Mad Love

by Ashlyn Mathews

  He’s serious.

  “The men who would want me wouldn’t want me for me. They want what I can offer them, a spectacle. I would be Blaise Lexington, the sheltered and strange woman who was kidnapped and held for ransom.”

  “You overheard my father.”

  “He’s not wrong.” I shake my head. “I’m not naïve, Maddox. I hear what they say behind my back. I’m the ice queen. The freak with expensive taste in clothing. Who thinks she’s too good to be touched or to touch another. It’s the reason I wear gloves up the length of my arms.”

  My parents would be so angry hearing me bring myself down. They’re the ones who harped on me to be someone to be proud of. To be an individual separate from the Lexington name.

  I remove my hands from where they are hidden under the satin sheet and open my palms to him, the sheet slipping from around my shoulder as I lean forward.

  “I’m not normal. Am not meant for a life with a husband and kids. I don’t even know if I can make love in the true sense of the word. It’s pathetic. Someday, you’ll want children.”

  The sheet slips all the way down my shoulders and bunches around my waist. His gaze slides down my body and lingers on my belly.

  “Having children means having lots of sex.” I laugh, the sadness in the sound not lost to me. “What if sex disgusts me? What if I can’t stand having a man inside me?”

  My eyes prickle with unshed tears. My throat is raw.

  He pats his lap. “Come here, baby.”

  I stare at his lap. At how much space he takes up on the overstuffed chair. Listening to my heart, I gather the sheet in my hands, wrap it securely around my body, and seat myself on Maddox’s lap. One of his arms rests against my back, keeping me near him. The other curves over my belly. My bare feet hang off the arm.

  I tip closer and nudge the side of my head on his, liking how well we fit.

  “First off, my apologies for my father’s comment. He’s an ass, and you’re not strange. What happened to you is traumatic, and if touching or keeping to yourself helps you deal with your trauma, then the world can fuck off for all I care. Secondly, I’m putting my hat into the ring. As soon as I put you to bed, I’m calling the head of my security team. We’ll find the bastard who hurt you and put him out of his misery. Thirdly, my apologies for my earlier behavior. I’m an insensitive jerk.”

  I tunnel my fingers in his soft strands of hair, being careful not to touch his skin with my bare hand.

  “There’s no need apologizing for wanting to be in the know. I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.” I tug on his hair and bring him close until we’re looking into each other’s eyes. “You have such beautiful eyes.”

  He reaches up and weaves his fingers in my hair. “One eye green. One eye blue. Hands down, your eyes are the prettiest I’ve seen.”

  “Is that so?”

  “So.”

  “I like us getting to know one another better.”

  “Me too.”

  “Maddox, um, would it be too soon to ask for a kiss?”

  “Not at all. You set the pace.”

  “My pace says we should kiss.”

  “Good call.”

  His gaze locked on mine, he pulls me closer, his fingers still entrenched in my hair. My heart rate picks up. My breaths hitch in my chest. Will his mouth be just as soft as when we shared our first kiss? I don’t have to wonder long.

  Maddox presses his lips on mine. There’s a slight hesitation from him, as though he’s memorizing the feel of my lips. I’m doing the same. His lips are soft, and when he coaxes my mouth open, I close my eyes and brand into memory how sweet he tastes and how good he smells. A hint of cologne, sweat, and man.

  Aching with need, I whimper. He deepens the kiss. Our tongues tangle. The place between my legs throbs. I reach down and touch myself.

  Maddox covers my bare hand using the satin sheet. His mouth on mine, he guides my fingers up and down my folds. Helps me stroke my clit. I rub the swollen nub over and over. Moan as he helps me up the pace. I shatter with a deep moan into his mouth and my thighs cocooning his hand to my sex.

  “Blaise. Fuck, baby.”

  “Someday,” I say, my mouth curving over his.

  “Jesus, that’s fucking hot. I can go a round two.”

  “Are you hurrying me along?” I tease.

  “Is it working?”

  I laugh. “Do you have to ask?”

