Page 36 of Playing Dirty
All sense of control falls directly into Madden’s hands.
His fingers dig into my waist as he pulls me onto his lap, the harsh, sudden movement causing water to slosh over the edges of the tub. It creates a hissing sound when it hits the ice and snow outside it—or maybe it’s me when my knees collide with the bench he’s resting on. Either way, he doesn’t seem to care, too busy dueling my tongue with his own, using swift flicks and lashes the way he does when we end up in a verbal sparring match.
He’s got me speechless now, though, as I straddle him, my thighs bracketing his and my palms landing on the hard planes of his inked shoulders. I try my best to steady myself against his onslaught, but a desperate sort of need coils in my stomach at the sensation of his skin against mine wherever our bodies are connected. It lights me on fire from the inside out, and I know if this hot tub weren’t already bubbling from the jets, it would be from the heat in this kiss alone. The fire quickly builds in intensity, becoming an inferno when Madden releases my waist, one ink-covered hand sliding up my stomach before wrapping around my throat; not squeezing but gently guiding my head to a different angle with his thumb.
And, fuck, does my cock take notice of just how sexy it is to be on the receiving end of a hand necklace.
Just like that, I’m painfully hard, my hands gripping his shoulders to the point where he might be left with bruises beneath all his ink tomorrow morning. And for some reason, the thought of leaving any kind of mark on him turns me on more.
A tortured groan leaves Madden this time as the fingers of his free hand slide through my hair, knotting through the damp strands and pulling harshly. The way he moves is measured yet merciless, especially when he starts rolling and rocking against me. Like a more wicked, vicious side of him has been unleashed by the simple press and grind of our bodies.
His teeth sink into my bottom lip, hard enough for the metallic hint of blood to mix with the whiskey I drank earlier. It lingers on my taste buds as he plunges his tongue between my lips in another brutal kiss, pillaging my mouth and leaving me breathless.
He drags me under with hatred, holds me captive with wrath.
And it’s a taste too fucking addictive to fight.
Even when the hand around my throat squeezes hard enough to pull me back to reality, it still takes every bit of willpower I possess to rip my mouth from his. But doing so only earns a tightened grip and a whispered snarl.
“Wanna tell me I’m full of shit again, Greyson?”
Having no interest in giving him the satisfaction, I crash my mouth back to his again, this time being the one to take control—or as much as he’s willing to give—when I slip my tongue past his lips to tangle with his once more.
His hand tightens in my hair at the back of my skull, and the other leaves my throat, sliding over my stomach before curling around my lower back, pinning me against him.
Claiming me as his prisoner despite me being here willingly.
But the move traps my aching cock between our stomachs, and I realize…I can work with it.
My hips shift of their own accord, my ass grinding over the ridge of his erection while seeking more friction on my own length. He continues meeting every movement I make with one of his own, arching up into me while feverishly exploring my mouth; his tongue rolling and tangling with mine in time with our bodies.
And even as it’s happening, I know it’s all kinds of wrong and insane. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. But the longer I’ve been stewing in this attraction for him, the harder it’s become to deny that’sexactlywhat this is.
Attraction. Desire. Lust.
And, God, it pisses me off. So I do the only thing I can think of; what he’s already accused me of doing.
I take it out on him.
I’m brutal and ruthless as I kiss him harder, acting on adrenaline and pure instincts now while my hips roll and grind against him at a frantic pace. There’s nothing pretty about it, our teeth gnashing together as our tongues duel for dominance, neither gaining the upper hand for long.
He’s always there, meeting me with venom of his own, and it’s dismantling the few threads of sanity I have left. To the point where I rip my mouth from his and glare down at him.
“I hate that I want you,” I whisper, the words coming out in a snarl.
His dark chuckle floats over my skin like satin. “About time we agreed on something.”
He takes the opportunity to sink his teeth into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, and while a hiss escapes me from the bite of pain, I don’t fail to notice the way it has my cock throbbing behind my swim trunks. Aching from how rough he handles me, begging for even more of it.
Every harsh bite and nip brings us close to the edge, reducing us both to nothing more than two animals seeking a release only the other can provide. And there’s so much desire and frustration laced in it, I might actually drown in it.
In him. Madden.
But not Blackmore captain Madden, who I’m sworn enemies with, and not stepbrother Madden, who I was resigned to hate on principle alone. But the Madden I’ve been seeing the past few days; the one who is kind and caring and is genuinely a good person. The one whose proven he’s more than I made him out to be.
He’s somehow invaded my mind, destroying all thought and common sense, and no matter how hard I try…I can’t hate him for it.
I can’t hate himat all.
