Page 3

Myles

Madison leans back in her seat as though she’s incensed with me for not letting her come in her damn dreams.

I have to get her home. Fucking fuck.

Without a word, I pull away from the curb and head toward her house, which she rents with three girls from school. I’ve never been there, but I know the address.

Her father’s home is not far away, but she didn’t want to stay in it alone while he was out of the country, nor did she want to commute to the university. She wanted to live on campus with friends. I don’t blame her, but this is a disaster. What the hell am I going to tell Hendrix?

Madison slumps against the door. She’s sound asleep when I pull up in front of her rental house. I get out, round to her side, and open the door slowly, carefully reaching in to keep her from falling onto the concrete. Thank goodness for the seatbelt.

She moans as I unbuckle her, and I have no choice but to lift her out of the car. She has a small purse strapped across her body, and I somehow manage to unzip it to find her key while balancing her in my arms. It’s not too hard to hold her. She weighs nothing.

My jaw is tight as I take in the area. I don’t like the neighborhood. It’s on the edge of campus, but it’s…well, it’s obvious every home is rented out to students, so it’s junky. There are no lights on inside Madison’s house, and no one even thought to leave the porch light on.

When I get the door open, I step inside and flip on the first switch I can find.

Madison is limp in my arms. Dead weight.

I carry her into the kitchen, turn on more lights, and cringe.

It’s a mess. Dishes everywhere. I’m starting to think she lives with boys instead of girls, and that thought makes me want to punch a hole in the wall.

I turn the faucet to cold, douse my hand in it, and then splash her face. If she doesn’t rouse, I’m going to have to take her to the hospital. Her dad would have a field day with that. He’d probably yank her out of school and make her move to Germany in a heartbeat.

The thought gives me an idea. I can use that. Hold it over her. There’s no way she would want to leave the country with only a few weeks until graduation. She’d have a tantrum. I’m actually looking forward to it.

Madison twists her face to the side, and I have to splash her two more times to get her attention. Her eyes open, and she squints. “What the fuck?”

I scowl. “Which room is yours, naughty girl?” I cringe the moment those words leave my mouth. I have no business talking to her like that, but it’s hard because that’s how she’s acting.

Her stomach makes a gurgling sound, and she covers her mouth.

That’s my cue to rush down the hallway. Luckily, I find a bathroom, flip on more lights, and lower her to her knees in front of the toilet before she starts throwing up.

I grab her hair, but not quick enough. Some of it falls into the toilet. Vomit spatters up onto her thick locks.

I’m too old for this. I haven’t dealt with an inebriated co-ed since I was one. Hell, I didn’t deal with any drunk people then, either. I was the drunk one. Which reminds me, I should not be judging Madison. She’s not the first twenty-year-old to overindulge and get sick.

But this is Madison. My Madison. I don’t like the idea of her drinking too much and puking her guts out. I don’t like the thought of her being in places where men can paw at her and take advantage of her while she’s in this state. I wonder how often this has been happening.

As freaked out as I am, I’m more concerned about Madison’s current medical condition. She has heaved four times, and now she’s slowly leaning back. She’s so drunk that she drops onto her ass and would continue onto her back if I weren’t behind her, stopping her with my legs.

“Tired…” she mutters.

I reach under her arms, lift her to stand, and lean her over the sink. After turning on the water, I splash her face and bend her farther to rinse the front sections of her hair.

She fights me, batting at me with her hands. The water is cold. Too bad.

I cup my hand, fill it with water, and hold it to her mouth. “Rinse,” I command.

She obeys me, probably because her mouth tastes disgusting.

After flushing the toilet, I sit her on the seat and tip her head back. Her eyes are glazed, but I think I got all the vomit out of her hair. Her makeup is a disaster. I’m not interested in dealing with that right now. I’m only interested in making sure she doesn’t have alcohol poisoning.

“Up, naughty girl,” I demand, grabbing her biceps. “Show me where your room is.” I guide her down the hall, keeping her from stumbling into the walls or falling onto her face.

Finally, she pushes open a door.

Yep. This is Madison’s room. It’s a relief to see it. It’s organized, tidy, and clean. So, she’s not the one who made a giant mess in the kitchen and left it. Nothing is out of place in here.

“Where are your roommates?” I ask.

She stumbles over to her bed and drops onto her back. “You left them at the bar,” she mumbles as she curls into a ball on her side and grabs her pillow.

I can’t leave her here. Not a chance. She’s way too drunk.

Fucking fuck. The last thing I need is to bring this woman home with me.

For one thing, I’ve been avoiding her for months because she messes with my mind.

For another, she just confessed that I’ve been messing with hers, too. That’s incredibly unnerving.

It can’t be helped, though.