  “Should we go back to bed?” He grasps pieces of my hair and runs his fingers down the length.

  I nod.

  He brings my hair to his face and rubs the pieces over his nose and his mouth, and drops feather-light caresses over my lips. Never have I thought of locks of my hair as instruments of foreplay. I squeeze my thighs together. His fingers flick and rub my clit. I groan low in the back of my throat. He strokes the sensitive, throbbing nub. I again shatter on his hand.

  “Alone or together, baby?”

  “Do you have to ask?” I drop a kiss on his smirk.

  “Will you be covered from head to toe in satin or silk?”

  “Satin.”

  “Satin is becoming my new favorite material. For this next part, I don’t want any barriers, Blaise. Can I?”

  His fingertip touches my swollen flesh. I jerk back my hips. His brows furrow. I can do this. He’s my husband. Maddox isn’t out to hurt me. He wants to make me feel good. I remove the satin from over my sex, and bunching the covers in my hands, I hold on to his thighs and seat myself on his hand.

  I’m wet. I’m ready. I move my hips over his hand. Slick his flesh with my arousal. He slips a finger inside me. Pumps in and out as I hold myself up with my palms flat on his thighs. Looking me in the eye, Maddox strokes my clit with his thumb and slips another finger inside me, filling and stretching me. I go up and down. He goes in and out.

  “Maddox.”

  “Baby, you are so fucking hot.”

  His tongue darts out and flicks my nipple. I lean forward, offering him a bigger sample of my flesh. His warm mouth wraps around my nipple. He sucks and nips at the hardened bud. I arch my back. Up my pace on his fingers.

  “Now, oh, God, now, Maddox.”

  He finger fucks me and I fall apart, my inner muscles clenching his fingers. Sated, I tip forward and rest my forehead on his. Maddox isn’t done with me.

  Using the sheet, he slips his hands under my arms and helps me off the chair. Then he sits on the floor and leans back against the chair. He crooks his finger. I see him through a haze of desire.

  “Come here, babe. I’m hungry for more.”

  With the sheet wrapped around my lower half, I take the step that will put my sex near his face. He’s not taking the little distance between us. He grasps me by the back of my thighs and tugs me forward until his face is buried against my sex. He licks up my slit, and I can’t take the electric jolts of need zipping up and down my spine. I tip forward and rest my forearms on the arm of the chair. He laps me up like a hungry man sitting down for his first meal after a long fasting. I shove my fingers in his hair. Push him against my sex.

  He takes a slow draw of my clit. Glances up at me with desire bright in his beautiful eyes. I am lost to the heat in their depths. Can’t look away even if my life depended on it.

  “Jesus, baby, you taste so good. So fucking good.”

  His words . . . They are so dirty. My sex throbs. My toes curl. I move my hips. My sex is making love to his tongue and his face. He’s so good with that tongue of his.

  “Maddox.” I’m panting. He gives a leisurely lick up my slit. I come apart for the third time. Or is it the fourth? I’ve lost count.

  Unsteady on my feet, I use the sheet and help him off the floor. We head for the bedroom.

  “Ladies first.”

  Is that so? I walk to the bedroom ahead of him. My hips sway. My stride is unhurried. Halfway to my bedroom, I drop the sheet. There’s more where that came from.

  His heated glance follows me to the bedroom before I feel him stalking to
ward me. I’m the prey and he is the predator on the hunt for his next meal.

  God, it’s a horrible analogy, but I’m ready for him to eat me out and stroke me with his tongue and his fingers to more mind-blowing orgasms.

  The doubts in my head grow. Can I keep our arrangement business and physical touching only? His large shadow fills my bedroom door, and in the moment, I couldn’t give a care. I crawl on top of the bed and crook my finger.

  “Come here, Maddox. I’m hungry.”

  17

  Blaise

  He said I made him come so hard as I sucked him off that he forgot his name. Welcome to my world, buddy.

  After I went down on him and he came in my mouth, I dressed from head to toe in satin and put back on my satin gloves. We fall asleep. Or at least he did, his breathing rhythmic near my ear.

