Page 48 of Mad Rivals
I’m so damn hot for him that I’m worried I’m leaving a wet spot on my dress. I knew I should’ve opted for black material.
After dinner, I excuse myself. I need a minute to collect myself. I need a minute away from his eyes. His scrutiny. Him.
But I can’t escape him. I should’ve known better.
He’s right behind me. “Walk to the far end of the hallway. There’s a set of restrooms down there nobody’s using.”
I don’t know why I listen to him, but I do.
I also don’t know why he knows this information. Maybe because he’s already been in there with someone else.
I wander down the hallway with other ballrooms, all the way to the furthest end away from our ballroom. These are vacant. Quiet. It’s a Saturday night, and it’s sort of surprising they’re empty. Maybe since the gala is taking up several ballrooms on the other end, they couldn’t rent these out tonight.
I spot the ladies’ room, and I walk in. He’s right. There’s nobody down here. In fact, the lights seem to sense my presence as they flick on, and I glance around the room as my heart pounds so loudly I think Madden might be able to hear it.
These aren’t usual bathrooms with just sinks and stalls. There’s a small lounge in the front with a fancy, ornate couch on one end. Maybe it’s for nursing mothers, or maybe for an elderly grandmother waiting for someone. Or maybe it’s for something else entirely.
On the other end is a long counter with a mirror above it. This might be where a bride comes to fix her hair or where an entire bridal party gathers to do their makeup. Little stools are pushed in beneath the counter as if the room has been recently cleaned and is just waiting for the next party tocome along.
It’s there where I stand when I see the door open in the reflection of the mirror. I draw in a shuddering breath as Madden Bradley walks into the lounge. He flips the lock I hadn’t even noticed, securing us into privacy. For what, I’m not sure yet. But I’m trembling as I wait to find out.
CHAPTER 20: Kennedy Van Buren
Tell Me How Bad You Want It
I don’t turn around, mostly because I can’t seem to make myself move at all. I’m frozen in place as his eyes meet mine in the mirror. He stands by the door for a beat, and I wish I had a window into his thoughts as he stares at me.
He slowly saunters across the room toward me, and he stops within a few feet of me, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s close enough to smell but not close enough to feel.
Yet.
He closes the distance as he reaches out, and his fingertips glide from my neck halfway down my spine to where the zipper of my dress begins.
I tremble under his touch, and then he moves in closer to me until I feel his heated front against my back. God, how badly I want to lean back into him, to close my eyes and let him snake his hand around to the front, to slide his hand into the slit of my dress and explore what’s beneath it.
I can’t seem to make myself move, though.
We still haven’t spoken a word, but as he moves in closer to me, his eyes seem to take on a desperation I’ve not yet seen in them. He drops one of his hands to the counter, boxing me in here much like he did against a wall a week ago, and his otherhand moves first to my hip before sliding down to the obscenely high slit of my dress. His fingers dip inside the fabric, the heat of his fingertips electric against my upper thigh.
“I haven’t taken my eyes off this slit all night,” he murmurs. “I’ve been watching it like a goddamn hawk, hoping for a glimpse of something forbidden.”
Oh my God. His words set me onfire. Heat and fire move everywhere through me, starting from the place where his hand makes contact with my skin and detonating explosively from there.
He breaks our eye contact only to move into place to press a kiss behind my ear. I shiver at the feel of his lips on my skin. I’m torn between letting him do what he’s doing and spinning around in his arms to press my mouth to his to finish what we started last week.
As he kisses my neck and I shiver, he slides his hand down by my slit up until he feels my hip. “I need to touch you,” he murmurs, and I nod, desperate for his touch.
His fingertips trail along my hip bone down to the line of my panties, and he pulls at the fabric to slide his finger underneath.
I close my eyes and lean back into him, feeling myself melting at his touch. He moves his finger along the path where my panties fall into place, teasing me, and I can’t help when my body seems to take over all by itself, pushing down to try to urge his fingers over to where I need them to be.
The ache between my legs is unreal. It’s been unreal since the moment I met him, but it intensified last week with that kiss, and no amount of touching myself has come close to what he’s about to do to me.
I want him to make me fall apart. Right here. Right now.
His fingers toy with the elastic against my skin before he slips one under the fabric. A soft moan falls from me, and he inches his finger over achingly slowly.
“Jesus,” he rasps, drawing out theesound as he feels the moisture dampening my panties. “Is this for me?”
