Chapter Four

The look in his eyes—that mixture of arrogance and pure, deliberate cruelty—broke the last thread of my reserve. He wanted me to beg. I gave him what he wanted.

My hands clenched the silk sheets beside my head, and I lifted my hips slightly, unconsciously chasing the phantom pleasure he had just stolen. The words were hot, messy, and ripped from my throat by sheer, frustrated need.

“Please, Maddox,” I panted, my voice high and desperate. “Please. Don't stop. I need you to touch me. Don't make me wait.”

The corner of his mouth curved into a satisfied, triumphant smile. The sound he made—a soft, masculine growl of approval—was more rewarding than any compliment.

“Much better, Story,” he approved, his eyes blazing. “You get what you ask for.”

He lowered his hand immediately. This time, he didn't tease. Two fingers, then three, pushed slowly and deeply into me. The sudden, invasive fullness was staggering, meeting the exact desperate ache he had cultivated.

A long, loud moan tore from my lips. “Ahhh!” I gasped, my head thrashing against the pillow. The alcohol and the pressure combined to send immediate, exquisite signals straight to my brain. He found a spot, pressing against it, and I arched my back, crying out his name.

He increased the pace, his thumb rubbing roughly against my clit while his fingers worked deep inside. The pleasure was overwhelming, building rapidly, pulling me toward a violent, beautiful release. My breathing turned into shallow, uneven gasps. I was close. So close. The world was narrowing down to the pounding of my heart and the rhythmic thrust of his hand.

Maddox felt the shift in my body—the frantic tightening, the shuddering inhale. He knew exactly where I was headed.

He stopped. Immediately.

My entire body went rigid with shock and exquisite frustration. I let out a choked sound, a whine of protest.

Maddox leaned down, his face close to mine, his eyes dark with a challenge. He removed his hand completely, leaving me throbbing, wet, and stranded just short of the edge.

“Nah-ah-ah,” he murmured, his voice low and firm, tasting the denial. “We don’t finish yet. We have to fuck first, Story. You don't get to squirt all over my silk sheets until I’m inside you.”

He was giving me the ultimate form of dominance—controlling the flow of my pleasure. My breath caught in a sob of frustration, but the denial only made the core of me clench and beg for what he was about to give.

The denial was agonizing, but the promise in his voice—We have to fuck first—was a thrilling compensation. He had withheld the end, but he was offering the beginning of the real devastation.

Maddox didn't give me time to process the frustration. He shifted his weight, moving his attention upward. He lowered his head and took one of my nipples into his mouth.

The heat and wet friction were immediate, startling. He sucked and teased, drawing an involuntary gasp from my lips, dragging the agonizing, suspended tension away from my lower body and concentrating it in my chest.

He spent long, agonizing seconds drawing on one peak until it was throbbing, then moved to the other, treating my breast like a delicacy he was savoring before the main course.

My hands flew to his blonde hair, holding him close, desperate for the touch he was giving. My hips twitched, remembering the rhythm of his hand, begging for something more substantial.

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes dark with a hunger that perfectly mirrored mine. The delay was over. The game was finished.

He positioned himself between my legs, shifting his hard weight over me. I lifted my hips instinctively, ready, eager for the invasion he’d spent the last hour meticulously preparing me for.

Maddox slid a hand under my back, tilting my pelvis to meet his angle. He didn't thrust. He pressed against my swollen entrance, making me groan with the pressure, aligning the sheer force of him with my waiting body.

Then, with a slow, grinding push that was all power and intent, he breached the final barrier.

“Oh, my Lord,” I moaned, the words a breathless prayer lost in the luxurious air of the penthouse. The feeling of him filling me entirely was overwhelming. The size was impossible, yet perfect, stretching me in a way that was both painful and exquisitely satisfying.

The initial shock gave way to the deep, familiar ache of true completion. My "cobweb coochie," as I mentally dubbed it, had truly been revived by this dominant god. I was no longer drunk, or frustrated, or desperate for a distraction. I was simply full, fully connected to this beautiful stranger.

Maddox let out a low, victorious sound in my ear, sinking down until his chest was pressed against mine. He held himself still for a moment, letting us both adjust to the glorious, shocking reality of being completely joined.

“Story,” he whispered, his voice rough with triumph, “you’re exactly as tight as you look.”

The brief moment of stillness was shattered by the raw, animalistic need that finally consumed Maddox. He had played the dominant game, he had savored the denial, but now, he wanted the savage release he’d earned.

He pulled back just an inch and then slammed forward, a hard, brutal thrust that stole the breath from my lungs.

