Page 82 of Recklessly, Wildly Yours

“You say the sweetest things to me, Black.” It can’t be denied, though; I really like his crude way of saying some things.

“I told you up-front that I wasn’t the guy for you if you wanted flowery.”

“Ah, no,” I say as I try to keep up with his long, fast strides out of the hotel, “you told me that after you fucked me, which was after the up-front stage apparently.”

He gives me a look and we then proceed to banter our way to his condo at which point, he tells me to spread my legs because we’re spending the rest of the day working on his orgasm-delivering skills.

Screw flowery; I’m all about Blackery now.

28

Madeline

Life moves at a much slower pace after I pack some of my belongings and move them to New York. After weeks of hectic back-to-back interviews and appearances to help build my new brand that Judy and I are creating, that all eases. Tucker is out there being a dick and I think a lot of people are starting to see him in a new light, which means the negative publicity I was enduring has decreased. And Judy was right: people find other scandals to get invested in and they move on, forgetting the one they were just fixated on.

Once I’m in New York, I divide my time between songwriting, doing some PR, and spending time with Ethan, learning so much more about him and enjoying the kind of domestic life I’ve never had with a man. We do everyday couple things like taking in a movie, having date nights, enjoying lazy reading afternoons together, cooking together, and laughing a lot. Ethan snaps a million photos of me and I start writing songs that have pieces of him in them.

I also spend Tuesday nights having dinner with the Black family and it’s becoming a favorite part of my week.

Two weeks after I make the move, I wake on a Tuesday morning to Ethan cursing as he checks the time. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for my shoot.” He throws the bed covers off and strides into the bathroom.

Ethan has gone back to doing what he loves for work: photography. He’s still consulting for the company he sold his app to, but after spending a lot of time with them initially, he now only has to work a few days a month with them. Last week, he opened his books for portrait photography for the first time in years and people are excited he’s back.

By the time I wander into the bathroom, he’s in the shower. I brush my teeth and then step into the shower, moving behind him and wrapping my arms around his body.

“Miller,” he growls, “I haven’t got time.”

I kiss his back, keeping my arms around him but letting one hand glide down his body toward his cock. “You have got time.”

He grasps my hand and stops it moving any lower. “Baby, I can’t afford to be late.” He turns in my embrace, looking down at me with both lust and frustration. “You need to get out of the shower.”

“Wow. I never imagined the day you’d boss me into leaving you alone.”

He groans and I see just how much he wishes he could say, “fuck it all” and push me back against the tiled wall.

“You absolutely have time,” I say and when he opens his mouth to argue, I silence him with a finger to his lips. “I don’t know what time you think your shoot is, but if you fuck me fast, you definitely have time.”

“Babe, my shoot is at nine. I don’t even have time for a five-minute fuck.”

“Without touching the idea of a five-minute fuck, which, you should make note of, I never want, your shoot is at ten.”

He looks truly frustrated with me now and it’s the first time he’s ever clenched his jaw with me. “Maddie, I think I know my own schedule.”

“Okay, Black, here’s your next girlfriend lesson: women know their man’s schedule better than their man does. We memorize that shit like it’s our own schedule. There’s this little thing you can do where you share your digital calendar with someone else, which I’ve done with yours. Every night, I note what you’ve got on the next day, so I know that your shoot does not start until ten today.”

He's stopped clenching his jaw and is eyeing me questioningly. “How the fuck do you share a calendar with someone?”

“Well, I mean, it’s hard to do if they have a password on their phone, but since you refuse to have any kind of security on your device and are more than happy for me to access it, I sent it to myself.” I pat his chest. “And look at this, you get two girlfriend lessons in one morning. Put a damn password on your phone.”

Before I can take another breath, he’s got me up against the tiled wall and his mouth on mine, and he’s kissing me with everything in him.

Our hands are everywhere.

Desperate.

Possessive.

Claiming.

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