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Madison Blake is a Slut

  • Genre: Romance
  • Author: MAQ
  • Chapters: 10
  • Status: Ongoing
  • Age Rating: 18+
  • 👁 7
  • 5.0
  • 💬 0

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Madison Blake fixes scandals for a living. She knows exactly how reputations are destroyed. How secrets leak. How one bad decision can ruin everything. So sleeping with Jack Sinclair should have been a mistake she could walk away from. Except...he isn't. Jack is powerful. Addictive. And dangerously good at making promises he has no intention of keeping. By the time Madison realizes what she’s stepped into, it’s already too late. The man who pulls her out of traffic that night is the last person she expects to see again. Liam Knox. Cold. Controlled. And not nearly as new to her story as he should be. When Madison's professional world collides with her personal one, Liam re-enters her life with devastating consequences. Old secrets unravel. Loyalties fracture. And Madison, the woman who built her entire career on controlling the narrative, finds herself completely unable to control her own. One man is everything she thought she wanted. One man is everything she never escaped. And both of them are about to blow her life wide open.

One: The Beginning of Bad Decisions

My zipper broke at exactly 9:17 p.m.

‎Which is how I ended up half-exposed in the service corridor of a five-star hotel while a string quartet massacred jazz music barely twenty feet away from me.

‎I felt the cool air on my lower back first. Then there was just panic, a slow, horrifying realization that if I turned around too quickly, half of Manhattan’s elite class would know what my *ss looked like.

‎Okay. Okay. Don’t move, I told myself. But that was extremely hard to do when I could barely get myself to breathe properly. I could already imagine the headlines tomorrow 'PR Exec confuses gala with a striptease.' God help me.

‎I pressed a hand flat against my back, trying to hold the sides together, while my other hand clutched my champagne flute, trying to make myself look as normal as possible.

‎I scanned for a bathroom, or a coat rack or a wall I could melt into? But all my options were tragically unavailable.

‎I was five seconds into rethinking my life choices when I heard footsteps coming up from behind me.

‎“Don’t turn around,” a man said quietly.

‎I nearly jumped out of my skin.

‎“I swear to God,” I hissed, still facing forward, “if you’re about to make this creepy—”

‎“I’m not,” he said. "But you will if you don't stop fidgeting. Now let me help you."

‎I turned around anyway to give him a piece of my mind.

‎And quickly forgot what I was about to say.

‎He was… wow, just wow.

‎Tall, first of all. Of course he was tall. Taller than he had any right to be. He had broad shoulders that filled out a midnight tux that looked like it had been designed just for his body. His dark hair was brushed back, streaked lightly with strands of grey that did an awful job at trying to age him. He had a strong jaw, a straight nose. His mouth curved like he knew all my secrets and like he was already imagining a few new ones. My pulse betrayed me again‎.

“Hi,” I said stupidly.

‎“Hi,” he replied.

‎I gestured vaguely at my back. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of something.”

‎“Yes,” he said. “Your dress has betrayed you.”

‎“It’s having a moment, yes.”

‎“Such awful timing.” He smiled and something tight and warm curled in my stomach. I caught myself staring at his mouth for a second too long and quickly looked away.

‎He looked at my back again, assessing, like an engineer examining a crack in a bridge.

‎“If you take one step backward,” he said, “you’re going to make someone very happy for all the wrong reasons.”

‎Heat crawled up my neck.

‎“I don’t suppose you’re a stylist,” I said.

‎"No."

‎“Are you a tailor?”

‎“No.”

‎“Then how exactly are you planning to save me, Batman?”

‎His mouth twitched.

‎“I have cufflinks,” he said.

‎I blinked. “You have… what?”

‎“Turn around,” he repeated, gentle but firm.

‎“I don’t know you.”

‎“You don’t need to,” he said. “You just need to stay still.”

‎I hesitated. I couldn't remember the last time a stranger's presence made me feel so… nervous.

‎Behind us, applause broke out a little louder as the band finished playing.

‎“You're running out of options,” he muttered.

‎“Yes,” I agreed. “I am.”

‎I turned.

‎His hands came up. He worked close, his fingers brushing my skin once, then twice. I s*ck*d in a breath despite myself. He smelled faintly of cedar and something spicy that made my knees feel weak.

‎“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Cold?”

‎“Yes,” I lied.

‎“Mm.” I knew he didn't believe me.

‎He carefully slid the cool metal of the cufflink through the torn fabric with practiced ease, securing one cufflink, then the other, making a temporary fix that somehow felt more intimate than the zipper. Somehow, I wanted it to be.

