Page 91 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Do you know I imagined she was you the whole time?”

My stomach churns. “It doesn’t matter––”

“Itdoesmatter, Mads. Butshedoesn’t. She never mattered,” he clarifies. “But the fact I hurt you? Iwantedto hurt you?Thatfucking matters.”

With my back still pressed to the wall, he cradles my face and tilts my head up, leaving me no choice but to look at him. To really look at him. And all I see is regret. And vulnerability. And maybe a little awe too. Like he can’t believe I’m here. In his arms. With my legs wrapped around him again, my heart still penetrable, and my desire for him still overwhelming after all the shit he put me through.

“I want the lights on so I can seeyou,” he rasps. “So I can take in every exposed inch as I worship you the way you deserve. Without holding back. Just you and me. The way it was always meant to be.”

Meant to be.

I press my forehead to his.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I whisper.

“You could never disappoint me, babe.”

“I’m not the girl you used to know. Not physically, anyway.”

“I’ve seen you––”

“I know. But not up close and personal.”

His silence only fans my insecurities as he presses a soft, gentle kiss to my lips. And before I can argue any more, he carries me to his bed and lays me down, the lights shining down on me with all their wrath. His hands are gentle as he grips the hem of my shirt, but I grab his wrist.

“Lights off, Milo.”

“Do you trust me, Madelyn?”

My gaze turns hazy as I stare up at the ceiling, my body breaking out in a cold sweat. “This isn’t about trust.”

“It’s exactly what this is about.” He cups my cheek again but doesn’t force me to look at him.

Nope, the bastard waits until I can’t take his patience or his kindness for another second. My gaze flicks up to his warm, mesmerizing eyes.

“I broke your trust, Madelyn. Give me a chance to show you you’re the only one I want. The only one I’lleverwant.”

I wasn’t the insecure one. Not when it came to my physical appearance. Hell, I was sneaking tank tops and short shorts into my backpack by the time I reached middle school, so I could change in the girl’s bathroom as soon as I got there. But right now? I feel naked. Exposed. And so damn vulnerable, it’s not even funny.

He grabs the hem of my shirt again, waiting for me to give him permission.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the weight of an elephant sitting on my chest, and nod.

Without a word, he slowly peels away my clothes. Layer by layer. Piece by piece. Until I’m bared to him. It takes everything inside of me to keep my hands at my sides instead of covering myself. But I hold strong, fisting the dark, silky sheets as his heated gaze rolls over me. No disgust. No criticism. Only raw, primal appreciation.

“Good girl,” he breathes out, his voice low and husky. The sound goes straight to my core, and I squeeze my thighs together.

Grabbing my ankles, he yanks me closer to him as if I’m a rag doll and leans over me, resting his elbows on each side of my head as he kisses me again. It’s just as heated and needy as all the others. Hell, maybe more so. And I grab onto the distraction with both hands, snaking my arms around his neck and hooking my legs back around his waist.

“Uh-uh,” he tsks as he reaches back and unhooks my ankles.

“But––”

“Sh…”

I let my legs go limp, and he settles between my thighs, his jeans rubbing against me and his button-up shirt making my nipples pebble. Peppering open-mouthed kisses along my neck and collarbone, he slowly inches lower. When he reaches my breasts, he palms them with his large hands, tweaking the sensitive buds until a gasp escapes me, and I arch my back off the mattress.

“These,” he mutters, pressing them together. “Are gorgeous.” His tongue darts out of his mouth and swirls around my nipple. “And sweeter than ever.”

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