Page 46 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Can’t blame him for his surprise. “Why not.” I flip the book closed, ignoring the tremble in my hand as I slide it across the countertop. This is not a question of getting an itch scratched but—

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving to stand behind me.

My hand stills on the book. Man, that tiny phrase feels like life goals . Even more so as Matt slides my braid over my shoulder, the edge curling like a question mark around my right nipple.

Lord, give me the strength to survive this.

“Deep breath,” he murmurs, pressing his palms against the backs of my shoulders.

I inhale, exhale, and he does too, judging by the air that skims the nape of my neck. A moment later, he begins to work, to apply his magic really, his fingers and thumbs easily unknotting the tension in my too-tight shoulders.

It’s nice. So nice. Being touched like this, almost held. Being cared for.

A long stroke from neck to tailbone makes me sigh.

“Good?”

I nod my head, and Matt repeats the motion again and again, like a cat kneading a blanket. Only a blanket doesn’t bite its lip to keep from moaning or demanding more.

“How’s the pressure?”

Building, I think. Bursting like a dam if we’re not careful.

I nod, not trusting myself to answer as his low tone adds to the effect, stroking like a caress.

“Push back. Yeah, just like that.”

Why does everything sound so sexual? Not that I fight it, and I do as he says when he presses his palm to my tailbone.

“ Oh, God! ” My word dam breaks on that, the exclamation like a long, pleasure-filled sigh.

“Good?”

“You don’t know ...” what you’re doing to me .

“It would be better if you were lying down.”

My stuttering laughter sounds almost like an agreement.

“No, really.” Amusement lightens his answer, too, and all I can think is it’s a good thing he can’t see my face. “Let me ...” He moves to the side, his arm coming around me. “Just for balance,” he reassures me, his arm pressing just above my bump. “Jesus, that feels—”

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, capturing his arm with mine and holding him there.

The air around us stills, and I tighten my eyes like a toddler’s version of It wasn’t me .

No, no. I didn’t ask you to hold me while you keep rubbing that spot, because for some dang reason, it’s getting me off. How is that even possible? I just know that it is as my body begins to vibrate like a struck tuning fork.

Meanwhile, Matt says nothing. I can’t even hear him breathe.

Meanwhile, my breath is definitely audible as I suck in a long breath.

“Like that?” he asks, his palm returning.

I nod as he presses tighter, then rotates. I bite back my direction of Harder, more , my fingers piercingly tight where I grip his forearm.

“I ...” I can’t make myself stop.

“It’s just tension, Ryan.”

“Hormones,” I whisper. Whore moans, it sounds in my head. God, I want to make some. “I can’t believe ...”

“You’ve never been pregnant before.”

“I’ve never felt like this. Never needed.”

Another pause, those words sinking in.

“Then . . . let me.”

The pleasure kudzu explodes, twining through me and pulling tight as thoughtless words spill from my mouth. “I sincerely hope this didn’t happen to your sister.”

He laughs, and I’m glad he does. Because that sounded so weird.

“Teacup, let me help relieve this pent-up pressure.”

I drop my head with a sigh. If he only knew how much pressure. It’s one thing for him to touch me in a nonsexual way but quite another to admit that my brain and body have twisted that touch into something else. Something that makes my insides pulse and ache as though I’m moments away from climax.

“Let me make you feel good.” Such temptation in those quiet words. Understanding, even. “It’s just a massage.”

But we both know that it’s not.

“And what happens tomorrow?” My whisper sounds almost panic filled.

“Nothing. Unless you want me to do it again.”

“Be serious, Matt.”

“Whatever you want,” he says so softly. “We can talk it out. Or pretend it never happened. Lady’s choice.”

My insides, oh, how they pulse with remembrance. “It complicates things.”

“It doesn’t have to.” His voice is smoky. Sexual. And his hand curls around my hip, but doesn’t hold as it glides upward, his thumb like a tiny mallet dragged along the xylophone of my ribs.

I guess I must be musical too, as I give a little hum.

“Ryan.” His hand makes a frame for my breast, cupping the weight of it. “You can tell me to stop. And I will.”

I bite back a pleasured whimper as his thumb swipes over my hard nipple.

“Would it help if I said how much I’ve dreamed of this? How I’ve imagined touching you. Tasting you.”

“Hush.” Don’t talk. Don’t make this too real.

“Then be a good girl. And turn around.”

“What?”

“Didn’t I tell you I was hungry?”

I allow him to turn me, and like iron filings to a magnet, my fingers are drawn immediately to his chest. So warm and solid to the touch.

“You’re beautiful.” His eyes shine golden as he reaches for the end of my braid, bringing it to his mouth.

“You were watching.” Pleasure threads through my accusation as he swipes it across his lips.

“Enviously.”

I give a soft, flattered laugh.

“I’d like to kiss you.” A beat passes, and when I don’t object, the light turns his dark hair glossy as he dips his head. Lower than I imagined, because his mouth is hot and wet and magic as it closes over my nightshirt-covered nipple.

I moan. Oh, God, how I moan, the feeling immense as that sucking pull resonates deep between my legs.

“Can I?” His question is tentative as he tugs on the cotton of my nightshirt.

“I don’t ...” know . I feel so conflicted. I want this, but—

“Please.” That word, the need in it, undoes me. I begin to gather my nightshirt myself, and we both work to pull it over my head.

Heavy lidded, his gaze drinks me in. My breasts, the hard pebbles of my nipples. My rounded stomach, my softer hips. My simple cotton panties.

“You’re so beautiful, Ryan.”

I give a tiny gasp as his hands cup my breasts, and his mouth returns, his tongue swirling across a stiff bud. My moan sounds ragged as he sucks it hotly into his mouth.

“You’re so, so lovely. Strong. Yet delicate, my little teacup.”

My body seems to understand before my brain does as he dips, his hands coming around me as he lifts me to the countertop.

And then it’s all over but the crying out.