

As I eased my foot off the pedal to lower my speed, I glanced in my rearview mirror … and felt my brow furrow. A Chevy wasn’t too far behind me. A Chevy that had a big blob of bird shit on its front window. Huh.

Reaching a roundabout, I took the second turn-off. So did the Chevy. Shortly after, I reached a T junction and went right. So did the Chevy.

My scalp prickled. Either I was being paranoid or—

No, I was being paranoid. Totally.

But when I took the next left turn, the Chevy once again mimicked my move.

I shifted in my seat, uneasy. As I drove, I kept an eye on its movements. When I slowed, it slowed. When I sped up, it sped up. When I turned, it turned—whether I went left or right.

Okay, so I wasn’t being paranoid.

My stomach rolling, I used the car’s Bluetooth to call Dax.

His phone rang a few times before he answered, “Yes?”

“Something weird is going on.” I licked my lips. “I think I’m being followed. No, I know I am.”

“Followed?” he echoed, his voice dropping.

“Yes.”

“How sure are you?”

“Positive,” I stated, firm. “When I was leaving my grandparents’ house, I noticed a bronze Chevy parked nearby. That same Chevy caught up with me and has been on my ass ever since. And I mean on my ass.”

A soft curse floated down the line. “Can you see the driver?” he asked, the sound of a door closing in the background—possibly our front door.

“Not very well. He’s male. Has a slim face and dark, scruffy hair. He’s kept enough of a distance between us that I can’t get a good look at him, but he doesn’t seem familiar.”

“Where are you?” Dax asked above the bleep of a car unlocking.

I gave him my location.

“You’re not far from CCC. Go there. Park in the lot. Stay in the car. Keep the doors locked.” A car engine began to purr. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

He hung up without another word.

I exhaled heavily, flexing my hands around the steering wheel. And it occurred to me how instinctive it had been for me to reach out to Dax. Not my dad or Ollie or the cops. No, I’d sought Dax’s help without thought, wholly trusting that he’d know what to do; that he’d come to me no matter how busy he might be; that I could rely on him to keep me safe.

It was one thing to trust someone. It was another thing to feel that you could rely on them. It said a lot about how far he and I had come that I would so easily turn to him.

I flicked my rearview mirror another look. The Chevy was still close.

Who the hell would tail me? Why tail me? My movements wouldn’t be of interest to anyone. I highly doubted I had a stalker or anything like that.

Could someone be doing it to screw with me? I supposed so, but I didn’t see why they’d do it. There were some people who weren’t fans of mine, but none looked like the driver.

It was possible that this person was dicking with me in an effort to piss off Dax. But … I’d told Dax there was a bronze Chevy following me. That hadn’t seemed to clue him in, so maybe this wasn’t anyone that he knew. At least not well.

It was mere minutes before I arrived at my destination. In the lot, I picked a spot that was surrounded by enough cars that my little follower wouldn’t be able to park close to me. Just as I was about to turn off the ignition, my phone rang.

Dax.

I accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Are you at CCC yet?” he asked, his voice all business.

“I just got here.”

“Maverick is on his way; he lives closest. Are your doors locked?”

I pressed a button to secure them all shut. “Yes.”

“Keep it that way.”

I scratched at my head. “Do you have any idea who this person could be?”

“No. But I’ll find out who they are.”

Catching movement in my peripheral vision, I turned my head to find someone standing right there. The driver. “Uh … he’s at my window. He’s gesturing for me to lower it.” All while wearing a big “I’m harmless” smile.

“Don’t,” Dax commanded.

Like I’d had any such intention.

“I just want five minutes of your time,” said the stranger loud enough for his words to reach me through the glass.

Sadly for him, he wasn’t getting those minutes. “I don’t recognize him,” I told Dax. “He’s in his early to mid-fifties. Double-chin. Mustache. Acne scars. He’s definitely had a broken nose at some point.”

Dax muttered a quiet curse.

I tensed. “You know who he is.”

He sighed. “Yes. He’s a local reporter. His name is Lennie Fowler.”

My jaw clenched. Another goddamn reporter?

