My breathing is labored because I have one hand over my mouth. I’m scared I’ll unintentionally cry out again. My other hand is everywhere, fisting his thick hair, dragging down his back. I feel his muscles shift and I indulge myself and grip his hard ass as he thrusts into me again and again.
His mouth is at my ear and he’s apologizing that he can’t last much longer, that tonight has been too tortuous and drawn out. Then he pulls back up and bites his lip and concentrates on where our bodies are meeting. Sweat collects on his brow and I’m taking snapshots to remember later: the bunched muscles of his abs as he rolls his hips, the tension in his jaw as he tries to stave off his orgasm, the softness in his eyes as his gaze meets mine.
He brushes my hair off my face and I tilt my chin up in invitation.
He bends and kisses me languidly, teasingly. My tongue rolls with his and he moves his hand between my thighs. I wish I could say I put in a good effort fighting off that second orgasm, but the truth is that after only a few hours, Matt knows my body too well. His thumb swirls in time with his thrusts and I’m shattered. I can’t take another. “I’ll die,” I tell him.
He laughs huskily and drops his mouth to my breast, taking the tip into his mouth. It’s his answer, and it’s every bit as confident as him blatantly replying, Oh yes you will. Now come.
I do, and this time, I manage to stay as quiet as a church mouse, mostly because I’m so preoccupied with watching Matt lose himself. He can’t hold off any longer and I kiss his cheek, begging for him to let go as well. His shoulders bunch and his face falls into the crook of my neck. His hips jerk and it’s nearly painful how deep he is inside me. His fingers intertwine with mine over my head as the waves of pleasure shoot through his body. I’m lost to the sensation of it, the sheer bliss of making a man like Matt come apart at the seams.
He stays on top of me just like that as our breaths start to even out and the details of real life start to filter back to us. For the first time since we began, I’m made aware of just how tiny my twin bed is. Matt’s nearly falling off. My body is wedged painfully between the wall and him.
I drag a hand down his spine and he moans but doesn’t move.
“You’re going to fall,” I warn him with a little laugh.
He shifts to the left and covers me even more.
“Matt.”
“Shh, I’m sleeping,” he teases, hand dragging up and finding my breast.
“Oh, okay. That doesn’t feel like sleeping to me, sir.”
He lifts his head and his eyes blink open. He stares down at me for a few seconds and my realizations go as follows: Matt and I just had sex, write-home-about-it sex, and honestly, it felt a lot like we were making love. Yes, that four-letter word creeps into my mind like an uninvited party guest. Ohhh, you just wanted a casual fling? ’Cause I thought it’d be more fun if we tumbled head over heels.
His brows tug together in thought and he lifts his hand to wipe my cheek with his thumb. Oh dear god. Those are tears he’s wiping.
When was I crying?!
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, deeply concerned.
I shake my head back and forth on my pillow as his finger curves below my chin so he can tilt my face toward him.
“Are you positive?”
I nod.
His mouth curls into a panty-melting smirk. “Was I so good you’ve lost the ability to speak?”
I try to hide my face behind my hands, but he doesn’t let me.
“Do you want me to change the subject?”
“Desperately.”
“Okay, but if it helps, you look adorable right now.”
I bark out a laugh and his gaze shoots to my bedroom door. Oh god, I completely forgot I need to be quiet. I’m really bad at this. I press a finger to my lips to let him know I won’t mess up again. He rolls off me and stands, and presto chango, I’m now treated to a magnificent view of his backside as he walks toward my bedroom door. Wide shoulders, tapered waist, very nice rear end. All in all, I’d give him a 10/10, and I tell him so.
“Stop staring at my butt and c’mon. I need you to go out first and confirm the coast is clear,” he says quietly, glancing back at me over his shoulder. Something gives him pause and I swipe at my cheeks to make sure I don’t have any residual tears, but I don’t think it’s that. His gaze drags languidly down my body and oooh, right. I’m naked. Men are such simple creatures. When his gaze finally meets mine again, I try to ignore the mischievous glint I see there and instead return to the task at hand.
I sit up and whisper, “What happens after I check if the coast is clear?”
“Then we sneak into the bathroom and rinse off,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
“I meant after that.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Then we’re going to see how easily you can fit two adults onto a bed made for ants.” I must look worried because he adds, “Bailey, I’m not going to sleep on the couch. I’ll set an alarm on my phone and move back out there before your sister wakes up. She’ll never know.”
He says all this while he strides confidently back toward me. I make a move to get off the bed, but he’s quicker. He bends down and grabs my knees, tugging me so my butt is right on the edge. I think he’s going to help me up, but instead, he pushes me back down with one hand on my chest.
