Page 108 of Manic

Blood roared in my veins, and I breathed heavily through my nose, my chest hot with excitement. Frustration. The scent of flowers and his cologne flooded my senses.

I wanted to hate this—maybe I did, a little—but even if it were slightly humiliating, I’d do whatever twisted thing he wanted because it was fun. Humiliation aside, that didn’t prevent me from ruthlessly gripping the base of his cock and tightening my lips. My tongue viciously flicked over his crown.

Manic moaned, loud and unhinged enough that my entire body stilled at the noise. I braced myself. A second went by, and when no one came around the corner, I chuckled around his cock. He growled, tightened his grip in my hair, and rammed into me.

“You think that’s funny?” he hissed.

Unable to refrain, I whimpered and pushed against his thighs as he stole my air with brutal force. His cock thickened, pulsing against the walls of my throat. My lips grew numb, and saliva slipped from the corners of my mouth.

Even though my knees burned, I watched his expression—the way his brows creased, how his lips parted, and the frantic rise and fall of his chest. It was mindblowing.

It was fucking hot.

“Mm,” he breathed. “That’s it, baby, keep going. God, keep going. My little slut is doing so good on her knees.”

He whispered words of encouragement, only making my thighs wetter and my clit throb for release. Fuck, I might just lose this bet.

The sound of footsteps down another row of flowers had my heart lurching. Adrenaline spiked my blood, my eyes widening, and I clawed at his pants from fear of getting caught.

That did nothing to slow him down.

He sped up and with one final thrust, he combusted, his hips jerking forward. His cum shot down my throat so hard I almost choked.

Manic bit his lip, stifling a groan and immediately slid out of my mouth. His breaths were heavy, but he quickly tucked himself away and glanced down the row beside us. He watched with panted exhales, a solid minute going by before his gaze fell back to me.

“All clear,” he said smugly.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled, tilting his head as he inspected me on my knees. Amusement danced in his eyes. Then he extended his hand and lifted me to my feet. As I smoothed my clothes, he pulled out his wallet, plucking a hundred from the stack with a grim smile.

“A bet is a bet,” he said gruffly.

I held back a smile, but my breath caught when he placed the money in one of the pockets of my coat. Then he dug into his own coat pocket to pull out the lipstick I’d used this morning. A specific shade of red. I narrowed my eyes and wondered if he’d planned this.

Manic grinned. “I’ll allow you to fix it, just this once.”

I snatched it with a snarl, but before I could even open the cap, he dove down and captured my mouth with his. He threaded his hand through my hair while the other held me firm by my jaw.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was desperate and hard, laced with something I was too afraid to analyze.

Instead of fighting it like I wanted to, I fucking melted, my lips instinctively parting for him. The man I desperately wanted to hate had my entire body weightless.

A quiet, desperate groan escaped him as he swept his tongue over mine, my stomach fluttering in response. When he pulled back, he was panting and breathless, and I immediately wanted more.

He gave me one last look, then said, “Fix your lipstick so we can keep cutting flowers.”

I just stood there and nodded, too winded to say anything. Too confused over what he’d risen in the center of my chest. I hated what he did to me—hated the emotions I couldn’t decipher the longer I remained his captive.

After smoothing my clothes and fixing my lipstick, we spent the next twenty minutes walking the rows. Manic had passed me the flowers and took over the sheers.

Petals and stems tangled in the basket, overflowing in soft, layered blooms—a mix of Naomi’s favorites with a few others I liked the smell of. Though the variety seemed too much for a simple bouquet, I didn’t say anything, just walked quietly beside him until he was finished. We waited while the florist worked, but when she returned with two full bouquets, my brows furrowed.

Manic paid and we walked out.

“Who’s the second one for? Your step-mom?” I asked, sniffing the one he’d handed me as we strode out the doors. It was lush and full, a tangle of pale tulips, soft blooming peonies and red roses. The peonies sat at the heart of it all, and my stomach dipped.

“You,” he said bluntly.

I froze, stopping in the middle of the narrow hallway and lifted my eyes. Heat flooded my face, my pulse climbing. After what we just did, receiving flowers was the furthest thing from my mind.