Page 6 of Let it Crackle (Playing with Fire #4)

I gasp, my head tipping back. He kisses the hollow of my throat, down to the collar of my dress.

And then he’s slipping one strap down. Then the other.

The dress pools in my lap, leaving me in just my bra and underwear, while he’s still fully dressed—station shirt clinging to his chest, pants straining with how hard he is beneath me.

With one swift motion, he lifts the dress over my head and tosses it aside.

“You’re shaking,” he whispers.

“I’m not scared,” I say.

“No. You’re not.” His hand slides over my bare thigh. “You’re turned on. And I haven’t even started.”

I moan, heat rushing through me as his hands roam everywhere—touching, teasing, exploring like he’s waited years for this. And maybe he has.

Maybe we both have.

Maddox is looking at me like I’m both art and sin. His hands are everywhere—steady at my waist, reverent at my hips, possessive at the small of my back.

“You know what reading that scene did to me, Maya?” he says, voice low, rough, dangerous. “You wrote about a man who’d wreck that woman—fill her, claim her. All I could see was us doing it.”

His fingers trail up my spine, slow and confident, like he’s memorizing every inch of me. I shiver under his touch, arching without meaning to. When his mouth brushes my throat, hot and open, I swear I feel it all the way to my toes.

“You’ve been in my head for years,” he murmurs, kissing a path along my jaw. “But now… now you’re under my skin.”

I whimper—God, actually whimper—and he groans like it’s his favorite sound in the world. His mouth captures mine, slow at first, all lips and heat and aching restraint. But when I grind down, seeking friction, he loses the leash entirely.

“Fuck, Maya,” he growls against my lips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing my nipple through the lace, then slipping under to tease it bare. My head falls back, a moan tearing from my throat, and he’s on me— lips at my neck, tongue at my collarbone, worshipping like he’s dreamed of this for years.

I clutch his shoulders, fingernails digging in, desperate and undone. “Don’t stop,” I whisper. “Please, Maddox. Don’t stop.”

He leans back just far enough to look at me. His gaze is wild, full of heat and hunger and something deeper. “You don’t get to hide anymore. I want to see every reaction, every little tremble you try to fight.”

My breath catches.

And when his hand slips between my thighs, slow and deliberate, I cry out, hips jerking against his palm. He hisses at the wetness he finds, like it’s a drug, like it undoes him.

“Christ, Maya… you wrote it,” he mutters, his fingers sliding and circling, “but I’m the one who gets to feel it.”

He gently lifts me and sets me on the desk like I’m something precious. Adoring, but hungry. His hands waste no time, fingers hooking into my panties, dragging them down my thighs in one slow, sinful glide that has me holding my breath.

“Lie back, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. “I want you comfortable while I ruin you.”

I do as he says, easing onto the cool surface of the desk. My heart pounds in my chest. Maddox doesn’t take his eyes off me—more specifically, off the part of me now glistening and exposed.

His touch is worship and wickedness all at once. His fingers trail through my slick heat, slow at first, teasing. Then deeper. Greedier. I gasp, hips arching toward him without thinking.

“You’re soaked,” he growls, dark eyes burning into mine. “Was it the words you wrote, or is it me, touching you like this?”

I open my mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a whimper. Desire pulses through me like a live wire. It’s definitely him no words could cause this reaction.

“I ran through that scene a dozen times in my head today, Maya. And every damn time, I got harder. You wrote it like you wanted to be taken, and owned.” He leans in, his mouth brushing my jaw. “And baby, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

I moan as he kisses down my body, every inch of me feeling claimed. His hand cups my breast through the lace of my bra, thumb brushing my nipple until I squirm. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs, dragging the strap off my shoulder with his teeth.

“Maddox…” I breathe, chest heaving, needing more.

“Say it like you did in that story,” he whispers against my throat. “Say my name while I make you beg.”

“Maddox,” I gasp, trembling beneath him.

His fingers move faster, circling, pressing, teasing until my back bows off the desk. “You want me?” he asks, voice barely restrained. “Because I’ve been aching to give you every filthy thing you wrote about. And more.”

I nod helplessly, lost in sensation.

He grins against my skin, rough and cocky, that firefighter arrogance barely held in check. “Then hold on, baby. Because I’m just getting started.”

His mouth replaces his fingers, tongue dragging through my slick folds like he’s starving. I cry out, a breathless, desperate sound that echoes off the shelves. He groans against me, the vibration making my whole body clench.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined.”

My hands scramble for something to hold—his hair, the edge of the desk, anything—as his tongue circles my clit, relentless and perfect. I’m already embarrassingly close, but he doesn’t care. He wants me undone.

And I unravel for him, hips jerking, a cry tearing from my throat as I come, thighs trembling around his face.

Before I can even catch my breath, he’s standing again.

His hands grip my hips, dragging me toward the edge of the desk, and I feel the thick length of him press between my thighs.

He’s so hard it’s almost painful just looking at him.

He doesn’t even take the time to undress fully—just frees his cock, thick and leaking at the tip.

“Maddox,” I whisper, voice wrecked.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His voice is hoarse, wrecked right along with me. “You want me to fuck you right here? Like in your story?”

I nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

He lines himself up, rubbing the blunt head of his cock through my folds, teasing me just enough to make me insane. Then he thrusts in. Deep. All the way.

I gasp, back arching. He’s big. Thick. Every inch of him stretches me, fills me, and I never want it to end.

“Jesus,” he groans. “You’re so fucking tight. You were made for this.”

He moves. Hard and deep, each thrust making the desk creak beneath us. His hands grip my waist like he owns me, like he’s anchoring himself to keep from completely losing it.

“You feel that?” he pants. “That’s me inside you. The guy you wrote about. The one you made filthy and desperate and obsessed? That’s who I fucking am now.”

I can barely speak. The words crash in my brain, but none make it past my lips. All I can do is moan, matching every stroke with my own frantic need.

He leans over me, one hand slipping between us to rub my clit, fast and perfect. “I want to see you come again. Right here. Just like this.”

And I do.

I shatter around him, crying out his name, trembling under the weight of it. And seconds later, he groans loud and low, driving into me with one last, brutal thrust before he comes—hot and thick, pulsing deep inside.

The silence afterward is only broken by our ragged breathing.

He brushes his mouth over mine. Gentle now. Sweet. “You still think I’m out of your league?” he whispers.

I don’t answer. I just pull him down and kiss him like maybe—just maybe—I’ve written my own happy ending.