“Five minutes,” repeated Lennie, a plea in his tone. “I’ll pay you for your time.”

“Why would he want to talk to me?” I asked.

“He’ll be hoping you can give him something interesting to print about me or my family,” replied Dax, his voice flat. “He likes to do that.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So he’s done articles about you in the past?”

“Yes,” replied Dax with a grunt. “Mostly when I was a youth.”

Ignoring the knuckles wrapping on my window, I asked, “What stuff did he write?”

Dax hesitated. “Let’s just say the articles weren’t in my favor.”

Feeling my lips press into a thin line, I glared up at Lennie. He was likely one of the assholes who’d repeatedly snapped pictures of Dax back then and written shitty stories about him that painted him as a killer in the making.

Exasperation flashed in Lennie’s eyes. “I mean you no harm. I just wanna talk.”

I was tempted to tell him to fuck right off, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of having something to print. Your words could be used against you, but your silence couldn’t be misquoted.

“We can talk in public.” Lennie pointed at Chrome Canvas Bar. “I’ll go inside and wait for you there. Okay?” Adjusting his collar, he strode off.

“He’s heading into the bar on the off-chance that I’ll follow,” I informed Dax. “I’d love to go in there and rip him a new one.”

“It’s best not to give him anything worth publishing.”

“Yeah, I get that. I’m still tempted.” Spotting a familiar person walking toward the car, I felt my insides relax. “Maverick’s here.” I wound down my window and smiled at the newcomer. “It turns out he’s a reporter by the name of Lennie Fowler. He’s in the bar.”

His expression hard, Maverick studied my face. “You all right?”

“No, because I can’t punch him in the dick. And I really, really want to.”

Maverick’s lips twitched. “Stay here.” He then walked away and went into the bar.

I closed my window and let my head tip back.

“I’m almost there,” said Dax. “You can go home now. I’ll deal with this.”

I snorted. “Go home while you handle a situation I pulled you into? Oh, you’re funny.”

“Addison.”

“Hey, I’d understand if something was about to happen that you wouldn’t want me to see. I get that you don’t want … certain things … to touch me. But all you’re going to do is talk to him.” Dax couldn’t exactly physically let loose on someone in public. “And anyway, it’s not like …” I trailed off as something caught my attention. “Ugh, he’s tearing across the lot. Lennie, I mean. I’m guessing he’s running from Maverick.”

Dax let out a sound that was something between a grunt and a snort. “He won’t get far.”

I watched as Maverick followed the reporter at a slower pace, smirking when Lennie cursed at the sight of the Chevy. “Let me guess. Maverick slashed one or more of his tires as a precaution.” Dax must have told him I was being tailed by a bronze Chevy—there was only one of those parked here, so Maverick would have known which vehicle to target.

My gaze darted away from the spectacle as another vehicle entered the lot. One I knew well. My pulse spiked. “I see you.”

“I’m hanging up now. Wait in the car.” He rang off.

I angled myself a little to get a better view as Dax parked near the Chevy. He unfolded from the car in that fluid way he had and crossed to Lennie, who instantly took a step back, the anger slipping from his expression to be replaced by dread. Ha.

Dax began to speak, but I couldn’t make out the words. I lowered my window enough that his voice could filter into my car.

“I’m a reporter, interviewing people is what I do,” the asshole defended. “It ain’t personal.”

“Addison is my wife, Fowler, so I consider this very personal,” said Dax, his voice hard as stone.

“You shouldn’t. It’s just business. You’re both high profile people for different reasons. The public will want a glance at the inside of your marriage, and the press are going to want to provide it. Don’t think you can tell me what I can or can’t write.” Brave words, but there was a shake to his voice that betrayed his nerves.

Dax gave him a superior look. “I don’t care what you print, Fowler. That’s the thing—nobody does anymore. Not after it was proven that you have a tendency to fake and embellish stories.”

Lennie’s face set into a mask of resentment. “It was you who exposed that, wasn’t it? You cost me my job.”

“Your actions cost you your job. Now, as I said before, I don’t care what you choose to print. But I do care that you’re tailing my wife.”

