Page 67 of Cadence
While he watches.
My body is a live wire of overstimulation, my high ricocheting through every nerve ending. Not just from the orgasm. But from the way he’s looking at me now. Not with satisfaction, not like he’s won. But with something softer, something that terrifies me more than any dirty words ever could.
He steps forward, brushing a damp curl from my cheek, fingers trailing across my jaw to my chin, tilting it upward with his thumb and forefinger.
My hands rise to his ribs, not sure if I’m using him for support or to push him away. His skin is warm under my touch, slick with sweat, muscles still twitching from what we’ve done.
He studies me, not like I’m a conquest or some mistake, but more like a secret he doesn’t know how to keep.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have kept that recording, Paige,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to my mouth. I wait, bracing for the punchline, the usual Maddox deflection. But nothing comes. Instead, he leans in and presses a single, feather-light kiss to my lips, whispering, “But I’m not sorry that I did.”
Sex, I can handle.
Control, I can fight.
But this? It’s something else entirely, something I see hidden deep in his eyes the second he pulls back.
He’s not the same man when we’re alone, the one who touches like it might be the last time, lets himself want me for one second before burying it so deep he forgets it ever happened.
He lingers, his thumb tugging at my lower lip before he lets go.
“I’m gonna clean up,” he says quietly, grabbing the towel from the bed and wrapping it around his hips.
Giving me one last look, he steps out, leaving the door slightly open behind him.
Not slammed, not shut.
Open.
And somehow, that feels louder than anything he could’ve said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It happened again.
That thing where your body reacts before your head catches up. Where you tell yourself to stay strong, not to feel the things that leave you confused and angry and lustful, but it still does anyway.
Uninvited.
Unwanted.
I shouldn’t want him the way I do. I know that. It’s stupid and pointless and so damn risky. But then there are these moments… these split-seconds, really, where I swear he’s holding back just to torture himself.
Or maybe I’m the one who likes to be tortured.
I can’t let my sanity slip through my fingers. Not when it’s clear he’s more conflicted than I am.
P x
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maddox
Thestenchofsweat,instant ramen, and Eli’s bargain-bin body spray clings to the seats, the curtains, the air itself, the gross mixture filling the bus. Paige is curled up in her booth, tablet resting on her knee, headphones hanging in her ears like she doesn’t notice that at any second, they could fall out. Her eyes are glazed over, her face pinched with that kind of look that screamsback the fuck offbefore anyone can even approach her.
Digging through the fridge, I pull out a protein shake, watching her from under my arm. She shifts again, then once more, a low growl sounding as she brings her legs closer, trying to get comfy before she groans, pressing the heel of her hand into her lower stomach, her eyebrows pinching together.
I understand it now. It’s the same look she’s worn over the last few days when she’s tried to work on my lyrics, the unusuallyclipped way she answers Beau or Eli whenever they ask her a question, the way she’s been tugging her hoodie sleeves over her hands like she wants to disappear.
