Page 94 of Love me, Maddie Mendoza

I stood in the middle of my room, wondering if I should go for a run. Burn the tremor within, avoid bedtime with Maddie. I reached for my dresser and got my basketball shorts; I drew a breath when I heard the door opening. A few seconds of silence, and she called, “Ready for bed?”

“I’m going for a run,” I said, without turning around.

“Are you sure?”

Something in her tone made me curious. So I turned. Maddie stood there, ready for bed. Freshly washed face, hair piled on top of her head and a Statham basketball jersey on. The number thirty-five on the front shone under the low light, almost like it was taunting me. I saw Maddie in my jersey before, but never like this. My neck strained. I bet she had nothing else on.

Shit.

Where was I going?

Yes, I was going for a run.

But I threw the shorts on the bed and licked my dry lips. “Turn around.” I ordered.

She arched a brow but obliged. Right across her back, in Statham’s colors, the big letters read; King.

Something snapped when I saw my name on her. The sane Zeek told me to leave it alone. To walk away from it, go on my damn run or whatever. But I wasn’t listening to my lucid self anymore.

Maddie walked to me, and I almost bent a knee in surrender.

We weren’t together. We were just Maddie and Zeek from Orchid Street.

I hated change, and that was a big one to walk freely into.

Instead of stepping away, my traitorous hand went down her leg then back up, feeling for her silk sleeping shorts. I hissed when I found nothing but the string of a thong. I followed the path of her underwear, ending when I had a handful of her ass.

“My jersey?”

“Lucky number thirty-five,” she whispered.

I laughed, shaking my head. But the lightness was short-lived when Maddie nipped my jaw. The hand on her ass gripped without my consent. Maddie moaned and used my shoulders to hold herself steady.

The air got caught in my lungs. My lips were so close to Maddie’s. Her eager smile undid me. Timid, sweet. So goddamn Maddie.

Our noses touched. I breathed her in and hauled her up; she whimpered but came willingly. Legs around my narrow waist, arms around my neck. I promised myself I’d not touch her anymore, but right there, with my hands full of her, I couldn’t understand why someone would ever make such a foolish promise.

“Are you really going to be the death of me?”

Maddie's nose moved, touching mine, foreseeing the kiss that was about to come. “The good thing about being your best friend, King, is that I know how to make you kneel.”

She never called me King before. It felt so good coming out of her mouth. The smile I threw her way wasn’t even fully there before our mouths met. I devoured Maddie on instinct, and she let me get away with it. The words that before were replaying on a loop inside my head were forgotten, and the only thing I could do was chant her name.

I sat down with her on top of me. Maddie fit perfectly in my arms. I lowered my back and brought her with me. She chased friction making me growl. The material of her panties and of my sweats weren’t thick enough to hide how much we wanted each other.

Never, not even once, had I lost control of a situation. I had the discipline of an athlete, the focus of someone older. Yet, I felt out of control. I let my body make the demands and pleaded for my brain to shut down.

Her hips moved, and mine bucked in the search of her. I couldn’t stand the beating of my own heart, so loud in my ears. I sucked her tongue; she gasped and moved quicker, begging to ride me.

She was right. Only she knew how to make me kneel.

I suffered in the most delicious way when she hooked a finger down the hem of the jersey and tugged it off. Her goddamn perfect tits bounced in front of my face and I had temporary blindness. I literally closed my eyes, groaning.

I was going to fuck my best friend.

I was going to fuck Maddie Mendoza, and then what?

There was no maybe with someone you knew since childhood. Not when our parents were best friends, when our lives were intertwined.

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