“It’s not like I’m stalking her. I just wanted an opportunity to talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to speak to you. I think you received that message when she didn’t leave her vehicle, but you pushed anyway.”

Lennie sighed. “Like it or not, you make good clickbait, and the women in your life have a habit of talking to the media. I won’t be the only reporter to approach your wife hoping she’ll do the same.”

“Maybe not. But, like you, they’ll achieve nothing.” Dax pinned him with a menacing glare. “In future, keep your distance from Addison.”

Lennie swallowed hard. “Or what?”

One corner of Dax’s mouth curled. “It isn’t only the women in my past who like to talk, Fowler. You have interesting sexual tastes. Perhaps the people of Redwater would like to hear all about it. Your loved ones? Not so much.”

A crimson flush stained the reporter’s cheeks. “You’re a real son of a bitch.”

“That’s not something you didn’t already know.” Dax flicked a glance at Lennie’s car. “Now, I suggest you change your tire. Maverick can help, if you’d like.”

The reporter stiffened. “I got it.”

Dax turned away from Lennie and crossed to my car with fast, determined strides. He poked his head through the open window. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just pissed.” It was bad enough that people like Lennie had targeted Dax when he was just a boy. This particular asshole clearly didn’t feel bad about it if he had no qualms with doing it again now that Dax was an adult. “Can I not kick him or something?”

Dax’s lips slightly hitched up. “No. Let’s get home.” He pulled back and straightened. “I’ll stay close behind you.”

As we drove to the villa, I silently seethed on his behalf. Seethed. My protective instincts were dancing around my system, making me want to punch someone.

Or, more specifically, Lennie Fowler.

And other reporters like him, actually. Reporters who’d made it impossible for a young boy to live a normal life. Reporters who’d contributed to how guarded and self-restrained that boy grew up to be.

How different might Dax be if he hadn’t dealt with such harassment; if he hadn’t had to see his name and picture in shitty article after shitty article?

Not that I wanted him to be different. I just resented that he’d been shoved into a situation that had resulted in him developing so many self-protective mechanisms.

When we arrived at the villa, we both went straight to the living room. There, I set my hands on my hips and exhaled a heavy breath. It did nothing to calm me down.

Dax looked up from the drinks he was pouring at the liquor cabinet. “Still pissed?”

I rolled back my shoulders. “Livid.”

“Fowler spooked you?”

“What? No. I’m not livid that he tailed me; I’m livid that the press won’t let you live your life in peace.”

Something I couldn’t name flared in Dax’s eyes. Something that softened the light creases on his forehead.

“How could he have thought I’d actually talk to him?” I asked, incredulous.

“The women in my past saw no harm in it. Though, initially, most refused to talk. That later changed.” A glass in each hand, Dax began to make his way toward me.  “Some accepted the opportunity to be a paid anonymous source, mistakenly thinking I wouldn’t find out. Others were more bold and didn’t mind having their identities exposed.”

Because, as Caelan had mentioned, they were bitter that Dax didn’t grow to care for them. It made me wonder if this was part of why Dax chose a wife who had no emotional attachment to him—there’d be no chance of such bitterness coming into play.

I stared deep into his eyes. “You know I wouldn’t do something like that, right? Even if you somehow hurt me, I wouldn’t go down that cruel road.”

He studied my face for a long moment and then pushed a glass into my hand. “I wasn’t so certain at first but, no, no I don’t think it’s something you would do.”

A knot untangled in my stomach. He might not fully trust me yet—he’d been betrayed too many times to allow himself to be so sure of someone outside of those closest to him—but he at least trusted that I wouldn’t do this one thing.

“Good,” I said. “Back to the subject of Fowler … What about his sexual tastes? What did you mean by that?”

Dax drained his tumbler. “He often takes random women home from bars or clubs and pays them to pace in front of him in only their underwear and high heels while he jerks off. He doesn’t fuck them, doesn’t even touch them. I suspect this is because, in his mind, it then isn’t classed as cheating on his girlfriend.”

Unreal. “So he’s just an ass in general?”

“Yes.” Dax tapped my glass. “Drink.”