  I’m cocooned to him, his arm across my waist comforting. He is strong, his body solid and lined with muscles. His warm breath coasts over my hair and caresses my forehead as this puff of air when I tip my face up to him.

  Is he asleep or, like me, awake, his heart thumping against his ribcage like mine is doing?

  What is Maddox thinking?

  What is he feeling?

  I set my gloved hand on his chest.

  Will he spend more nights with me? Or will he decide I’m too much of an oddity to waste his time on? I’m a spectacle. A woman with no meaningful skills. I bring nothing to a relationship.

  “You’re thinking awful hard, Blaise.”

  I sigh. “Called out.”

  “Damn right. Why the sadness in your voice, baby? If you don’t want to talk, feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

  “I don’t want to burden you.”

  “You won’t. You’re my wife.”

  “I’m a business deal.”

  “We can be more. You wanted a do-over. Let’s give it a try. I share something and you reciprocate. Does that work?”

  “Sure.” I stretch out the word, wondering how personal this reciprocating will get.

  “Spiders scare me.”

  “Really?”

  He chuckles. “That surprises you?”

  “It does. Whose bigger, you or the spider?”

  “Who has more legs, me or the damn things?”

  “Answering a question with another. Not cool,” I say.

  “Speaking of cool, are you warm enough?”

  “Perfect, thank you.” For good measure, I burrow into his warmth.

  With my head already tipped back, my mouth coasts over soft and warm flesh. What would Maddox taste like were I to flick my tongue over his skin? I long to know the answer, except it’s my turn to share something of myself.

  “I’ve never been in love and have no idea what it would feel like.”

  I expect him to laugh or make fun of me. What I’m not expecting is for him to share the opposite of falling for someone—heartbreak.

  “Falling in love is exactly how they describe it to be. It’s like walking on clouds. Feeling like you can conquer the world.”

  “Invincible?” I ask.

  “Yes. Nothing can get you down, and when something does, you pick yourself right up knowing that person would be there. Until they’re not anymore. Then it’s nothing but a gnawing ache and going through the grieving process. Anger. Denial. Bargaining. Acceptance.”

  “Did you go through all the stages?”

  I remember the authorities going over with me these stages, afraid I would sympathize with my kidnapper. Or worry I’d get stuck in a stage and never get to accepting what happened to me. How could anyone accept two weeks of torture and pain at the hands of another human being?

  “It took me two years, but yeah, I did.”

  Two years to get over a breakup?

  “You must’ve loved her very much.”

  “I do. I did.”

  Do. Did. Why do I have the feeling he still loves her?

  “It doesn’t seem like you got closure. Maybe you should find her and speak with her. I don’t know much about love, but two years is a long time to get over someone.”

  “Are you, as my wife, encouraging me to find my ex and make amends?”

  “If it’ll give you closure and peace, yes.”

  “What if feelings come back?”

  “I personally don’t think your feelings for her died.”

  “That doesn’t bother you?”

  “Why should it?” It does. Oh, God, the idea of Maddox with this woman somehow rips my heart to pieces. “A person should be happy and at peace.”

  “Will you be happy and at peace when I put your kidnapper out of his misery?”

  “No. I would be saddened by the act of violence. Violence begets violence.”

  “Did you not think of taking his life for putting you in the ground with a corpse, Blaise?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, hating yet respecting Maddox for daring to speak of my kidnapping when I’ve asked him not to.

  “I didn’t. I thought of my family and how sad they would be not knowing where I was.”

  I open my eyes, and shifting onto my back, I stare up at the night sky through the skylight in the ceiling with my gloved hands clasped over my chest.

  “He hurt me. Did horrible things to my body. Said things to me no one should have the right to say to another. I hated him, but I never once thought of hurting him back or taking his life. My father would never condone it no matter how deserving my kidnapper was.”

  Yet, my father cut open a woman’s belly and snatched a baby from the womb. Isn’t he as much of a monster as my kidnapper?

