Stain (Stain #1)(49)

He leaves my mouth swollen, threading his fingers through my hair as he tilts my head back to trail open-mouth kisses across my jaw and down the side of my neck. They’re hungry kisses, kisses that feel like he’s going to devour me whole. I moan when he sucks hard on the fragile skin of my neck. That shot of pain mingled with the sweet pleasure of his lips and tongue soothing the ache away makes me crave more. He moves down, brushing my cardigan from my shoulders, and it falls down my arms and pools around my waist and wrists.

Through the layers of my bra and camisole, he cups my breasts and with dazed fascination I watch him lower his dark head to bite the thin materials over the nipple of my left breast. Even with the barrier of clothes, I feel the clamp of his teeth, and a whimper tumbles from my open mouth as the sweetest heat licks between my thighs, making me squirm. He finds my mouth again, tangles his hands in my hair to move my head just how he wants it as he plunges his tongue deeper into me.

“Tell me to stop,” he orders thickly, his forehead pressing against mine as he pants. “Tell me to stop, Aylee, because I swear if you don’t, I’m going to pull down your jeans, spread you out on this table, and slide my dick inside your warm *.” Who knew words this obscene could be so arousing? Or is it only when they come from this boy’s beautiful mouth? A spectacular explosion of goose bumps spill across my skin as I raise my fingers to his mouth.

Tenderly, he puckers his lips to kiss my fingertips before interlacing them with his. “There won’t be any stopping then.” He continues. “I’m going to f*ck you, Aylee. I’m going to f*ck you slowly and I’m going to f*ck you hard. I’m going to make you scream so loud that whoever is left in this building is going to come running and see how good you can take my dick.” The last bit he whispers against the fragile skin where my neck and ear meet, sending shivers rippling through my body. Heat dances in my belly and trickles down the valley of my thighs to flood my core. I’m pulsating, breathless, and I want more of him, more from him. Whatever he’s doing now, this dark spell of ardor he’s cast is exactly where I need to be.

Do I want him to stop? No. I do not. But I can’t let him do all these things to me on this table, in the middle of the art room, despite how badly I ache for it. It will eventually make it to Tim’s ears, and he will be out for blood. Both mine and Maddox’s. Me, I’m not highly worried about. But I can’t bear the thought of my actions inadvertently hurting Maddox.

With a sigh, I give into impulse and run my hand through his thick mane. “You say you’re bad for me but you’re always looking out for me.”

He snorts. “Side effect of stupidity, I guess.”

I smile and bring his head close to gently kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Every time you’ve been there. Now…”

He sighs heavily. “I can’t promise you anything, Aylee.”

“Good, because I’m not expecting anything. Let’s not define what this is. We’ll just let it take its course.”

He slowly showers me with a different set of kisses from his abundant arsenal of sexual mastery. I live for how he parts my lips, live for the decisive way he dips his tongue inside my mouth and strokes it so softly against mine. He kisses me like I’m the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth and wants nothing more than to savor my taste.





Chapter 19


Maddox


It’s been nonstop these last few days. No f*cking free time whatsoever. Dro has me busy working. At the moment, I’ve got both my SIG and Glock in the waistband of my jeans. And another semiautomatic tuck inside my left boot. That one will probably be a little harder to reach but I’m confident in knowing I’ll have my target on the ground long before he can fire back at me. There’s seven of us in the tiny basement of the small Chinese restaurant on Fayette St. Everyone is on edge. It’s hotter than the Devil’s ass down here and there’s not one of us who isn’t sweating balls. But we’re all playing it cool right now because everyone here is a little trigger-happy. I know I sure as hell am. We’re not on our territory. The seedy Chinese restaurant belongs to a good friend of Deacon. It’s supposed to be neutral territory but nonetheless, I’m feeling edgy as f*ck. I’m pretty sure Dro is too, that’s why Willkie and I are standing behind him on one side of the green felt poker table. I’m thinking we’re the only ones he trusts enough to have his back if shit goes sideways because neither of us would hesitate to put a bullet in someone. We’re outnumbered by one, but I still like our chances.

On the other side of the table, the buyer Deacon set Dro up with stands with his three muscles flanking him. We’ve been here ten minutes now and so far everything’s gone according to plan. But ever the pessimist, I’m ready for something to go wrong.

It’s a simple gun run. The buyer has brought a tote bag of cash. One hundred large to be precise, enough for the three black duffel bags on the table filled with a wide variety of rifles, semiautomatics, and ammo.

“What do you have for me?” His voice is thick with an accent.

“Why don’t you take a look?” Dro offers.

The buyer, a short, bulldog-looking motherf*cker with a receding hairline and the fashion sense of an eighties pimp, gives a signal with his gold ring-adorned left hand. The muscles in three piece suits each step forward to inspect the merchandise. They’re thorough, checking triggers, muzzles, magazine wells, front and rear sights, and the frames of each gun. When they finish, they interact in a language I can only assume to be Russian before finally acknowledging a silent Droski.