Page 94 of Pink Ink

Each one is drawn from different angles and positions: side profile, chewing on a pen, looking over my shoulder, sitting on a chair, lying down. There’s one of the dragon tattoo on my back. Some of the sketches were done with pink ink and chalk in various shades of that same color. Others were created with graphite.

This really isn’tjustfun.

This isn’t a game for him or an extracurricular habit he has where he fraternizes with students.

My pulse roars in my ears as we stare at each other. I don’t dare blink. Neither does Maddox. He rubs my pussy as if I’m already his, thrusting into me like he’s telling me something with each drive. And I accept whatever it is he’s offering. Skin slaps against skin. I jolt back with every unrelenting drive of his hips.

If the paintbrush weren’t in between my teeth, what could I say?

Maddox pinches my clit, and just like that my thoughts vanish with a needy buck of my hips. My body takes on a mind of its own as my hands start to roam over him. I need more of him. All of him. The pressure in my core is cresting, and I’m struggling to keep from making a sound.

I bite the paintbrush until it splinters. He takes it out of my mouth, fucking me with desperate strokes, watching me like the universe moves around me. He gets me to take over rubbing my clit. A big mistake. I forget to stop myself from swallowing my groan.

“Do you need my cock back in your mouth to keep you quiet, Miss Sinaga?”

I nod, then shake my head, then nod again, repeating the same cycle as my climax rushes closer.

He sucks the soft flesh of my neck, and I know this time I won’t have any hope of hiding the damage he leaves behind.

My fingers inch beneath his shirt, moving over his collarbones and the expanse of muscles still hidden by fabric. He grasps my wrists before I can stray to his back, roughly kissing each knuckle before grabbing my shoulder and harness as leverage to bring me down onto his length hard.

I hiss his name, and lips come down on mine to swallow my next moan. His pummeling grows jerkier.

Then I’m hit with more force than anything else I’ve been hit with before. Every cell in my body lights in an explosion, propelling me to the top of the world. It’s the fall that blinds me with worry, because I reach my climax hoping and praying and dreading that I better not have read this wrong. Maddox has become one of the few recurring presences in my life, and the only one who sees what I see. I’ve already lost too many people. I can’t lose more.

I force my eyes to stay open when he slams into me, snarling my name between curses as he keeps fucking me until he drops his forehead against mine.

His ragged breaths chafe my burning skin. The weight of what we did blankets us. After this, I’m walking out the door, back to being strangers until the next time we’re alone together. And I hate it. I don’t like being his dirty secret.

His cock twitches inside of me, and something dangerous settles behind his eyes that scares me. A secretive smirk curves across his face, and it feels like I’ve just agreed to something.

Maddox’s lips suddenly crash against mine in a ravenous kiss. “You should have walked away when you still could, Reyna.” He nods to the wall between the windows, farther into the classroom. “Now be a good girl and put your hands on the wall, why don’t you?”

My eyes bug. Is he not tired?

“Don’t make me tell you twice again, Miss Sinaga. Or would you prefer that I count to three, and you can face the repercussions for not following instructions?”

I glare at him. “Don’t you dare.”

His lips twist into a devilish smirk. In a single motion, he has his belt unthreaded from his pants and folded in his hands. “Try me.”

I make a sound that I don’t recognize. Maddox was wrong. He’s the one who’s going to be the death of me.

MADDOX

Romance isn’t dead.

Although, its definition becomes debatable when a serial killer is involved.

After fucking Reyna senseless to the point where she couldn’t walk, I’ve been overflowing with ideas. I’ve come up with several concepts to add to my exhibition and thought of something rather brilliant that will solve both of our creative blocks.

I carefully place the light bulb amongst the bottle of ink and tacky fake peonies before closing my bag. I had hoped to stop by the local florist and pick up real ones. To say I was disappointed to find out they’re not in bloom is the understatement of the century.

This is why I’m not a flower person. There’s no consistency.

At least the fake pink ones I managed to find are a similar shade to the peonies on one of Reyna’s tattoos. So the sentiment remains.

Locking my car, I shoulder my duffle bag and pull my cap lower to keep the rain out of my eyes. It’s the ideal weather to create the ultimate crime. Barely anyone is looking out their window this late at night. If they did, they wouldn’t bat an eye over a man running through the rain. I’ll be completely forgettable. And the drops of water battering the roof will drown out the sound of screams. All in all, it’s a fantastic night to make a romantic gesture.