I don’t move a muscle, not wanting to reveal that I’m awake. Fury floods my veins, burning every inch until it’s charred. Jealousy follows, which infuriates me even more. I have no right to be jealous. However, I have every right to be fuming about strangers on the internet seeing her like this. I don’t know if I should explode and demand to know why she’s posting shit like this or remain quiet and hold this bit of information for later use. I don’t know how I’ll use it, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out down the road.
But I’m a masochist just as much as I am a sadist, so I remain quiet and continue staring at her phone screen, drinking up every detail I can make out.
Madison scrolls through the hundreds of comments, none of which I can read because of the small print. I catch a few heart-eye emojis and one or two red-faced, panting emojis. She breezes past them, then scrolls back to her picture and lingers on it.
I would be lying if I said I’m not getting hard while looking at the image. Even from this distance, I can still make out her curves. Madison posed with her arms raised, disappearing out of shot, along with her face. The blue triangles of her bikini top strain against her chest, the material bumping over her hardened nipples. My eyebrows pinch together when I spot the bar outlines; she’s pierced. Her bikini covers the bottom of her stomach and her pussy, the side straps sitting higher on her waist, making it appear smaller than it actually is.
Does her fiancé know about this?
My molars grind together at the thought of the motherfucker. If he knows, I’m still beating his ass. I already have a list of reasons, but what happened earlier is at the top. Madison didn’t run from him because of somemisunderstanding. I can’t unsee the terror written all over her tear-stained face. Or unhear her having a panic attack. I know damn well she wasn’t panicking because of the asshole who almost hit us. It went deeper, and her fiancé’s name is written all over it.
Madison exits the picture and scrolls on the feed. Images blur together, and none of them catches my attention or interest. As much as I’d like to continue snooping, my back is killing me and it’s getting harder to stay still.
Turning my head forward, I unlock my stiff muscles and unfold myself from the bench. Madison locks her phone screenand looks at me with the same doe eyes she uses whenever I’m near her. Her perfect, innocent mask once fooled me, but she’s freakier than she lets on, and that’s dangerous.
“Oh, good,” she says with a hint of a smile. “You’re awake.”
I stretch my arms above my head, working out the knots in my muscles. My hoodie and shirt ride up my stomach. I bite back a smirk as Madison’s gaze drops to the sliver of exposed, tanned skin. She catches herself staring and shoots out of her seat, busying herself by smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes.
I used a woman I don’t give a shit about to take care of the problem my sister created, and Madison watched the entire show andstillwants me. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why can’t she see that I’m not a good man?
Madison shivers as wind blows beneath the gazebo. She wraps her arms around herself to keep warm.
Goddamn it. How the fuck did I not notice she’s wearing a light jacket over a thin T-shirt and jeans?
I peel my hoodie over my head and toss at Madison. “Put this on.”
She catches it with wide eyes. “Why?”
“Because it’s cold and will get colder when we ride.”
She eyes me warily. “But what about you?”
“Put the hoodie on, Madison.”
She sighs and threads her arms through the sleeves, then carefully pushes her head through. As she pulls it over her chest, it struggles to go any further. I didn’t think about my clothes being smaller than her. I close the small space between us and help her. My fingers curl under the hem on the sides of her breasts as I tug it down. Madison doesn’t tell me to stop. If anything, she urges me on by placing her hands on my shoulders, giving me free rein to feel her up like a filthy freak.
I tug at the hoodie, slowly working the material over her tits. Madison jerks with the rough movements but doesn’t protest. She completely and totally trusts I’ll help her.
She whispers something, and I pause.
My gaze rises to her face. “What did you say?”
Madison shakes her head, keeping her eyes downcast. “Nothing.”
“No, I heard you before. I just need to hear it again.”
She takes a fortifying breath before she meets my stare. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Pink tinges her cheeks as she struggles to get the words out. I don’t know what’s going through her head, but it’s obviously killing her. She opens her mouth, then shuts it.
I shake my head and return to working the hoodie down her chest. It needs one good tug for it to come down, but something keeps catching it.
“You wearing a padded bra?” I ask.
Madison freezes. “Why are you asking that?”