My cry was instantly muffled as the intensity of the impact rocked me back against the pillows. He started moving, not with rhythm or tenderness, but with a driving, relentless power. Each stroke was deep, hitting the exact spot his fingers had tortured just moments before.

This was rough. This was the "BDSM level" I had drunkenly requested, stripped of any pretense of affection or care. He gripped my hips with punishing force, lifting me to meet his momentum.

He didn't see a person; he saw a release, a willing, wet vessel to take his strength. It felt like he wanted to shift my very womb, driving deeper and harder with every breath he took.

The sensation was overwhelming, pushing me further past any logical thought. The world was reduced to the slick friction, the heavy slamming impact of his hips against mine, and the desperate, guttural sounds coming from both of us.

His face was a mask of pure, primal intensity, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. He wasn’t talking, only grunting with the effort, his powerful, sculpted body a machine built for this explicit destruction. My head was ringing, my back was damp with sweat, and my inner core was screaming under the beautiful, brutal assault.

I wasn't capable of speech, only ragged moans and high-pitched whimpers that dissolved into a chaotic background noise to his frantic rhythm. This was not love-making; this was raw, chaotic, unforgettable sex, exactly what Vegas had promised and what I had begged for.

He pinned me to the bed, raising my legs over his shoulders, gaining impossible depth with every heavy thrust.

My climax, held captive earlier, roared back, gathering into a ferocious wave that was about to break. I could feel the tension tightening, wrapping around his cock, pulling him down further into the glorious chaos.

The pace became a violent, dizzying blur. With a sudden, savage movement, Maddox drove in deep and grabbed my ass cheeks, his fingers digging in so hard I felt the sharp sting of his nails through my heated skin. The pain was a grounding anchor in the hurricane of pleasure. He squeezed my flesh, using the purchase to slam his hips into mine again and again, pushing me closer to the edge.

He released my hips only to move his focus to my breasts, still swollen and tender from his mouth. He grabbed them both, kneading and squeezing them roughly, treating them like an orange he was trying to crush.

The combination of intense pain and deeper pleasure was a narcotic. I was a puppet, thrashing beneath the harsh control of his hands.

This animalistic frenzy continued.

We moved across the expansive bed, switching positions with a clumsy, desperate urgency that bypassed all finesse. He took me against the window, pressing my back against the cool glass overlooking the electric city.

He flipped me over, driving into me from behind, his hands still controlling and punishing my body. The distinction between pleasure and pain dissolved into one singular, overwhelming sensation.

The rough, demanding sex lasted for what felt like an hour of pure, sustained devastation. My body was bruised, slick with sweat, and completely spent, but every cell screamed in delirious satisfaction.

Finally, Maddox groaned, a long, primal sound that signaled his impending collapse. His rhythm became frantic, his jaw tight, his eyes rolling back.

“I’m close, Story. God, I’m close!” he gasped, his voice barely audible above the friction.

I wrapped my legs tight around his waist, forcing him deeper, pulling him in for the kill. The last thing I needed was for this magnificent, chaotic energy to spill harmlessly onto the sheets. This had to be final. This had to leave a mark.

“Inside,” I choked out, a final, desperate plea. “Only inside, Maddox. I want all of it!”

With one final, shuddering thrust, he completely lost control. He roared my name, his body going rigid as he pumped his seed deep inside me, his release brutal and consuming. He collapsed onto me, heavy and slick, his breath hot against my neck.

We lay there for a long moment, the only sound the ragged, syncing breaths of two people who had just survived a natural disaster. The air conditioning in the penthouse, silent and efficient, quickly cooled the sweat on our skin, turning the damp silk into cool relief.

I waited until his breathing evened out a little, basking in the glow of the hangover-and-sex induced haze. I felt dizzy, bruised, and utterly, wonderfully reckless.

I reached up, running a shaky hand through his damp blonde hair. I leaned in, my voice slurred with exhaustion and lingering mania.

“Maddox?” I murmured.

He shifted, lifting his head just enough to look down at me, his eyes half-closed. “Hmm?”

“We did the one-night stand,” I said, giggling weakly. “We did the rough part. We did the chaos.”

He managed a tired, satisfied smirk. “It was spectacular chaos, Story. Now what?”

I took a deep, shaky breath, the remnants of the tequila, the recklessness, and the overwhelming feeling of being alive all crashing together in one insane idea.

I looked him straight in the eye, my voice suddenly clear despite the exhaustion.

“Let’s do something crazier,” I declared.

Maddox frowned, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Crazier? What could possibly be crazier than that? We just burned down the whole city from the inside out.”

I grinned, the pure, unadulterated chaos queen reasserting herself.

“Let’s get married.”