Page 89 of Cadence
He groans low in his throat, pushing his finger into my panties, the fabric creating a devastating pressure as he presses it onto my clit that I nearly break.
“This is probably a bad idea,” he murmurs, lips back against my throat.
“The worst,” I breathe. “But I want it. Wantyou.”
I fumble with the button on his jeans, tugging down the zipper and sliding my hand into his boxer briefs. He’s hard as steel, but impossibly smooth, and the way he jerks in my palm as I curl my fingers around him, I need him more than air.
He hisses, hips moving on their own as I start to pump.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice frayed like my nerves. “We need a condom.”
“If you don’t fuck me in the next ten seconds,” I say, thumbing over the head of his cock, spreading the pre-cum already pooling there, “I swear to God, I’ll ride your thigh until I come. But I’d prefer to do that with you inside me.”
He growls like it’s being ripped from his chest, tearing himself away from me. Chills race through my body, touching everywhere his heat once coated me, and for one horrifying heartbeat, I panic, thinking I’ve gone too far, that I’ve finally found Maddox Knox’s limit.
But then he reaches into his back pocket, a silver packet catching the light as he tugs it free, tearing the foil open with his teeth. A laugh escapes me as I watch him shove his jeans around his thighs and roll the latex onto his cock, the sight dizzyingly sinful.
“I thought you’d want to go back to your dressing room,” I breathe out, gasping when his hands latch onto my thighs, lifting me effortlessly off the floor.
“It would take longer than ten seconds to get you back there,” he rasps as he guides my legs around his waist, my skirt crumpling around my hips as he presses my back into the wall.
“So you’ve been carrying a condom all this time just in case?” My voice hitches as the cold bricks meet my spine while his heat blankets every inch of my front. “Hoping we might get that privacy on the bus and wanted to be prepared, huh?”
“Hopeful,” he says, sliding one hand between us. “Dangerously fucking hopeful.”
He nips at my throat, pushing my panties to the side and guiding the blunt head of his cock to where I’m soaking, ready for him.
My eyes roll in anticipation as the tip notches at my entrance. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Whatever last thread of restraint he was holding on to is gone as his mouth crashes onto mine, and he pushes inside, tongueclaiming mine with the same intensity as always. There’s no teasing, no finesse, just the thick, heavy length of him sinking inside, inch by glorious inch, the stretch so fucking perfect I cry out, arching off the wall with a broken gasp.
Sweat beads on Maddox’s temples, like the feel of me wrapped around him is more than he was prepared for.
Fuck, it’s more than I was prepared for, too.
“I knew you’d feel like this,” he grits out, burying himself deep between my legs, eyes squeezed shut as my pussy throbs and clenches around him. “Better than I imagined.”
He pulls back, then drives in harder, locking us together. My nails dig into his shoulders, my thighs wrapping around his waist, keeping him close. “You imagined this?”
His laugh is like gravel. “Every damn night.”
Hips snapping into mine, his rhythm is ruthless, each thrust punching the air from my lungs. My back grinds against the wall, every scrape licking a trail of sparks that only heightens everything. This was a mistake. We never should have crossed this line, because he moves like he’s making up for every stare, every jibe, every message buried in lyrics we were too scared to say out loud.
But god help me, I don’t want him to stop.
He fucks me hard, filthy and fast, his mouth on my neck, jaw, lips. Each kiss like a claim, each snap of his hips, slap of skin on skin, drowned out by Reign’s set thundering through the floorboards. I clutch at his shoulders, trying to hold on, but it’s useless.
“Fuck,” he grits out, forehead pressing to mine, his movements slipping, becoming uncoordinated the closer to the edge he gets. “You feel…Christ, Paige…”
My thighs ache, squeezing around him and dragging him deeper. My back’s burning, but I don’t care. I’m too far gone,every nerve ending alight, close to unravelling in his hands as pleasure coils low in my belly.
“I’m close,” I whisper as I rock against him, chasing that high that’s just out of reach.
He pulls back enough to lick his fingers, the spit-soaked tips disappearing and rubbing in tight, fast circles on that sweet spot that makes me see stars. Eyes rolling back, I explode, body locking up, teeth latching onto his shoulder to muffle my cries. I shake, spots blurring my vision, the sound of his groan in my ear better than any song on stage.
But it’s not just the physical release; it’s everything else in between. How these moments have stolen my logic, ignored the flags, drowned out everything around us until it’s just him.
He thrusts once, twice, before he’s tensing, spilling into the condom with a guttural growl. We cling to each other, panting, shaking, barely holding it together. And when he leans back to look at me, I see something in his dark eyes I don’t know how to name. He kisses me languidly, like he’s savoring this moment, before sliding out and gently lowering me to my feet, hand staying on my hip like he’s not ready to let go.