I knocked back the whiskey, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat. “You should have let me kick him.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry that he’ll bother you again. But he’s right that other reporters might approach you.” Dax took my empty tumbler from me and set both on the coffee table. “I’m aware you could handle such a situation on your own, but don’t. They need to see that there’d be consequences or they’d keep coming back. So if one does try to speak to you—”

“I’ll keep my mouth zipped, walk away, and then call you,” I promised. “I respect that this is something you’d want to personally deal with.”

He gave a curt nod.

I exhaled a long breath. “I was so looking forward to coming home and setting up the Halloween decorations. That sack of shit ruined my mood, and now I have to postpone my plans until tomorrow because I’m too annoyed to go through with them right now.”

Dax hummed long and low. “Two things might help. You can either retreat to your not-really-an-office and lose yourself in a book to help your brain power down.”

I tilted my head. “Or?”

“Or I’ll do it for you,” he said, his pitch dropping. The sudden glisten of heat in his gaze told me exactly what he meant by that.

My pulse hopped and then swiftly began to quicken. At the same time, each and every muscle in my body tightened. “You’re like some kind of sexual sorcerer.”

His brows dipped. “A what?”

“I’m seriously pissed right now. There should be no way that my mind or body would so easily respond to the prospect of getting down and dirty, but both are totally game. You call, they answer. Just like that.” See, sorcery.

“Because every part of you—inside and out—knows you’re mine.” His eyes took a leisurely dip to my mouth and lingered there, tracing its shape. His gaze finally coasted back up to snare mine, delving deep; seeing too much; demanding my complete attention. “Strip. Lie on the rug. Say not one word.”

The dominant shards in his voice buried themselves deep in my thoughts, my skin, my willpower. The option to object was right there in his tone. I just didn’t want to object. I didn’t want to resist. I wanted to mentally sink into that place where I felt safe; where at the end of the following-his-lead rainbow lay spinetingling, mind-numbing, off-the-charts bliss.

I began to unbutton my shirt. Satisfaction shimmered in his eyes. And a familiar sense of calm flooded me as my world narrowed to him.

I peeled off layer after layer. The entire time, tension gathered in the air—sexual, muggy, oppressive. It thickened with every minute, became more electric with each piece of clothing I shed.

His eyes never once left me. They tracked my every movement, lethally focused as those of any wild predator. A glow of approval rose in those orbs when, naked, I padded over to the fluffy rug and lay on my back.

He moved to stand at my feet. “Spread your legs wide open.” The words flowed over my skin—his voice so soft, so deep, so lulling. He nodded once when I did as he bid. “Good. Now clasp your hands and stretch your arms high above your head.”

Again, I obliged him. I gripped at the tufts of fur on the rug, excitement beating in my blood and bringing a warm flush to my cheeks.

He looked his fill, taking his time. I might have fidgeted with nerves, but I felt immobilized by the expression on his face. It transmitted so much. Hunger. Need. Possession. A carnal intent that twisted my stomach.

“This would be a sight to come home to,” he said, his tone conversational. “I have to warn you, though … you’d have to make sure you were wet and ready for me. Because there’d be no foreplay.” Male greed pooled in his eyes as they locked on my pussy. “I’d sink my dick inside you and fuck you raw. I wouldn’t even bother getting undressed.”

His fingers went to his shirt buttons. Awesome. I licked my dry lips and watched as he began shedding his clothes. Anticipation rose up and nipped at my skin, bringing my nerve-endings buzzing to life.

Finally naked, he planted his feet. Damn, his body was a work of art. Period. And the dick jutting upward, thick and ready to roll, would easily win a cock pageant if such a thing existed.

He dropped down to kneel between my thighs, curled his upper body over me, and braced his weight on the palms he planted either side of my head. His eyes swept over every detail of my face—not simply my features, but each line, freckle, curve, and dip … as if appraising an antique or something.

Looping my arms around his neck, I angled my head to offer my mouth. He didn’t take it. He trailed the tip of his nose down my temple, along my cheek, across my jaw, all the way up the other side of my face, and then over my forehead until it touched my temple again … forming a complete circle.

Way too needy to patiently wait for him to move things along, I lifted my hips enough to grind against his hard shaft.