My heart leaps into my throat. “I thought we were going to the bathroom,” I say, voice faint.
He’s staring down between my legs, a drugged look in his eyes. “We are…just as soon as I’ve finished.”
“Matt,” I warn, but it’s no use.
He smiles and gets down onto his knees. “Maybe try not to wake the entire neighborhood this time.”
I toss my hands up over my head in defeat. I highly doubt we’ll be getting any sleep tonight.
Chapter 28
MATT
The next morning, Christmas music blares at full volume, a fresh layer of snow coats the ground outside, a steaming pot of coffee waits to be poured, and I’m trying to wrestle a wooden spatula out of Bailey’s hand.
“Hand it over, Matthew, or so help me.”
That’s her taunt and I can’t help but laugh. She’s diminutive. I could pluck her up with two fingers and deposit her elsewhere.
My brow arches, and with one tug I yank the spatula out of her hand and hold it up over my head. She jumps to get it and I move it just a little farther out of her reach. Suddenly, I’m a middle school bully. I’ll stuff her in a locker next.
“Can’t you just go enjoy your coffee in the living room?” I press a hand to her chest. “Go cocoon yourself and watch the snow falling. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
This is hard for her, me making breakfast. Instead of listening to me, she lingers in the kitchen, asking if I need help with anything. I scramble eggs and fry up some bacon, both of which I had to run down the road to purchase before she and Josie woke up. Her fridge had only four items in it when I checked this morning, and none of them looked fit for human consumption.
I drop some bread into the toaster and she rushes over, explaining to me how it works.
“Ohhhh, I see,” I reply, as if enlightened to the art of toast for first time in my life. “You put the bread in the two little slits and push down right here. Got it. I always thought there was more to it.”
My sarcasm is lost on her. She flies over to the fridge. “Why don’t I make us some fresh-squeezed orange juice?”
She bends down and roots through the empty drawers, no doubt trying to find the orange I saw earlier. It was growing a Petri dish’s worth of mold. It’s now in the trash.
“Bailey,” I chide, dropping my hands on her shoulders and directing her into the living room. She attempts to dig her heels in, but my size makes it a futile fight. “When was the last time someone cooked for you?”
She frowns up at me, having to think hard. “Josie tried to make me pancakes a few months ago, but she set off the smoke alarm and then like a dozen firemen showed up.” She waves her hand. “It was a whole thing.”
Josie, who’s sitting on the couch eating cereal (which I also bought), smiles proudly. “It was actually pretty cool. One of them let me try on his uniform.”
His mouth is at my ear and he’s apologizing that he can’t last much longer, that tonight has been too tortuous and drawn out. Then he pulls back up and bites his lip and concentrates on where our bodies are meeting. Sweat collects on his brow and I’m taking snapshots to remember later: the bunched muscles of his abs as he rolls his hips, the tension in his jaw as he tries to stave off his orgasm, the softness in his eyes as his gaze meets mine.
He brushes my hair off my face and I tilt my chin up in invitation.
He bends and kisses me languidly, teasingly. My tongue rolls with his and he moves his hand between my thighs. I wish I could say I put in a good effort fighting off that second orgasm, but the truth is that after only a few hours, Matt knows my body too well. His thumb swirls in time with his thrusts and I’m shattered. I can’t take another. “I’ll die,” I tell him.
He laughs huskily and drops his mouth to my breast, taking the tip into his mouth. It’s his answer, and it’s every bit as confident as him blatantly replying, Oh yes you will. Now come.
I do, and this time, I manage to stay as quiet as a church mouse, mostly because I’m so preoccupied with watching Matt lose himself. He can’t hold off any longer and I kiss his cheek, begging for him to let go as well. His shoulders bunch and his face falls into the crook of my neck. His hips jerk and it’s nearly painful how deep he is inside me. His fingers intertwine with mine over my head as the waves of pleasure shoot through his body. I’m lost to the sensation of it, the sheer bliss of making a man like Matt come apart at the seams.
He stays on top of me just like that as our breaths start to even out and the details of real life start to filter back to us. For the first time since we began, I’m made aware of just how tiny my twin bed is. Matt’s nearly falling off. My body is wedged painfully between the wall and him.
I drag a hand down his spine and he moans but doesn’t move.
“You’re going to fall,” I warn him with a little laugh.
He shifts to the left and covers me even more.
“Matt.”
“Shh, I’m sleeping,” he teases, hand dragging up and finding my breast.
“Oh, okay. That doesn’t feel like sleeping to me, sir.”
He lifts his head and his eyes blink open. He stares down at me for a few seconds and my realizations go as follows: Matt and I just had sex, write-home-about-it sex, and honestly, it felt a lot like we were making love. Yes, that four-letter word creeps into my mind like an uninvited party guest. Ohhh, you just wanted a casual fling? ’Cause I thought it’d be more fun if we tumbled head over heels.
