Page 49 of Cadence
If I wasn’t already fucking obsessed, this would end me.
“You have no idea what your desperate cries do to me,” I growl as I press my lower body against her thigh, needing even the slightest bit of relief from the pressure crushing me. Looking down, she watches the way I rut against her, her eyes slowly lifting back up, a coy smile on her lips.
“I think I do.” She rubs her thigh against mine, dragging a tortured groan from my chest. “You already know what you do to me. I think you should show me exactly what I do to you. Show me how you can’t get enough of me, and let me feel all of you.”
I grind down harder, the friction sending sparks straight to my balls, her breathy gasp only making it worse. I’m not even embarrassed, too close to the edge of losing control because nothing compares to the way she feels beneath me, around me, so fucking close to coming.
I want to watch her shatter because of me.
I want to own every tremble, every breath, every fucking sound she makes.
“I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?” I ask, voice like gravel. “You gonna make a mess all over my hand, knowing exactly what you do to me?”
She whimpers, hips stuttering, fingers twisting in my shirt and drawing me closer.
“You talk too much,” she moans, her gaze wild, her tongue swiping across her lower lip as she stares at my mouth. She wants me to kiss her, her pulse a shaky rhythm I can see in her neck.
I lean in, inch by inch, close but not touching, just enough to feel her breath on my lips, then shift at the last second, bypassing her mouth and landing at her ear instead.
“You want my mouth?” Curling my fingers inside her, slow and deliberate, I pull another broken sound from her. “You think I’m gonna kiss you sweet while you’re dripping down my hand? You think I’m going to muffle those sexy-as-fuck noises you’re making?”
I press deeper, letting the slick, obscene sounds fill the space between us. She pants, fluttering tight around me like the words alone pushed her closer.
“I want to hear them, Paige. I want to memorize everything,” I growl against her skin. “How you sound. How you feel. How you look falling apart for me.”
A raw moan tears from her throat. She stiffens, rising onto her toes like she’s trying to outrun the inferno of pleasure I know is burning through her, but there’s no escaping me. She shudders, forehead pressed to my shoulder, arousal coating her thighs as I work her through it, every tremble of her orgasm winding tighter around my ribs.
I lean back slightly, watching her lashes flutter uncontrollably, catching something just behind her that I hadn’t noticed before: the faint red glow of a light on the console beside us. I look down at Paige’s hand splayed wide next to the keyboard, the mic for talking into the studio angled differently, the counter rolling on the screen.
Eight minutes and fourteen seconds.
Adrenaline surges through my blood. Every sound, every moan, every filthy word. It’s all there in wavelengths and frequencies.
I should stop it, reach for the mouse and put an end to our impromptu X-rated B-roll. Do the right thing. But I don’t. I simply stare at that red light and, fuck, it makes me even harder.
I slow down, drawing out every twitch, every whimper, milking her through the end until there’s nothing left but sweat and a beautiful mess.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her temple as she slumps forward into me, breaths labored, legs weak from exhaustion. “Fuck, Paige…”
“Maddox,” she pants, her voice broken as the last shivers of her orgasm pulse around my fingers.
I pull out slowly, my hand glistening with her, the sound of her soft pants filling my ears. She’s not just wrecked, she’s undone.
And I like it. Too much.
I wait for the guilt to sink in, for the voice to tell me I don’t deserve this. It’s the same voice I had that night in her dressing room, the one that stopped me from kissing her. But it doesn’t come. What comes instead is darker, primal, a type of satisfaction I can feel in my bones. Because now I know what it’s like to watch her in a complete state of euphoric bliss, all I want is to do it again.
Bringing my fingers to my mouth, I lick off the taste of her, savoring the sweet and salty flavor that’s instantly addictive. She watches me, unblinking, unwavering, looking like she can’t decide if she wants to slap me or drag me back in. And I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more.
I glance at the monitor again.
Ten minutes, twenty-three seconds.
Ten minutes ofus.
I should delete it. Erase every trace of what we’ve done, but I can’t bring myself to.
Instead, I open the nearest drawer and rummage inside, finding what I need. Hitting stop on the recording, my hands shake as I slot the USB into the drive and quickly copy the file over. Every second drags as I watch it upload into the folder, thecompletion bar creeping upward until it’s done. Then I delete it from everywhere else—software, backups, trash—until it’s gone.
