Make Me Bad(60)

It’s only been a few seconds since I touched her there, but it must feel like forever.

I brush her hair off her forehead and cradle her face. She looks at me like she’s about to swoon.

“More,” she demands with a lusty, choked voice, and I smile, happy to oblige.

This time, I use my mouth.

I bend back down on my knees, and there’s no more tiptoeing around this. My fingers hook on either side of her panties and I yank them down her thighs. They pool on the floor and she steps out of them. Her dress covers her, barely. One of my hands pushes up the thick sweater material and the other wraps around her thigh, tugging, goading her legs apart.

I expect her to protest, and she does try to push her dress down a little.

“I’ve never…” she says, letting the sentence hang.

I glance up so my gaze locks with hers and I kiss the inside of her knee. Then I peel her dress up and follow its path with my mouth. The material drags across her skin, goose bumps bloom, and I kiss them away, lapping her up until I reach the spot between her legs. I’m too tall for this angle. Her legs are long for her height, but still, I need more room. I wrap my hand around her calf and lift it up so her foot perches on my shoulder.

Her hand flies up to cover her eyes, like if she doesn’t look at what’s happening, she doesn’t have to be embarrassed by it.

I smirk.

It’s cute. All of it—the idea that she would turn this down because it’s out of her comfort zone, the idea that when my mouth connects with her soft, wet flesh she won’t crumble into a million pieces.

My tongue slides across her and I watch that hand curl up into a fist and fall away. Her eyes stay closed though. Her mouth drops open. So does mine. I lean in and her legs spread wider. My hands were keeping them apart, but there’s no danger of her closing them now. I let go of her thigh and bring one hand between her legs to compliment my mouth.

If I had a timer, I’d start it.

She won’t last another minute.

My middle finger slides into her and I start to pump slowly.

Madison’s eyes squeeze tightly. Her hand fists against her mouth like she’s scared of what will fly out. My tongue swirls faster and my finger matches its rhythm. That timer is counting down and Madison is grinding against me, rocking her hips, taking it and taking it, trying to stave it off as long as possible, but I’m better at this than she is. I pump faster and my tongue speeds up and the first shudder I feel is followed by a second one that’s even more powerful. Her orgasm rocks through her and she cries out, fisting my hair, keeping me there, ensuring that I help her milk every last drop of pleasure.

I kiss her and soothe her as she comes back down to earth. Her eyes blink open slowly and I’m smirking, very pleased with myself.

Her sweater dress falls back into place, the rest of her still in complete disarray. Light-socket hair. Flushed cheeks. Wide, crazy eyes.

She opens her mouth to say something and a giggle escapes instead. She presses the back of her hand to her mouth, shakes her head, looks away. Apparently, she’s having a hard time piecing herself together, so I decide to help her. I pick up her panties and slide them back up her legs. When they cover her again, I pat her butt and step back.

“You’ve done that before,” she says, impressed.

I laugh.

Her brow arches. “I could return the favor, you know. I’m not opposed.”

My dick says yes, but my brain thankfully wins out.

“It’s probably best we don’t stay down here. Besides, it’s late—I’m sure your dad is wondering where you are.”

“Oh, about that…I moved out.”

She’s biting down on her lip to contain her smile.

I blink in shock. “What do you mean?”

She’s innocent now, playing with her dress, acting as if this isn’t monumental information. “Mrs. Allen has a garage apartment. She’s letting me stay there and pay rent. Well, technically, I haven’t convinced her to take my money, but I will. It’s nice. I mean, it definitely hasn’t been lived in since like the 70s. There’s green shag carpet and a smell I can’t quite seem to locate the source of, but it’s my own place, at least.”

“You moved out.”

She smiles. “I moved out.”





18





Madison





I’m in the bathroom of the library, freshening up before we leave. I try, very hard, to remove the blush from my cheeks. I fan my face, splash some cold water on it, shove my head down under the hand dryer. It’s no use.

It seems it’s permanent.

I can’t believe we just did that. In the storage room. Where I store books. Books are stored there and Ben did that and I have to get out of this bathroom. The redness is getting worse.

He’s waiting for me by the library exit with my bag in hand, checking his phone. He’s beautiful in his suit. His hair is only slightly mussed from my hands. He looks composed, nearly bored. I try to mimic his expression and probably come across looking as though I’ve had bad Taco Bell.

“All set?” he asks.

I take my bag with a little meek smile and then lead him through the door.

Mrs. Allen lives a few blocks from the library, which is the main reason I worked out the living arrangement with her. It’s not the ideal scenario. Like I told Ben, the garage apartment is not exactly the lap of luxury, but it’ll do the trick for now.