Page 65 of Cook

I really shouldn’t still be in the darkroom with her. “Depends. What questions are you asking?” This was how I was going to get in trouble.

“Everything.” Maddie neared me, her voice husky. “I want to know everything about you, Cook.”

And then she pressed her lips against mine, catching my breath and my body in her grasp. Her kiss was childlike, innocent. And I was addicted.

I grasped onto her jaw and tilted her head, allowing my lips to move across hers. Maddie let out a sound somewhere between a mewl and a moan, and it set my blood ablaze. I pulled back to look at her, concerned I was overstepping, but I saw none of the fear or uncertainty I would’ve expected.

So... I crashed my mouth to hers, harder this time, and licked at the seam of her lips. She opened to me, and damn, she tasted so good. So sweet. I couldn’t imagine what her pussy would taste like if her mouth tasted like this. My cock tented my sweatpants. It wanted to be free, and it would—but not now.

I dragged myself away from her, rolling up my shoulders to a head taller than her, and I breathed deeply. This wouldn’t be a good thing yet, so I mentally listed off all the shit that disgusted me again, or what made me go completely limp.

Maddie whimpered a little and tried to close the distance again, but I held her away. Her arms encircled my waist, her skin to mine. It was painful to peel away from her, like our bodies were drawn together.

She peered up at me, sadness crinkling her eyes. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I couldn’t trust my cock.

Not with her so close.

Someday.

Mercer told me last night that I shouldn’t worry about hurting her and that Maddie would be ready for me. So many people had hurt her and used her already. I wouldn’t do that to her. Couldn’t allow myself the chance.

But how would I explain that to her?

That I was only trying to protect her.

Instead, I walked out of the darkroom and said nothing at all.

Maddie

I didn’t get it. Whathad I done wrong? Anything like that would’ve had Tommy G. or Signora’s client all over me. It was how I played their game to hopefully make them be gentle. They weren’t gentle, ever. I’d always had to tolerate the fingernails and knuckles and weapons, and over the years, I’d learned who wanted me to scream, who wanted my tears, and who just wanted my blood.

Cook, however, had been . . . considerate.

I padded after him on his heels. Hanging my head, I rubbed at the remaining tickle of his beard and licked the taste of him off my lips. I wanted more of him in every way.

“Maddie, sit on the couch.” Cook left me and walked into his bedroom.

I perched on the arm, fighting a pout. If I leaned to one side, Icould stop the throbbing in my sex, but the pressure wouldn’t subside. Today was proving to be just as tempting as last night. Every look Cook shot me sent me into a tailspin, especially when he didn’t wear a shirt and I got a peek at how magnificent he’d be fully naked.

A few seconds later, Cook walked out of his room, holding two boxes that he’d brought home early this morning when it was still dark outside. I leaned forward, trying to get a sneak peek.

“Here,” Cook offered me the two boxes, and I took them from his hands.

The first box included a phone, and I tried not to grimace. Was this going to be another speech about calling Melanie? I still didn’t want to do that. I didn’t know all the reasons, but I didn’t want to face her yet.

But there was another side to having a phone. I would have it for when he left me home again. That made it a little better.

“There’s a camera on the phone too,” said Cook, pointing at the list of features on the back. “Then you don’t need to drag those old bricks around everywhere.” He took the other box from my hand, smirking. He tapped the picture on the box. “You have a new camera lens too.”

I tried not to frown. I was supposed to be happy—excited that Cook was thinking about me and got me presents—but I didn’t wantthis. I wanted his camera.

He said I had an artistic eye. That my photos were good. Had that been a lie?

Tears burned my eyes, but I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t cry when Tommy G. cut me or backhanded me. I wouldn’t cry now over something so stupid.

It hurt in a different way, though.

I dipped my head, pressing my chin to my chest. My neck ached with the angle. “Do you not like what I created with the film?”

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