  “You should find her and speak with her, Maddox. Kindness and forgiveness begets kindness and forgiveness.”

  “Are you saying I was unkind and am in need of forgiveness?”

  “She hurt you. It’s you who needs to do the forgiving. Be kind and forgive her.”

  “How are you so certain she hurt me? That she was the one who broke it off?”

  “I don’t know you that well, but like my cousins and my men, you have a good heart. The good ones get their hearts broken the most.”

  “Will you break my heart, Blaise?”

  “There’s no chance of that happening.”

  “Why is that?”

  “You have to fall for me first.”

  “How do you know I haven’t?”

  “Is it possible to fall for someone when you’re still hung up on someone else?”

  “Answering a question with another question. Not cool, baby.”

  “Hey, that’s my line.”

  “That so?”

  “So.”

  “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

  I glance sidelong at him. He’s on his side, checking me out with a huge smile on his face.

  “I dare you to do your worst, baby.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I ask, unable to hide the smile in my words.

  “More sure than I’ve been in a long time.”

  “Okay, you asked for it.”

  I pounce, and knocking him onto his back, I straddle his thighs and tickle him. At first, I surprised him. He raises his arms. It’s a defensive move I know well. Collins used to do that. Someone else did too. Someone more ticklish than Collins. A boy. No, he wasn’t a boy, but closer to becoming a man. His face is a fuzzy haze, and the shock that Granger’s theory about repressed memories could be true steals my breath and immobilizes me.

  Maddox takes advantage, misreading my shock as a pause in what to me seems like foreplay. He gets me on my back in one fell swoop, keeping his weight off me with his arms alongside my head. I stare up into a face made of jagged lines hidden by shadows. He’s blocked my view of the stars and the moon. My breaths come out in spurts, and again, he misreads my shock as something else—passion.

  He lowers his head. Strands of dark hair fall forward. This is how I find myself when I wake from the sedatives my kidnapper’s given me. The ski mask he wears stretches across his face, outlining his prominent cheekbones
and the sharp jut of his chin.

  He nuzzles my forehead and down the side of my face, his mouth cool on my skin, as though he’d come in from the outside. His clothes reek of cigarettes, but his breath is minty. He’s brushed his teeth. Does he want me to like the smell of him? It’s the question that runs through my mind.

  He continues nuzzling my skin until his face presses into the crook of my neck. He bites, and the pain is excruciating, but I don’t cry out. If I do, he’ll bite so hard he draws blood, and I refuse to give him another taste of my family’s blood.

  He hates my family. That’s what he ranted about over and over. Which one? The McCabes, my supposed real family? Or the Lexingtons, the one who stole me?

  “I haven’t eaten meat since I was returned to my family.”

  My confession is met with silence. How do I tell him, in the dark and in that pose, that he reminds me of my kidnapper without hurting his feelings? It’s better to be vulnerable and share a part of myself than to hurt someone with my words.

  Maddox rolls off me and stares at the ceiling. In the moonlight, I catch the tense outline of his jaw.

  “I’m sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?” I edge away from his warmth and his body. “Maybe this reciprocating isn’t a good idea.”

  And what I’ve known to be true is still true. I’m horrible with holding a decent conversation, tending to overshare or ask awkward or uncomfortable questions to fill the silence. I sigh.

  “Can I tell something less morbid? I probably scared you off.”

  “You didn’t. Knowing why you’re the way you are helps me understand you better. And it’s not morbid. What you went through is real. Reality is suffering and pain, and when I get ahold of the bastard, he’ll regret ever hurting you.”

  Maddox’s words should give me comfort, but a small sliver of apprehension zips up and down my spine. What if Granger’s right and I know this guy so well I suppressed memories of him to keep from acknowledging how much someone I trusted hurt and betrayed me?

  When his day of reckoning arrives at the hands of Maddox, can I condone whatever pain and suffering Maddox plans on inflicting? But does my kidnapper deserve mercy after the hell he put me through? Maddox is right and wrong. Reality is suffering and pain. But forgiveness is what will give me peace.