“You want my cock”—his tongue flicked out and lashed my lower lip—“you’re going to earn it,” he whispered, a purr of assertiveness there.

I blinked. “Earn it?”

“By pleasing me,” he explained. “I’m going to play with you now. You can move as much as you want. You can make as much noise as you want. But there’s one thing I wouldn’t recommend that you do.”

“What?”

“Come,” he replied. “You’re free to do so, of course. But if you do, that will be your orgasm for the evening. I’ll finish myself off in your mouth, or maybe come all over your pretty breasts. If, however, you hold out … I’ll shove my dick inside you and fuck you so hard you can’t take it—but you will take it.”

His mouth swooped down and closed over mine. His tongue snaked inside, glided against my own, and began that age-old dance he’d perfected. The kiss reeked of sex. Of need. Of him.

I’d never known anyone with more sensual finesse than this guy. He kissed like he was relishing a dessert. Like my mouth was an indulgence he was determined to taste, savor, and greedily devour.

Angling his head, he revved up the kiss, plunging his tongue deeper, stealing the breath from my lungs and setting off a chain reaction of chemicals.

Air. I really needed air. Absolutely did not give a crap.

I wrapped my lips around his tongue and suckled. A low, drawn-out growl crawled up his throat and poured down mine.

He broke the kiss … and what followed could only be described as honest-to-God’s sensual torture.

He began at my neck, making sure to seek out every “happy spot.” There was licking. There was suckling. There was biting. There was shaping. There was squeezing.

He soon drifted down to my shoulders and arms. The pads of his fingers skated over me, possessiveness in their every press, stroke, clasp, and glide. Like they were stamping my skin with proof of his ownership—not one I could see, but one that would settle into my bones; one that I’d never be free of.

He squeezed my breast hard, shocking a delighted gasp out of me. And then his grip gentled, loosened, frustrated.

One moment, his touches could be all carnal tenderness. The next moment, they could be wickedly rough. Again and again, he switched. But always, every move was laced with a leashed aggressiveness that threatened to surface any second.

Moist heat soon gathered between my legs. An intoxicating cocktail of chemicals danced through my bloodstream and drugged my mind.

He honed in on my breasts next, teasing until my nipples tightened to twin, painful, tingling points. Every suck and bite on the taut buds sent sparks of pleasure to my core. God, I felt so empty it hurt.

Swallowing a frustrated whimper, I sank my hand into his hair and pulled. “Dax—”

Teeth dug into the side of my breast in a not-quite-bite. With a hiss of complaint, I loosened my grip. His tongue eased over the smarting spot to soothe the prickle.

He slid further down my body, teasing my stomach relentlessly. His tongue would lick. His breath would blow over the wet skin. His teeth would then nip or graze.

At this point, my nerve-endings were on total overload to the point that even the crisp hairs on his thighs and chest seemed to scrape at my skin.

I raised my head to glare down at him. “Are you trying to make me crazy?” The hoarse words sounded tortured out of me.

Lifting his head to meet my gaze, he rested his hand on my stomach, his fingers splayed, taking up as much skin as he could. “What’s wrong?”

I blinked. “What’s wrong?”

Humor sparkled in his mismatched eyes.“You look a little flushed.” He slid his hand down to cup my pussy, digging the heel of his palm into my clit.

My toes curled so hard I thought they might cramp. “I want to kill you right now.”

Moving lower, he hummed as he nuzzled my slick folds. “I don’t doubt it.” His tongue did an idle little foray over where my “landing strip” used to be. “Do you know one of the things I love most about this pussy?” he asked, his lips skimming my damp flesh as he spoke, his breath literally fanning the flames. “That it was mine first.”

My eyes drifted shut as he licked at my slit. He ate me out with his usual pussy-eating mastery. He didn’t half-ass it, no, he went to town.

His tongue stole the show—a freaking sexual weapon that drove me higher and higher as it licked, swirled, and sank deep.

I wanted to ride that tongue. Wanted more of it. Wanted it deeper inside me.

And yet, I didn’t.

