Page 56 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)

Ryan

The house is warm and welcoming, the lamps lit and the hallway smelling of beeswax polish, and of the gardenias. Mary picked them in the garden yesterday while collecting herbs, then popped the pretty display in the silver urn.

We’ve had such a wonderful evening. Fantastic food and wonderful company.

Lots of laughter and even a dance or two.

I’m so glad I’ve met Matt’s friends, and also a little sorry I put it off for so long.

Especially as they’ll be part of our child’s life.

But then again, maybe it’s for the best I didn’t build those relationships. Less to leave behind.

Matt closes the door behind me, and I feel his hands at my shoulder, helping me off with my coat.

“Stay with me tonight.” His voice is all husk and want as he captures my hand and turns me to face him.

The thing we’ve been dancing around all night. I wonder if Matt thinks we’ve turned a corner. Who knows, maybe we have. But it’s not happiness I see lurking just beyond. For me, at least. Because I will lose him. There can be no other conclusion to us .

I can’t commit myself to him because love doesn’t harbor secrets. Not when they eat you from the inside.

It’s been a sobering realization that, one day, he’ll meet someone, and I’ll lose him. Sobering and a little heartbreaking. But there’s no man on this earth finer than Matt Romero, and he deserves the world. Not my twisted love.

I wish I were stronger. I’m not. So tonight is mine. The ultimate act of selfishness as I tip onto my toes, my hand pressed to his lapel.

Please forgive me, I silently intone. I’ll remember everything.

The fine fabric beneath my fingers and the soft press of his breath as he lowers his head to meet me halfway.

Our mouths meet with a tenderness, all soft lips and halting, aching breaths.

But we kiss intentionally, freely, as for the first time since that night in October, I allow myself to think of him as mine.

My love is mine and I am his ...

But only for tonight.

Matt’s bedroom, like the rest of the house, is stylish and sleek.

His bed is huge, of course, the nightstands housing banker-style lamps, stacked with books.

A photography book, one on Victorian engineering, another about Greek mythology.

Those are placed at the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on, I know.

Many a morning I have visited his room after he’s left for work. I’ve curled in his messy sheets and inhaled the scent of him from his pillows. And I’ve flicked through the pages of the only book he seems to have recently read. Our baby bible.

My footsteps echo against the wooden parquet flooring as I meander slowly around the edge of the room. Taking it all in, as though this is my first time in here.

“It’s nice,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Matt stands in the doorway, hands slung low into his pockets as he plays along with my white lie. We both know the door to the left leads to an en suite bathroom large enough to party in and that beyond the door to the right is a closet fit for a king.

At the far side of the room, flanking the original fireplace, two leather chairs stand empty but for throw pillows and fur-like blankets.

Wooden shutters keep out the night, a huge tribal rug underfoot muffling my steps now.

Art hangs from the dark-hued walls, some modern, some abstract, and a brass-studded ottoman is placed at the end of the bed.

Every piece of furniture, both new and old, seems to have been selected with thought for its position within the space.

The room is unique and eclectic and very him.

At the sound of the door quietly closing, I angle my head over my shoulder. “Get the light?” I hate how that sounds like both a request and a come-on.

Ignoring my request, he cants his head, coming closer still. He slides my hair over my shoulder, and I give a little gasp as his lips find my neck.

Though my panties are tiny, green and lacy, and not unfamiliar to him, I’m not wearing the matching bra tonight because it no longer fits.

Thank goodness for the concealed support of my dress.

I want darkness because I don’t look the same as I did.

My body is so changed, and I’m afraid I’ll look ridiculous—like a hippo in a tiny strip of La Perla.

“Please, Matt, I’m—”

“Beautiful.” His lips coast down my neck as his fingers tug the zipper at my side. “I can’t wait to see you, Ryan.”

Those bedroom tones and the straps of my dress slipping from my shoulders. I close my eyes as the fabric tantalizes my skin, sliding over the tips of my breasts. Pooling on the floor.

“Because you’re so fucking beautiful.”

I push out a breath, suddenly all sensation, every inch of my skin aware of every inch of him.

The brush of his pants against my naked thighs, his chest as it grazes my back.

The press of his lips against my neck. The feel of his strong arms as they band around me, and the subsequent hot press of his cock.

“You’ll stay.” The tenderness in his tone breaks my heart into a million pieces.

“You know I have to steal away like a thief during the night.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep you busy till morning,” he murmurs, taking my breasts in his hands. “My little teacup.” His words are shaped against my skin.

Is it called a pet name because it makes me want to curl into him?

“So delicate and curved.”

“Matt.” I make a moan of his name as his thumbs glide over my hardened nipples. A soft tug, and I gasp, my body jolting from his.

“And look how you fill my hands.”

“I feel like I’d fill a barrow,” I half scoff.

“Hush,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my neck. “How I feel when I look at you is fucking primal. I just want to pounce on you because you’re so fucking sexy. I’m sure I lose a little piece of my mind every time I so much as glance your way.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you. Turn around, darlin’.” His hands find my hips. “Turn around and let me see what I’ve been dreaming of. Fuck me .” His midnight gaze sweeps over me, bold, possessive, hungry.

“Well, now that we’re here ...” My words hold a confidence I don’t really feel as I push away a glimpse of tomorrow. Of my regret.

“You can fuck me any day of the week, teacup.” His lips tip. “And twice on Sundays, if I’m good.”

“ If you’re good?” I reach for the buttons of his shirt, pulling it from the waist to hide how my hands shake.

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he says, reaching between his shoulder blades to pull it up and over his head. “I’ll be so good, you’ll weep.”

I know, I think as his lips brush a light tease across my own. I swallow his groan—eat it up—as my fingertips find their objective. Warm skin and muscle, his abs rippling in response to my touch. My fingers moving lower and pressing over the bulge in his pants.