I extricate her purse from around her shoulders before I head for her closet, pull it open, and grab a suitcase.

When I glance at her, she’s asleep. Great.

I guess I’m deciding what we bring with us.

Besides the fact that she can’t stay here because she might choke on her fucking vomit and die in the night, I’m not bringing her back tomorrow, either.

Madison has fucked up. She’s not going to be pleased, but she’s going to finish out her semester under my roof, following my rules. If she doesn’t like it, tough.

I open her drawers and start packing. Panties. Bras. Ridiculously skimpy tank tops and shorts, which I assume she sleeps in. I grab jeans and shirts from her closet next.

I snag her phone charger from beside the bed before opening the drawer on her nightstand. I smirk as I pick up her vibrator. I’m not surprised she owns one, but I put it back. She’d be mortified to know I touched it, plus I don’t intend to give her any opportunity to use it. Not under my roof.

What the motherfucking hell am I thinking? I do not have any right to control Madison’s orgasms.

There’s a Jack-and-Jill bathroom, and I enter it, wondering how the fuck I’m going to know which things belong to her.

Again, I smirk. That’s easy. Her side has tidy drawers.

I grab her toothbrush, hairbrush, a few scrunchies, and makeup remover.

I’m feeling very bossy. It’s not appropriate.

Not even close, but the Dom in me is looking forward to Madison realizing that I didn’t pack her makeup or anything sexy.

In fact, I chose the least sexy clothes I could see.

When I’m done with her suitcase, I head for her desk.

Luckily, it would seem that most of what she needs for her studies is in her backpack, including her laptop.

She must have come from class, dropped everything, and gone out.

There are a few textbooks and notebooks, so I grab them, add them to the backpack, and haul everything to my car. Her shit barely fits in my trunk.

When I get back, I see she hasn’t moved an inch. She hardly whimpers when I scoop her off the bed and carry her out to the car. She doesn’t have enough clothes on, but she’s too drunk to notice. The cold air will probably do her some good.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into my garage, carry my naughty girl up two flights of stairs to the third floor of my home, and deposit her on the bed in my guest room. “Home sweet home, Madison,” I murmur. I remove her boots and pull the covers over her, leaving her otherwise dressed.

After I return to the car to get her stuff and haul it up to her room, I turn on the light in the attached bathroom and stare at her.

She’s a mess, and I suspect she’s going to have the hangover to beat all hangovers in the morning, but the vomiting will help. She’s sleeping peacefully. If she were mine, I would take her clothes off and give her a bath, but she’s not, and I have no business seeing Madison’s naked body.

Hell, I’ve seen more of her body than ever before simply because she’s dressed in a short skirt and nonexistent blouse.

I’m so fucked.

I leave her room, pull the door halfway closed, and head down to the second floor, where the living room and kitchen are. The lowest level houses my garage and office. The top floor has two bedrooms.

It’s not the largest home in the world, but it was still fucking expensive because it has a view of the ocean. That’s what I paid for.

There’s one more thing I have to do before I go to bed.

Call Hendrix.

I drop onto the couch and place the call.

He picks up on the first ring. “Did you find her?”

“Yep. You were right. Her car was stolen. She’d already filed a police report. I drove her home, but I didn’t really like the location of her house or the fact that she is without a car, so I brought her to my place. She can stay in my guest room while she finishes the school year.”

What the absolute fuck am I saying? I’ve lost my mind.

In the morning, I should make sure Madison’s okay and drive her naughty self home.

A stern lecture would be sufficient and above and beyond what Hendrix would expect.

Instead, I’ve gone and spilled what I’ve conjured up in my imagination to her father.

I slap my forehead.

Hendrix blows out a relieved breath. “Thank you, man. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me. It’s my pleasure.” My pleasure? Jesus . “I’ll sort out transportation for her to get to classes and make sure she’s safe.”

Who’s going to make sure she’s safe from me? I’m an asshole.

Except I haven’t done anything to warrant the name-calling. Not yet, anyway. All I’ve done is failed to tell my best friend that his daughter was wasted and spilled her darkest fantasies to me.

“Thanks again. Let me know if I need to do anything.”

“Will do. Later.” I end the call and lean against my sofa to stare at the high ceiling.

I’m in over my head. This is madness.

Madison Kennedy.

The woman I’ve jerked off to images of for two years is in my house, and she has confessed to having incredibly filthy dreams about me, too. Both awake and asleep.

My cock hardens at the thought of her doing a naughty schoolgirl scene like the one she described. It’s just too eerily close to the filthy thoughts I have about her when I close my eyes and wrap my hand around my cock at night.

Or in the morning.

Or in the middle of the damn day.

I groan. Naughty schoolgirl is my number-one fantasy in general, but the thought of carrying it out with Madison…

Fucking fuck.