Because I didn’t want to come yet. That meant fighting my instinct to chase the orgasm that was hovering so close; meant resisting the urges to buck, squirm, and arch into his mouth and fingers. It was such a mindfuck.

Again and again, I neared the peak of an orgasm. Again and again, I beat the pleasure back. He hummed his approval each time, rewardingly stroking my inner thigh or pressing a lingering kiss to my navel. But then he’d go all gung ho on my pussy once more.

Positively done with this shit, I grabbed his head. “I really need to come,” I rasped.

He rolled his tongue around my pulsing clit. “So come,” he invited. “No one’s stopping you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, biting back a whimper.

“You’re doing so good.”

No, I wasn’t. My head was so fucked I thought I might cry. My body was in no better state—my skin felt over-sensitized, my muscles keep trembling, my pussy was on fire, and my breasts ached like holy hell.

In short, he’d goddamn wrecked me.

As yet another orgasm began to build, I felt myself start to drift … as if my mind just couldn’t process the sensations anymore. I fought the floaty feeling, panicking that I might explode if my guard was lowered—all this fighting would then have been for nothing.

The sexual tension coiled tighter and tighter in my belly. So tight it was painful. My thighs trembled, and I fisted the rug so hard my nails bit into my palms. I wrestled back the hovering orgasm; battled it with every bit of willpower I had. Until, finally, it eased off.

Dax slid back up my body and pressed a kiss to my jaw. “All done. You did good, baby. Very, very good.” He got to his knees again and flipped me onto my stomach, startling an oof out of me. “Head down. Ass up.”

My pulse leapt, and my breathing—already uneven and choppy—kicked up even more. Resting the side of my face on the rug, I pushed up onto my knees.

“That’s it.” Each of his thumbs brushed over a spot on the globes of my ass. “Love these dimples here.” He curved a hand around my hip and inched the broad tip of his cock into my pussy.

My breath snagging in my throat, I grabbed at the rug once more. He’d better not be in the mood for soft and slow, because I didn’t—

His cock slammed deep, filling and stretching and burning my inner walls and fuck it was too much. I blew apart. Fractured into a billion tiny pieces. I didn’t know if I screamed or bucked—I was too mentally adrift on euphoria to register anything but the euphoria.

When the crazy release subsided, I melted into the rug—a mass of trembling, sweaty muscles.

“Hmm, now, isn’t that better?” He put a hand between my shoulder blades to pin me in place. “Stay down.” He sluggishly reared back, making me gasp as his dick rasped along my hypersensitive inner muscles, and then he was pounding into me.

The ride was fiercely savage. As if he’d snapped the leash on all that sexual aggression he carried. He pitched his hips forward again and again, stuffing me full over and over.

It was raw. Earthy. Feral. It would only be thanks to the hair that had tumbled around my face that I wouldn’t have rugburn on my cheek.

I would have thrown back my hips to meet each thrust if I could have moved. His hand held me down—a warm but firm and heavy weight that kept the control in his grip.

There was no slow build-up. My next release built fast, gathering in my core. My thigh muscles clenched. My pussy tightened. A shiver skated down my spine.

And then the orgasm hit.

It seemed to crackle through my bloodstream, an electric outburst of pure bliss that sent me soaring with a choked scream. I felt my pussy clamp down on his cock; felt my inner muscles tremble and spasm. Dax slammed into me one last time as jets of come splashed my inner walls.

Gasping for breath, I sagged, depleted of all energy. I had literally nothing in me.

The hand between my shoulder blades slid up to burrow in my hair as Dax curled over me and pressed a kiss to my neck. He stayed there like that, panting and shuddering. “Feel less pissed now?”

“You know, actually, my mood has remarkably improved,” I replied, my breathing a little choppy. “But then, what with your being a grade A student of Duan Juan, that was kind of inevitable.”

His body shook above mine in silent laughter. “You say the most unusual shit when you’re sex-drunk.”

“I’m just giving credit where it’s due. I was only thinking earlier that your dick would easily win a cock beauty pageant.”

A full-on chuckle rumbled out of him.

“I give the best compliments, don’t I?”

“Yes, Addison, yes, you do.”