Page 32 of Most Likely to Match (The Matchbooks #2)

“Have you never done it before?” she asks, turning in the circle of my arms.

I search her face before I answer. “No. You have?”

She nods.

“You like it?”

She nods more. “Yeah.”

“Okay, baby.” I pull her with me, walking backward until the backs of my legs hit her bed.

I sit on the edge, guide her leg up, and set her foot next to my hip.

Her pussy glistens, the skin plump and pink.

She got a wax recently, and while I’ve never really cared either way, it is nice to see her like this, really and truly bare.

I spread her lips and let her guide me by the hair to her clit.

I don’t close my eyes; as if I could look away.

Chloe with her head thrown back, her body arched into my face.

Chloe with her perfect tits, that I never get to see from this angle.

Chloe with the sounds she makes as I lick her and suck her faster, reward her with sounds of my own when she pulls at my hair and says my name.

She comes fast, shuddering against my tongue, rubbing her body against my face so that if I die, at least they can add he died doing what he loved to my tombstone.

She falls onto the bed beside me, and I start stripping off my clothes.

She directs me to get a towel and a washcloth, to wet it.

Passes me the lube, asks me to kiss her hip, to bite her shoulder the first time I press my finger inside her.

She lies on her stomach, hips propped onto pillows, legs spread.

I take my cues from her words, from her hands fisted in the sheets .

She tells me to put the condom on sooner than I expect, when her spine is still rigid beneath my hand, her thighs shaking.

“Why do you want to do this?” I ask, tapping her on the hip so she’ll roll over to face me.

“I…because…” She seems bewildered at the question.

We crawl up the bed together until she’s wrapped around my body, her ass in my hand and her nipples within reach of my mouth.

“Remember in high school,” I say, smiling when she makes an ugh face . “People thought anal meant you were still a virgin?” Back when the concept of virginity was something we ascribed importance to.

Chloe laughs, burying her face in the pillow next to my ear.

“Is that what we’re doing?” I whisper, smiling so she knows I’m joking. “Saving ourselves for marriage?”

Her laughter fades, her smile shyer than before. “I just…” She closes her eyes, like it’s easier to say without looking at me. “I wanted to feel close to you,” she whispers.

“Hey.” I tug her hair with my free hand so she’ll open her eyes again. “You’re close to me. You know that, right?”

She nods.

“Want to do it this way?” I ask. “You on top?”

She bites her lip, but as I prop myself up against the headboard, she reaches for the condom, for the lube.

We start again, until her body is loose, a flush that starts on her chest and spreads everywhere, a map of her arousal for me to follow.

She moves slow, the stretch of her body around me infinitesimal at first, then all at once. Her stomach shakes with every breath.

I’ve never done anything like this before: my hands fisted in the sheets so I don’t reach for her; my hips held still almost to the point of pain so I don’t rut into her; each breath deep and intentional so I don’t lose control, not just for myself, but for her.

“I…” She gasps. “I’m going to move now,” she says, steadying herself against my chest.

“Okay, baby.”

Chloe’s body is unreal. The tight hug of her ass, the gentle bounce of her tits, the way that, no matter how I fill her up, no matter where, she feels so good, so right.

But it’s the way she looks at me, eyes blue like the sky, lips parted and pink. It’s how she wanted to feel close to me, how she’ll spread herself wide open for me. How she’ll ask me for everything but give it right back that sends me over the edge.

“Chlo.” I gasp as she rides my cock, one of her hands steady on my shoulder, the other between her legs. “Baby.”

“I’m—” She shakes her head. “I’m so close.”

I put my hand on her ass to feel her there, the stretch and contraction of muscle underneath my palm and around me.

Oh fuck . “Baby, please.” But even as I beg her, the first spasm of my orgasm fills her. I grip her ass, her hip. “Chloe.” I say her name with every new release. “Chlo.”

As I press up into her, she cries out, a sound of half pain, half pleasure, as she contracts around me.

And I can’t seem to stop, coming still with short breathless gasps as she collapses against my chest. Even her smallest movements send another shock through me, until, finally, I have nothing left. I’ve emptied myself for her.

The clean-up is slow. Awkward in a way that makes us laugh every time we look at each other.

The towel and now cold, damp washcloth come in handy.

We take turns in the bathroom, and when I’m finished with the condom and cleaning up, I fill the tub.

There’s not a single bottle of bubble bath to be found.

Chloe does not possess the kind of whimsy for bubbles, but I pour her body wash in with the water and hope it’s the expensive kind.

“What are you doing?” she asks, lingering in the doorway.

I step into the bath for her answer. “Come on.”

“I don’t really take baths,” she says, slowly, skeptically, even as she steps to the edge of the tub.

“Me neither.” The water covers my lap, though the soap isn’t concentrated enough to hide anything she isn’t already well acquainted with.

“Fine,” she says. “But only because you used my bodywash. ”

Oops .

She hisses a little as she lowers herself into the water.

I reach for her, but she lies back against the soaker side of the tub. I turn off the tap so we don’t overflow into the condo below hers.

“Just a little…” She wiggles a bit under the water. “Sore?”

“Let me know,” I say, “if there’s something I can do differently next time. If you want there to be a next time.”

She shakes her head. “You were perfect.” She finds my feet under the water and pulls one toward her. We’re so cramped that, even like this, my knees sit above the waterline.

She looks tired, satisfied. Happy. “How are you so beautiful?” I ask.

She blushes. “Not as pretty as you,” she says. I splash her. “It’s true.” She shakes her head in mock frustration. “Even in high school, those pouty lips, those sad, fuck-me eyes.”

I splash her again. “My eyes were not begging you to fuck me.” I laugh.

She shrugs. “No, but still. You’re beautiful, Dean. You’ve always been beautiful.” Her fingers follow the stepping stones of tattoos up my leg. “I’m glad I found my way back to you,” she says quietly, staring intently at the dark hair on my shin. “I…I saw a therapist this week.”

“Oh.” I scrunch my toes into a foot fist and release them. She takes over, wiggling first my big toe, then the next, soapy water sloshing between our skin. “How was that?”

“We talked about how I don’t really have a hard time speaking up for myself, unless it’s in the moments that really seem to matter most. And then I just can’t.”

I nod, afraid to say anything, to scare her away from this conversation, to deter her from telling me her secrets. “Not always.” Apparently I can’t help myself. “You told that cop off.”

She grins at me. “Mostly, I meant, with you.”

Again, I nod, more out of encouragement than understanding, until the words sink in. “With me?” I ask. “I matter most to you? ”

“Le plus.” Her voice is high and sweet and nervous.

The most .

I let my body, my muscles, sink into the water, because I matter most to the girl voted most likely to succeed.