“God, I want you, Ryan.” He gives a tiny sucking pull to my bottom lip. “I want you so much, I can barely see straight.”

“Yes, let’s ...” I feel myself growing wet, my body aching for this. My heart aching for him.

Like the moves have been choregraphed, like I’m not the size of a hippo in La Perla panties and heels, Matt moves us across the room to the bed. Before I have the chance to sit, his body folds gracefully before me, his hands pressing to my bump as though in benediction.

A kiss to the center, so sweet, before his fingers loop my right ankle.

One shoe. Two. My hands falling to his shoulders for balance.

He sets them to the side and then hooks his thumbs into the elastic of my panties and slips them down my legs.

I keep my hands where they are, my equilibrium still rocking.

Down on the bed, things moving faster now. My hands in his hair, his tongue hot and clever as it licks into my mouth. “Please, I need you.”

“I know, darlin’. God, I know.”

He parts my knees, the air on my pulsing clit almost too much. Too much and not enough as his attentions move to my breasts, and he engulfs my nipple with a soft groan.

“Oh, God!” I arch against him, moaning loudly as he licks and laves, as he uses his fingers to echo that tight pull.

“God, you’re so fucking lovely. And the sounds you make.”

“Touch me, please,” I beg, widening the space between my legs.

“Soon, teacup,” he whispers, canting his head to watch my reactions before he draws the pebbled bud back into his mouth. His gaze holds mine over the curve of my breast as he grazes gently with his teeth.

“That feels ...” Immense. The wet velvet of his tongue, the threat of his teeth, and the teasing brush of his stubble make my nerve endings sing, makes me almost—

“Do you think you could come like this?”

—burst.

“I don’t ...” I gasp as my insides throb. “I don’t want to find out.”

Matt gives a dark chuckle, and I cry out, my hips surging as he swipes his thumb between my legs. “Maybe not this time.” His words like pure appreciation. “Fuck, you are a feast for the senses.”

I open my eyes to find him watching where he teases. Where he plays. His thumb dipping lower, gathering my wetness to paint it across my clit.

“ Dios. ” His eyes burn bright as he brings it to his mouth and sucks on it.

“ Me encanta el sabor de tu cono. And I do love the taste of your pussy, teacup,” he whispers as he leans across me, dragging a pillow from the top of the bed to support the arch of my back.

“Lie back now and let me taste a little more.”

“You’re so sweet,” I whisper.

“And you taste like hot honey,” he says, pressing the rasp of his dark stubble to my inner thigh.

“Oh!” A bite, then a lick to soothe.

“Darlin’,” he says, pressing my legs wider. “I wish you could see how ready you are. How wet you are and how you pulse for me.”

I begin to twist under him, the thrill of his words, and the truth in them, when he circles my clit.

“Oh, Lord!” I almost levitate from the bed but for his fingers driving inside me, holding me there.

My body offers him no resistance, my hips undulating to meet those slow thrusts as his tongue lavishes me as though I’m a taste to be savored.

My fingers twist in those thick dark strands, anchoring him there as though I could keep him for good. Or at least until ...

Forever. I’d like to keep him forever, I think as a tear darts from the corner of my eyelid.

Matt

My beating heart and staccato breaths. The rustling of bedding as she pushes up onto one elbow, watching me strip. Her eyes fall to the curve of my bicep and the ladder of my abdominals as I run my fingers over them. And lower, over the dark trail of hair.

Down, down—she watches me take my jutting cock in my hand, and the thrill that runs through me feels almost seismic as she pushes my hand away.

“Let me.” Her fingers are cool on my scalding skin.

Take my cock. Take my hand. Let’s do this for the rest of our lives.

I never claimed to be a poet, but Christ, I can’t stop my body from shaking.

Does she notice, can she see what her touch does to me?

I can barely believe we’re here. Finally. Finally. This woman is everything to me.

“I love your hands on me,” I rasp, staring at the neutral polish on her nails as she presses her hand to my taut thigh. She draws it upward, inward, cupping my balls.

Oh, fuck. Marry me. Spend your life torturing and toying with me.

Keep it together, fucknut. Take the blow job and call it a win.

Only if I can keep her forever. Only if I can ...

Her tongue darts out to lick, and my body bows at the contact.

I growl her name as I slide my hand into her hair, moving it aside to better see. The gentle lap of her tongue against the thick ruddiness of my cock seems almost obscene. Not that I’m not straining, begging for more.

And more she grants when she suddenly sucks me down. Briefly, her mouth and my cock part ways with an audible pop . “Did you have a question?” she asks, her eyes all fake innocence.

“Teacup,” I growl, using her nickname now as I press my hand to her head, encouraging her back to ...

“I guess not,” she whispers, taking me back into her mouth.

“ Yes. ” My affirmation is a stuttering sigh. “Yeah, suck me.”

She makes a noise of agreement, of pleasure, one that dials my own gratification sky fucking high. Her head begins to bob, her mouth sliding messily, wetly.

Fuck. Just fuck.

“You look so good with my cock in your pretty, pretty mouth,” I whisper, beginning to move tentatively with her, my hand at the back of her head. “But you’re gonna make me come.”

“ Mmmm. ” Her blue eyes lift to mine, and I almost lose it there, my pulse pounding in my ears as my legs threaten to give.

“You wicked, wicked woman.” My words sound more Irish than ever—happier than ever as I pull back and exchange one appendage for another, pressing her back against the bed to kiss the fuck right out of her.

“And by God, I love you for it,” I admit without thought—without thought for her reaction.

For the rules I’m breaking. The consequences.

“It’s true,” I whisper, my hand on her cheek.

“I’m in love with you. I think I have been from the start. ”