Page 9

Chapter nine

Maddox

T he event is starting. All around me, people take their seats, as the soft buzz of chatter fills the bar. I sit, fidgeting with my hands under the table. Across from me, the seat remains empty. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I glance around. My stomach drops. This could be the opening scene in one of my nightmares. Any minute now, someone might notice my date is missing. Then everyone in the bar will watch, waiting to see what happens. Maybe I should slink off to the bathroom and wait for the next round. Would anyone even notice?

Just as I’m about to make my getaway, a shadow falls over me, but I’m too embarrassed to look up. Heat rushes to my cheeks. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes and bite my lip.

“Excuse me,” he pauses to read my name tag, “Maddox. I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

His voice is rich, deep, and the rumble of it sends goosebumps skittering down my spine. It’s already doing things to me. I can’t even find the words to respond. Instead, I focus all my energy on squeezing my thighs together, fighting the urge to drop them open and bare myself to him. Because, fuck, this man is attractive. The parts of him I can see at least, are perfect. The mask might hide his face, but I can still admire the hard muscles lurking beneath his shirt. With that body, I don’t care if a mask covers his face. We can work around it. This can’t be happening. I gape at him, appreciating how everything about him is instantly addicting.

“It’s okay,” I squeak out.

Shit. Come on, Maddox, you’re blowing it. He slides into the seat across from me. His warm, spicy cologne clouds my ability to think straight. He smells dangerous, like a forbidden indulgence. He clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring at him blankly, no doubt with a lovestruck glimmer in my eyes. Congratulations, I’m off to a great start. I take him in as he sits across from me, noticing the way his posture exudes confidence, like he’s used to having this effect on women. He’s smirking. Cocky bastard. It’s almost like he knows exactly what he’s doing to my panties.

“So, you come here often?” he asks, striking up a casual conversation.

His voice is decadent, commanding attention. I feel compelled to answer, desperate to hear him speak again. “Actually, yeah. Every Thursday night. What about you?”

He dodges the question with a quick nod. This isn’t good. My brain has turned to mush. It’s impossible to think when I’m utterly captivated by him. I’m supposed to respond, but I’m paralyzed. As the silence grows between us, I study his bone-white mask. The intricate silver design depicts the night sky, a metaphor for darkness. I muse over the possibility, suddenly very aware of how my body is responding to him. My nipples are peaked and hard. All I can think about is how good it would feel for him to caress them—a shiver runs up my spine, and my imagination runs wild. Fuck, I need to say something. I must look ridiculous just staring at him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, his voice equal parts alluring and authoritative.

There’s no way I can tell him what I’m really thinking. Lie. Blush sweeps across my face and I blink, trying to come up with something to restart the conversation. Be me, right? What would I tell one of my friends to say if I was in their ear, instructing them on everything to do and say? How would I play this out?

“I can’t tell you what I’m thinking. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.” The confident response rolls off my tongue, surprising both of us.

For an instant, surrender dances across his face before it’s replaced by a cool, calculated mask of control—of dominance. What kind of luck is this? I want to grab my phone and text the group chat so we can swoon over him together, but I’m on my own for this mission. It will have to wait until later, because I one thousand million percent plan to trap this man for my own personal use. What does this say about me? We’ve known each other for all of ten minutes, and I’ve already abandoned the man I’m obsessed with and have done nothing but boldly stalk. Am I really settling for the first guy who slides into my table and insinuates he’s thinking about fucking me? Is it so wrong to think this is hot?

I shift in my seat torn between staying or excusing myself for an emergency girls’ meeting in the restroom. My anxiety is sky-high, running wild, analyzing every possible outcome.

I decide I owe it to myself to browse the room. I look around, assessing the other candidates. Sensing my lost interest, he leans forward, taking my hand. His fingers are rough but gentle, tracing my wrist to the tip of my middle finger.

When he speaks again, each syllable of his response is a tempting, silky caress. “Darling, I already have the wrong idea about you.”

His voice is like butter, and the words are even hotter. I melt into a puddle. As wrong as it might be, I’m pretty sure I’m turned on by the fact he’s obviously thinking dirty thoughts about me. A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. It’s giving me a confidence boost I wasn’t expecting.

Before I realize what’s happening, his lips brush across my hand in a sensual sweep. He stares at me hungrily, as if he’s filled with an insatiable thirst for something only I can offer. I’ve never felt so alive. My heart pounds as butterflies explode across every nerve in my body. It’s excitement like I’ve never felt before. Bursts of energy rush across my skin, igniting places that leave me imagining all the ways I want him to consume me.

This man is beyond swoon-worthy. He’s beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Level-Up-Dom who? If this man’s up for grabs, and this is how he makes up for being late, I’ll take him.

“Careful, I might get used to apologies like this. Then I’d be ruined,” I tease.

“I think you want to be ruined,” he retorts.

Everything about him is dangerous. His voice is sultry and deep, tempting me to hang on his every word. He knows what he’s doing to me, understands the way he’s winding me up so tight—I might explode. He’s exactly who I needed to meet tonight, and I don’t want this round to end. I imagine him tossing me over his shoulder when the night is over, carrying me off to have his way.

I open my mouth to respond, but the timer blasts over the speakers. The same emcee from trivia night announces, “It’s time for the men to move to the next table—unless you invite them to stay. Ladies, will they stay or will they go? You have two minutes to decide.”

Shit.