Page 68 of Pink Ink

Power thrums through my veins. I’m practically vibrating from it. I’m bringing him to his knees without saying a word.

“Look how wet you are for me, love,” he says in awe.

Love.

It’s the third time he’s called me that. I could get used to it.

Apprehension skitters through my bones as I trail my fingers down the inner seam of my thighs. The pattern of his breathing changes, turning short and sharp, worsening when I reach the juncture of my thighs.

Electricity zaps through my body when I brush my fingers against the oversensitive bundle of nerves. Streaks of white make my eyes flutter closed as I stifle a whimper.

“No. Eyes on me.” His voice is gruff like he just woke up.

My gaze collides with his. Unable to help myself, I do another pass against my clit, and my hips buck at the contact.

It’s enrapturing watching his blown-out pupils focus on every touch.

I’ve never considered myself a sadist. Nor much of a masochist, for that matter. But seeing him pained by having to keep his hands to himself is awakening a sinister part of me. It spurs me on, fueling me with the courage I need to add more pressure and strum my clit the way I like to in the dead of night.

My head drops back against the couch as the pleasure amplifies. I’ve never had an audience before, and I’m finding I rather like the dirtiness of it. So long as it’s Maddox watching me.

His eyes track the beads of wetness trickling down my thigh.

“You’ve made a pretty mess of my couch.”

I hiccup on a groan at the next pass over my clit.

The frills of my bra peek above the curve of my neckline, and he scowls at it like it’s a personal offense. Reaching forward, he undoes the tie holding the top half of my dress together. The silky material slips away to give him an unobstructed view of my black bralette.

A lock of brown hair falls onto his forehead from the tousled mess his hand caused. The tendons in his forearms strain with the force of his hold on the armrest, and I let out my first strangled moan.

The sound breaks him. That’s the only way to describe how he collapses forward, elbows on his knees as if he only just caught himself from breaking the barrier we’ve placed.

“You drive me fucking insane, Reyna.”

Reyna.

The jade in his irises twists into black with his guttural snarl. It’s like he can’t decide whether he wants to kill me or fuck me into the sofa. That unhinged look has my muscles contract and stretch, and I can’t help sliding two fingers into my pussy. A shudder works through me.

More. I need more.

I forgo any thread of self-restraint I have and add another finger, imagining they belong to him.

“Mr. Shaw,” I whimper.

“That’s it, love.” His voice is hoarse. “Say it again.”

I curve my fingers, and my hips jerk. “Maddox.”

“Fuck.”

Moans fall past my lips unbidden as I continue thrusting my fingers. It feels better than any other time I’ve ever touched myself. Someone could hear me, and I couldn’t care less. I’m addicted to his tortured gaze. Feeding off his wordless desperation.

“If you knew all the ways I’ve been imagining you, there wouldn’t be a second that you aren’t drenched at the thought of me.” The words come through gritted teeth.

“Like what?” I pant, moisture dripping onto the couch.

All the sounds coming from me are lewd, ratcheting my need higher. I chew my bottom lip and spread my legs wider to take my fingers deeper. My eyes roll to the back of my head at the amplified sensation, and I’m vaguely aware of the string of curses leaving his mouth.