‎“There,” he said. “Temporary, but effective.”

‎I tested it by moving my shoulders.

‎Thank God, it stayed in place.

‎I laughed. Really laugh this time.

‎“You just saved me from public embarrassment. Thank you.”

‎“I’ve had worse Tuesdays,” he said.

‎“You always carry emergency hardware?” I asked.

‎“Only when I anticipate complications.”

‎“Did you anticipate me?”

‎“Yes.”

‎The audacity.

‎“You don’t even know me.”

‎“I know you didn’t come to this event to hide,” he said. “And I know half the men in that room have been trying not to stare.”

‎"Oh. So you were staring.” I raised an eyebrow.

‎“I wasn’t trying not to.”

‎I laughed before I could stop myself and quickly took my first sip of liquid courage. I wished he'd come closer again. I had the unnatural urge to lean into him and sniff him again. Test the waters by placing my hands on his tux’s lapels and tugging. Would he hold the eye contact? Would he step back? Or would he drag me somewhere private and f*ck me senseless? My mind was racing.

‎“You’re very confident.”

‎“I’m also very observant.”

‎“And what exactly have you observed?”

‎“That you’re not flustered enough,” he said. “Most women would be freaking out.”

‎“I am freaking out,” I said. “I just look good doing it.”

‎His gaze dropped. Slowly. Unapologetically.

‎“Yes,” he agreed. “You do.”

‎Heat climbed my neck. Annoying.

‎“What’s your name?” he asked.

‎“Why?”

‎“So I know what to think about when I inevitably replay this moment.”

‎I blinked.

‎“You assume there will be replaying.”

‎“There already is.”

‎God help me.

‎“Madison,” I said.

‎He smiled. A slow, s*xy smile.

‎“Jack.”

‎Of course he was a Jack. A man like that is never named Trevor.

‎“Well, Jack,” I said, adjusting my shoulders, “thank you for saving my dignity.”

‎“My pleasure.”

‎This was supposed to be the part where I walked away or he turned back to wherever he came from. But we both just stood there awkwardly for 30 more seconds. The air between us felt charged now, different from before. Awareness humming low and steady.

‎“I should go back in,” I said, though neither of us moved.

‎“Yes,” he said. “You should.”

‎I took a step towards the ballroom.

‎“Madison.”

‎I hesitated.

‎“Yes?”

‎“If you go back in there,” he said, his voice a little lower now, “every man in that room is going to look at you. But you’re going to know I was the only one close enough to touch you.”

‎… Sir?

‎I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly.

‎I turned slowly.

‎“You're either very smooth,” I said, “or deeply unwell.”

‎“Have dinner with me and decide.”

‎“This is technically our first interaction. I don't know you.”

‎“Then get to know me.”

‎“You’ve already undressed me and issued a challenge.”

‎“In my defense, you were already undressed,” he corrected gently.

‎I shouldn’t have smiled, but I did.

‎“Fine,” I said. “Dinner.”

‎“Tomorrow?”

‎“Don’t push it.”

‎He leaned in a little closer. I caught the faint scent of him again. A shiver ran down my spine.

‎“Tonight.”

‎My stomach did somersaults. Traitor.

‎“Jack,” I said carefully, "I don't know..."

‎The space between us seemed to close.

‎He didn’t say anything, didn't try to hurry me. Just waited.

‎And somehow that was more intimate than anything else he might have done.

‎"Yes,” I said finally.

‎His smile was slow, victorious.

‎“Good.”

‎He offered me his arm.

And like a fool in a black dress held together with cufflinks and my bold decisions, I downed the rest of my drink and accepted it.

I didn’t know anything about this man, and it was ridiculous how easily I'd forgotten that.

‎I just knew he had steady hands.

‎And that I was about to let them touch me again.

Two: Hooked

I hooked up with a man I met at a hotel bar once.

I was there for a client disaster that involved a leaked email and a very public apology. He was there for a tech conference, his badge still clipped to his jacket like he didn't know the meeting was already over.

We started with peppermint shots which I hated but he swore would be ‘the end of him’. He had a ridiculous accent I couldn’t quite place and a smile that suggested he knew exactly how charming he thought he was. Our elbows brushed, then stayed that way, then didn’t move at all.

He scored a barstool and we shared it, one of my legs flung over his, and we talked about exes and the city as his hands roamed over me. First, it was just the tickle of fingers along the top of his pants. Then, the slide of his hand across my breast. I let his hand rest on my thigh, and leaned in closer than was necessary when he whispered things into my ear.

Between us, the air shifted. That quiet, magnetic hum that happens

Heroes

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