Chapter 129

MADDISON

“Dom Grayson has caught your eye,” Atticus whispers to me as I retreat to the kitchen for some solitude. I haven’t spent much time in this space, but it seemed like the only spot where I could catch my breath in peace.

“No,” I deny immediately, aware of Atticus’s close bond with Asher, given they’re twins. I worry about the complications if he spills the beans to Asher before I get a chance to talk to him myself.

Asher already made it clear he won’t share you, Maddy.

Damn. I’ve been skating on thin ice for days, yet I’ve still allowed myself to gaze, to daydream.

To entertain the idea of a life where I can have what I want with the man I desire.

“Maddy, your cheeks are rosy, your lips slightly parted, and you keep squeezing your thighs together,” he observes, watching me as I instinctively squeeze my thighs together again.

He seems to understand my physical responses better than I do, which is a bit unsettling.

He rolls his eyes as he pours two glasses of water, perhaps to keep his hands occupied as they twitch with the urge to do something else.

I accept my glass cautiously, sipping it as if it were laced with poison, hating how my throat tightens with desire and the urge to plead with Atticus to keep my secret.

But you just told him you weren’t interested in Grayson!

“Do you need to talk to Asher, Maddy?” he asks, his voice as cold as ice, reminiscent of Zach’s. I can only assume this is the tone he uses with his clients.

“Why?” I retort, immediately defensive.

“He’s not into this, and you clearly are. That needs to be addressed,” he insists. “You need to make Asher aware that you might need…more.”

“No. No. There’s nothing to discuss, Atticus.”

“Asher isn’t into poly, Maddy!” he complains, sounding as petulant as his younger sister. “You being with someone else would be cheating. It would destroy him… Don’t you get that?” He stands tall before me, his height making me feel smaller than I am.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Atticus. Our private and sexual life is none of your business…” I snap, taking a breath before continuing. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but he’s aware of my preferences…” I lie, stepping back to create some distance between us so he can’t see the lie in my eyes.

The room seems to close in on me, making me feel claustrophobic, among other things.

“I don’t believe you. Why should I?” Atticus scoffs, but there’s no mirth in his laughter. Instead, I think I detect a hint of disgust in his voice.

I’m about to question why he would doubt me, why he would suggest he can’t trust me, when John interrupts us.

“They’re asking for you,” he informs me.

I seize the opportunity to escape. I nod, exiting the kitchen with him so I don’t have to face the harsh reality that Atticus is absolutely right.

Of course, he is.

Any actions I take, any choices I make, would be seen as cheating.

“Dominant Grayson requested drinks and snacks in his private room. I’ve prepared them for you,” John says with a reassuring smile, tugging at my heartstrings.

The timing couldn’t be worse, but this is my role, my responsibility, so I nod as I reach for the tray positioned at nine o’clock on the bar.

“It’s room 1302,” John mentions as I head toward the elevator, trying to steady my breathing.

It’s not until I’m in the elevator, the doors closing, that Atticus emerges from the kitchen, his cheeks flushed and clearly upset. But there’s nothing I can do, not as the doors close between us and certainly not in my mind, as I firmly decide that I don’t need to keep Atticus happy.

The elevator ride is brief, taking me down just one floor, leaving me no time to ponder my task. Grayson’s room is conveniently located just two doors away from the elevator.

I notice the security personnel, their presence providing a sense of comfort, stationed outside the rooms. The guard closest to Grayson’s room even gives me a reassuring nod.

Without giving myself a chance to panic, I rap lightly on the door twice, then step back, balancing the tray with both hands as I wait for Grayson to answer.

He does, and quickly at that.

“Great, bring it in,” he suggests, swinging the door wide open while still engrossed in his phone conversation.

“Frankie, how can you assume I’d agree to that? Business is business, but that’s an absurd amount of money for one item… No, absolutely not. I won’t pay that much.”

He gestures toward a small coffee table in front of a two-seater couch in the living area of his compact studio apartment. I follow his direction, placing the tray exactly where he indicated, then stand awkwardly, scanning the room for the girl he was with not thirty minutes ago.

She’s nowhere to be found, and the bed is impeccably made, leading me to believe they haven’t resumed their rendezvous.

~Maybe she’s in the bathroom~, I muse.

Disappointed at not seeing her, I decide to leave, planning to exit without saying goodbye to Grayson, who’s still engrossed in his phone call by the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city’s nightlife.

“Hold on, Frankie,” he tells the person on the other end of the line, catching my reflection in the window.

“Wait, Maddy!” he calls out, holding up a finger.

I swallow, thinking of a dozen polite excuses to leave. But a stubborn part of me refuses to deny him.

So, I stay put as he wraps up his call with Frankie.

“Thanks for bringing this down,” he says once he’s off the phone, reaching for the whiskey on the tray. He swirls the amber liquid in his hand, flashing me a confident smile.

Then he picks up the wine glass, filled precisely halfway with a bold red—a color that reminds me of my father’s blood.

“Here.” He extends the glass toward me, a surprising smirk playing on his lips.

I reach out to accept it, sliding my fingers around the stem and cradling the glass in my palm.

“I apologize for earlier; it was inappropriate of me to touch you so…casually,” he says, as if he’s rehearsed this apology since our encounter.

“It’s…” I want to say it’s okay, but I know it’s not, so I shut my mouth, searching for the right words.

“I’d like to play with you, Maddy. You…intrigue me,” he confesses, stumbling over his words, revealing his desire for me.

“I…I don’t. I’m not…” Damn it, why can’t I form a coherent sentence?

Despite my better judgment, I bring the glass to my lips, sipping the exquisite red wine, using the drink as a diversion from his confession.

That’s when he sets his glass down. While the wine is still in my mouth, I watch him circle the table to stand in front of me.

I swallow the now warm wine as he reaches for the glass in my hands, and I suppress a squeal as he pulls me toward him.

A tiny voice in the back of my mind screams at me to push him away, to set boundaries.

But my body doesn’t comply. Instead, I stand there, lips slightly parted as he positions himself in front of me.

“You really are a beautiful girl, Maddy,” he murmurs, much like he did with the girl upstairs.

Then he does the absolute worst thing possible. He reaches for my neck, his hand wrapping around my nape as he invades my personal space.

Using my hair as leverage, he tilts my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes as he peers into the depths of my soul.

It’s as if he sees the darkness within me, causing him to chuckle in shared understanding before leaning in to kiss me.

He tastes of whiskey and raw masculinity—and I’m powerless against my own desires, my lips responding eagerly to his as he initiates a deep, sensual connection that shouldn’t exist between us.

~Stop it. Stop it now, Maddy.~

~This is wrong, so wrong~, the voice in my head admonishes.

But why does it feel so right?

Closing my eyes, I surrender to the thrill of the forbidden. Yet despite the pleasure, I know I can’t give in to my emotions.

I make the choice to let my hand wander between us, tracing a path up his chiseled torso, exploring areas I probably shouldn’t.

But then, I pull back, severing the connection of our lips.

I run my tongue over my lower lip as I take a step back.

“No!” I assert, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

“No…”