Page 69 of Game Misconduct
The truth is worse.
Because under the fury, dread coils low in my stomach.
He’s right about one thing.
The board is watching.
Every article, every photo, every moment of Maddox’s body language in front of those cameras will be dissected.
Not just by them, but by sponsors, by season-ticket holders, by every vulture waiting for me to slip.
And if Maddox cracks? If I crack with him?
I lean back, spine pressing into the softness of the sofa cushions, staring at the ceiling like it has answers.
This isn’t just optics or perception or PR.
This is ammunition.
And if we crack, we’ll be handing Dean the bullets to load the gun.
Dean’s email glows on my phone screen like a taunt, but it isn’t his words I feel burning me alive.
It’s Maddox.
Always Maddox.
The way he cornered me in that elevator.
The way his body caged mine, broad chest blocking the air, eyes dark with something dangerous.
I wanted him to kiss me. No—I wanted him to kiss me and then take me. Hard and fast against the steel wall while I clawed at his shoulders.
The thought makes my pulse spike so sharp I can’t sit still. I shove up off the sofa and storm down the hall toward my bedroom, shedding my armor as I go.
Jacket hits the chair. Blouse unbuttoned, sliding off my arms. Skirt unzipped and kicked away along with my heels.
By the time I reach the bed, I’m stripping off lace like it’s strangling me.
I crawl onto the sheets bare skin hot, breath ragged. The drawer gives up my vibrator with a soft scrape.
Cold plastic in my hand, a poor substitute for the man who already owns too much of me.
The hum fills the room as I flick it on, low and steady. I part my thighs, the first press of vibration against my swollen clit ripping a gasp from my chest. My back arches, hips chasing more.
I see him—Maddox in that suit, tie gone, shirt undone just enough to tempt.
Maddox pinning me in the corner of the elevator, voice rough when he warned me he bites.
In my head, he snarls it against my ear:“You want me to ruin you, princess? Want me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name?”
“Fuck,” I whisper, grinding harder, the vibrator slick with need already.
My free hand covers my breast, thumb circling until I moan, knees falling wider.
My pussy clenches around nothing, desperate for him to be here, for his thick cock to fill me instead of the buzzing plastic.
I imagine his hand around my throat, his mouth crushing mine, his other hand yanking up my skirt.
