His hand stills between my thighs and he looks into my eyes with such tenderness my heart lurches. Then I realize I just called him Maddy, the name that crying eight-year-old girl gave him when he first comforted me after Mama’s death. He was always Maddy to me after that.
His look hardens, and he sighs. “Maddy’s dead, Celeste. Your father killed him. If you really love me, you need to know who it is you love. Because I’m not that horny teenage boy anymore.”
He crowds close, gripping the back of my head hard and forcing me to look up at him. His fingers tug my panties aside with his other hand and in one rough stroke he shoves two fingers into me. His mouth descends on mine at the same time and I gasp, clutching at his shirt as he obliterates all my boundaries within a span of seconds. His thumb finds my clit and I’m rocking against his hand, eager for the swift release he’s pushing me toward.
Just when I think he’s going to put me out of my misery, he stops so fast I’m left panting and confused by his abrupt departure. When I regain my senses, he has Leo gripped by the hair, kissing him hard and rough.
“Open,” he commands, pulling away and holding his wet fingers up in front of Leo’s nose.
Leo doesn’t even hesitate. He opens his mouth and takes Maddox’s fingers in, sucking my juices off like he’s been given a gift. His eyelids lift and he looks at me, every secret confession of every dirty desire contained within his gaze. There was more to this fantasy than letting Maddox call every shot though. More to my version of it, anyway. Last weekend, I caught all the tortured looks Maddox gave us when he wasn’t hiding behind the camera. I wished then that I could invite him to join us, but I wasn’t confident Leo wouldn’t reject the idea. Now I know better. But I want to give Maddox the attention I so wanted to then, to pay him back for all he’s given us.
I slip off my seat and shed my dress, unclasp my bra and let it fall to the floor, then slip out of my soaked panties. Maddox seems too engrossed in having his fingers sucked to the bone by Leo, so he stiffens when I slide my arms around his waist and squeeze his erection through his jeans.
“Show me who you are now, Mad Dog,” I say to his back. “Let us make love to the man you’ve become.”
30
Leo
Celeste’s sentiment is well intentioned, but the glint in Mad Dog’s eyes is enough to tell me that he’s not at the stage where making love makes sense just yet. His fingers press down on my tongue and I suck harder, not just to devour my girl’s taste off them, but because I want it to be clear that I’ll give as good as I get.
I could argue that I’ve already given her, but not only is Celeste very much her own woman, I realized tonight that she was always his in a way, and that he was the one who gave her to me to begin with. Or the coveted spot as the man in her bed, at any rate.
When she slides a hand beneath the hem of his shirt to caress his stomach, he flinches hard and yanks his fingers from my mouth to grab her wrist. The change in his demeanor is so abrupt my head spins, and when he rounds on Celeste like a wild thing, I yank hard at the shirt binding me until my hands finally wrench free.
“What the fuck?” I reach out and grab his shoulder, hauling him back. He turns, pulling Celeste with him, and I see he has her held by both wrists, and she’s staring up at him in shock. After a second, grave understanding replaces the shock.
“Leo, let him go,” she says in an even tone. “Maddox, I just wanted to touch you. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Afraid? Since when is Mad Dog Santos afraid of anything?
He’s still hard, his jeans bulging at the front. I’m still fully hard too, and on the verge of blue balls, but I tuck myself away because shit just got serious. His jaw flexes, and I’m not convinced he won’t hurt Celeste, but they seem to be in a stare-off so I sit back, ready to jump in if she looks like she needs help.
“I can’t. It’s too soon, the scars—you can still see half of them.”
She spreads her fingers as if to placate him. “You are not your scars, Maddox. Leo and I both know that. What we love is deeper. Besides, we all have scars. Some you just can’t see.”
Her voice breaks, and my throat tightens. I grit my teeth against the emotion that wells inside me—fresh grief over Manny’s death, but also a deep, soul-defining love for what both these people mean to me. I reach out, but rest my hand on the counter next to him rather than touching him.
“You’ve seen all my scars, Mad Dog. Every last fucking one. Even the ones nobody else but Celeste gets to see. Maybe even more. I’m the last person who will judge you. And it’s not like I’ll be able to look while you’re nailing me, anyway.” A hot flush rises up through my torso when I say that. It’s the first time I’ve admitted out loud that I plan to let the guy fuck me. My dick jerks in my jeans, the throbbing ache returning with a vengeance.
He cuts his eyes to me. “Oh, I plan to look you in the eyes when I fuck you, Leo. You’ll see everything.”
“Then let us look. You can’t really get much scarier than you already are.”
The tension doesn’t leave him, but he releases Celeste and lowers his hands,