His brows tug together in thought and he lifts his hand to wipe my cheek with his thumb. Oh dear god. Those are tears he’s wiping.
When was I crying?!
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, deeply concerned.
I shake my head back and forth on my pillow as his finger curves below my chin so he can tilt my face toward him.
“Are you positive?”
I nod.
His mouth curls into a panty-melting smirk. “Was I so good you’ve lost the ability to speak?”
I try to hide my face behind my hands, but he doesn’t let me.
“Do you want me to change the subject?”
“Desperately.”
“Okay, but if it helps, you look adorable right now.”
I bark out a laugh and his gaze shoots to my bedroom door. Oh god, I completely forgot I need to be quiet. I’m really bad at this. I press a finger to my lips to let him know I won’t mess up again. He rolls off me and stands, and presto chango, I’m now treated to a magnificent view of his backside as he walks toward my bedroom door. Wide shoulders, tapered waist, very nice rear end. All in all, I’d give him a 10/10, and I tell him so.
“Stop staring at my butt and c’mon. I need you to go out first and confirm the coast is clear,” he says quietly, glancing back at me over his shoulder. Something gives him pause and I swipe at my cheeks to make sure I don’t have any residual tears, but I don’t think it’s that. His gaze drags languidly down my body and oooh, right. I’m naked. Men are such simple creatures. When his gaze finally meets mine again, I try to ignore the mischievous glint I see there and instead return to the task at hand.
I sit up and whisper, “What happens after I check if the coast is clear?”
“Then we sneak into the bathroom and rinse off,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
“I meant after that.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Then we’re going to see how easily you can fit two adults onto a bed made for ants.” I must look worried because he adds, “Bailey, I’m not going to sleep on the couch. I’ll set an alarm on my phone and move back out there before your sister wakes up. She’ll never know.”
He says all this while he strides confidently back toward me. I make a move to get off the bed, but he’s quicker. He bends down and grabs my knees, tugging me so my butt is right on the edge. I think he’s going to help me up, but instead, he pushes me back down with one hand on my chest.
My heart leaps into my throat. “I thought we were going to the bathroom,” I say, voice faint.
He’s staring down between my legs, a drugged look in his eyes. “We are…just as soon as I’ve finished.”
“Matt,” I warn, but it’s no use.
He smiles and gets down onto his knees. “Maybe try not to wake the entire neighborhood this time.”
I toss my hands up over my head in defeat. I highly doubt we’ll be getting any sleep tonight.
Chapter 28
MATT
The next morning, Christmas music blares at full volume, a fresh layer of snow coats the ground outside, a steaming pot of coffee waits to be poured, and I’m trying to wrestle a wooden spatula out of Bailey’s hand.
“Hand it over, Matthew, or so help me.”
That’s her taunt and I can’t help but laugh. She’s diminutive. I could pluck her up with two fingers and deposit her elsewhere.
My brow arches, and with one tug I yank the spatula out of her hand and hold it up over my head. She jumps to get it and I move it just a little farther out of her reach. Suddenly, I’m a middle school bully. I’ll stuff her in a locker next.
“Can’t you just go enjoy your coffee in the living room?” I press a hand to her chest. “Go cocoon yourself and watch the snow falling. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
This is hard for her, me making breakfast. Instead of listening to me, she lingers in the kitchen, asking if I need help with anything. I scramble eggs and fry up some bacon, both of which I had to run down the road to purchase before she and Josie woke up. Her fridge had only four items in it when I checked this morning, and none of them looked fit for human consumption.
I drop some bread into the toaster and she rushes over, explaining to me how it works.
“Ohhhh, I see,” I reply, as if enlightened to the art of toast for first time in my life. “You put the bread in the two little slits and push down right here. Got it. I always thought there was more to it.”
My sarcasm is lost on her. She flies over to the fridge. “Why don’t I make us some fresh-squeezed orange juice?”
She bends down and roots through the empty drawers, no doubt trying to find the orange I saw earlier. It was growing a Petri dish’s worth of mold. It’s now in the trash.
“Bailey,” I chide, dropping my hands on her shoulders and directing her into the living room. She attempts to dig her heels in, but my size makes it a futile fight. “When was the last time someone cooked for you?”
She frowns up at me, having to think hard. “Josie tried to make me pancakes a few months ago, but she set off the smoke alarm and then like a dozen firemen showed up.” She waves her hand. “It was a whole thing.”
Josie, who’s sitting on the couch eating cereal (which I also bought), smiles proudly. “It was actually pretty cool. One of them let me try on his uniform.”
