Page 37

“I’m not holding my breath. You haven’t gotten anywhere so far.”

But I have all my options on the board, and he’s placed the cue ball perfectly outside the corner pocket. I grin and bend over, making sure to stick my ass out a little extra. He gets a good look at his own drawers as I gently tap my stick to nudge a stripe into the pocket.

He unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside, revealing a sleeveless undershirt. The rounded swell of his bare shoulders is tantalizing.

“I’m about to go on a roll,” I warn.

I aim for the opposite corner and drop another ball. Matthew gives me a tiny, adorable smile before reaching back with one arm to tug off his undershirt from behind.

I take a moment to appreciate the sight, drinking him in. Two broad shoulders, the smooth planes and hard ridges of his chest, a smattering of dark blond hair trailing down, down, down…all the way down until it disappears under the waistline of his pants.

“Your trousers are mine,” I say, a little breathless. “And I’m really going to enjoy taking them.”

There’s another across-the-table shot available, this time a side pocket. I don’t have the best angle, but the ball is right on the edge. The lightest tap will likely see it over.

I bend down and concentrate. Shirtless Matthew is highly distracting, but pantless Matthew would be even better.

I taste victory the minute I release the shot, grinning before the ball tumbles. I walk around the table to Matthew as his hands, obediently, go to his waist. I put my fingers over his, halting him.

“I won them,” I whisper. “They’re mine.”

I slowly unbutton his trousers, holding his gaze as I do. I brush my fingers against him far more than necessary before letting the pants drop to the ground. He steps back to kick them aside, and my heart stutters.

He moves his lips to the shell of my ear. “Can you finish?” he asks dangerously. “ Or should I?”

“You’re mine.” I take a deep breath and try my hand at a ricocheting shot, a trick he could probably pull off. I miss.

He takes the pool cue without a word and lines up his next strike. Just before he releases, he flicks his eyes to mine. He holds there and slowly smiles. It’s heady, that smile. So heady, I hardly notice when he knocks down a ball.

Unceremoniously, I drop his drawers to the floor and step out, revealing silk French knickers.

Matthew’s gaze traces over me. Hungry. Reverent.

Head to toe, then back again. Everywhere his eyes linger, I feel the burn.

Burning and burning and burning until I’m aflame all over.

You’d think I was wearing the laciest and skimpiest of lingerie from the way he’s looking.

It’s still his turn, but he leans the stick against the table and slowly walks over to me, stopping scarcely an inch away.

“It’s your shot,” I murmur. “What’s wrong—afraid you won’t be able to finish after all, Matt?”

“I’m finishing the way I want to,” he growls. “Myself.”

His hand starts at my hip. He slides a finger beneath the waistband of my knickers and drags it softly across my stomach. My groin clenches, begging him to go lower. He teases his touch up my side. Tingles and shivers overtake me, raising gooseflesh on my skin.

When he gives me his lips, I’m starving for them, starving for him. My tongue crashes into his. He lifts me up, slamming my butt onto the rim of the pool table. Chills ripple down my spine as he works the hooks of the brassiere. When I shrug it off, his hands go straight to my chest.

Matthew groans into my mouth and lowers me across the table.

With fumbling fingers, we clear the stray balls.

Once I’m on my back, he bends my knee and unrolls my stockings, one leg at a time.

Dragging his fingers over my bare skin, pressing kisses to my inner thigh.

My knee. My ankle. His eyes are raw, his lips fervent. Ravaging me .

I whimper as he works his way back up, moving toward my center. The wanting, the way I hunger for him, is ruinous.

He pulls my knickers down and slips two deft fingers inside me. My back arches as I cry out.

“God, you’re so wet.” His voice is gruff, rough with longing. He kisses me hard, swallowing my cries as he curls his fingers. First two. Three. He doesn’t let up until I’m screaming his name, over and over. Until I lose myself entirely, exploding into incoherence.

When my eyes finally open, I take a shuddering breath.

Matt is there, waiting, gazing down at me with so much abject love in his eyes, it hurts.

It sucks the breath straight out of my lungs, that look.

Rearranges the gravity in the room. Something new blooms in my heart.

Matthew’s love is sunlight, water, and air.

The look on his face, pure reverence.

What a heady way to be loved.

In the corner of the room, the phonograph skips. I lick my lips, then part them. Not entirely sure what I’m going to say, but breathless with conviction. Before I find words, his fingers start to move again.

“Matt…” My vision spins. I reach for him, and he grabs my hand. Bringing the inside of my wrist to his lips, he presses an open-mouth kiss to the tender skin.

“I want you screaming my name again,” he tells me, pressing a second kiss to my palm, tongue flicking. “Over and over. Exactly the way you just did.”

And in a matter of minutes, I am. Again. And again and again.

And only when my voice is hoarse, my breath ragged, my mind thoroughly obliterated, does he slide his hand out of my silk shorts. He locks my shaking legs around his waist and lifts. His lips move over mine as he carries me to his bedroom—building, crashing, falling .

Matthew kicks the door open, and we fall onto his bed. He pins me, securing my wrists above my head. He kisses his way down my chest. I wrap my legs around his waist and lift my hips, pressing against the hardness in his groin.

We roll, lips devouring, hands searching.

I straddle him low, closer than close, yet not close enough. I press down, the softest part of me against the hardest of him.

His answering moan is pure sin. Sheer longing.

I move my lips over his shoulder and pecs, trailing kisses across his chest and abdomen.

I slide his drawers down and take him in my hand.

He’s dripping wet. I don’t want to wait much longer, but there’s one last thing I desperately want to give him, this man who is always hell-bent on giving to others.

I open my mouth and pull him in. Deep. All the way to the back. I stay there for a minute, exploring pressure points with my tongue, listening to his response. He’s a new experiment, one I plan to figure out quickly. I sit back on my heels and take a breath. “How long can you hold out?”

“Not…long…” he pants.

I laugh and suck him down again, letting the vibrations from my throat taper out on him. He’s surprisingly vocal about what he likes, and he’s right. It doesn’t take long.

“Kat.” His tone is telling, and I see the question in his eyes. The need.

“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes. Now.”

He pushes me down, settling me between his legs. I lift my hips as he slides my pants off. He kisses me, full and deep.

“Matt, I need you inside of me,” I beg. “Now.”

He reaches to his bedside table for a condom. I snatch it from him and roll it on, his eyes drinking me in.

When he pushes inside me, it’s slow. It’s agonizing.

It’s everything .

My head falls back on the feathery pillow, and I whimper with relief. With a guttural groan, he fills me completely. Buried to the hilt.

“Kat?” he rasps. He can’t even lift his head; he has it buried in my hair, lips pressed to my ear.

“I’m fine. Please, Matt.”

He starts to move, and I lose all sense of myself. Everything fades except him. There is only the sound of his panting breath. Only the tangle of his fingers in my hair, the heat of his lips on my neck. Only the feel of him, deep within me. Turning me inside out.

He pulls back and moves a guiding hand to my hips, changing the pace, pushing in deeper. I cry out, trying to absorb each strike. I’m hovering so close to the edge.

“Matt. Oh god, Matt.”

“You. Are. So. Beautiful. Kat.” He punctuates each word with a plunge.

I cling to him and move with him. Allow him to have me exactly how he wants me, as many times and in as many ways. Because in this moment, I finally know what it feels like to be his. I realize what being his truly means.

Absolutely everything.

I am his, and he is mine.

And I can’t remember ever wanting to be anything else.

We slip hazily into the after. Languid, shifting in the bed as one. Whispering, showering soft kisses on each other.

“I wondered if you were going to take these off one at a time out there,” Matthew murmurs. He’s holding my hand, slipping his fingers in and out of mine, brushing over my rings.

I shake my head and smile. “I almost never take off my rings. ”

“I’m glad you didn’t. We would have been out there all night.” His fingers move to Paul’s chunky, silver band, and I stiffen. My tattoo pulses beneath it, a dangerous secret.

My reaction gives him pause. “What’s this one mean?” he asks, kissing the finger.

I take a deep breath. “That one is a story for another day, one I do intend to tell you,” I say, surprising myself. “I have to figure out how first. It’s going to take a little more time.”

“Hmm.” He considers me, still tracing, but he’s moved to another finger, another ring. Another kiss. I wiggle around, taking his hands in mine.

“I was watching you earlier,” I admit. “At the hospital, before you saw me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I was watching your hands move. How comfortable you were.”

“And?”

“And I know you love it, Matthew, but what I don’t understand is why ?

Why do you love it? Why did you choose it?

There were a million other professions you could have chosen.

A million easier jobs that would have given you more money and more time and more freedom.

With far less responsibility. Why this?”