Last Light(82)

I gazed up at him. This close, I could see the deep emerald tone in his eyes and smell the subtle spice of his soap.

“What did you think of my new book?” he prompted.

“Um…” My fingers knotted on my lap. “It’s a lot to process right now. You probably have no idea how weird it is … to read about yourself in a book. In so much detail.”

“No, I don’t.” A trace of amusement glimmered in Matt’s eyes—what the hell could he find humorous right now?—but he looked dead serious in the next moment. “I’m sorry I keep writing about you. I keep thinking about you. I’m obsessed with you.”

I inhaled swiftly.

I’m obsessed with you. Words that should frighten me. But Matt spoke with a calm honesty that undercut my fear.

I gave a minute nod.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Okay?”

“Yeah … okay.”

He touched my cheek. I tipped my face into the cradle of his hand.

“Do you still find me attractive?” he said.

“Matt…” My voice broke. His question chipped at my heart. And the look on his face—that disarming mixture of cockiness and vulnerability. I reached for him. “God, you know I do.”

He climbed onto the couch, straddled my lap, and took my face between his hands.

This was simple.

We were good at this.

And selfishly, I needed this—to remember the difference between intimacy for pleasure and intimacy for love.

Matt, on the other hand, probably needed some affirmation of his desirability.

He kissed me and I made a soft sound of pleasure.

He tilted his head to seal our lips. His tongue moved in and out of my mouth, and soon he matched that suggestive rhythm with his body.

He groaned when I sucked on his tongue.

I held his hips as he rocked against me. I parted my legs, my dress riding up, so that Matt’s hardness found the soft spot he wanted. We ground together. I did all the little things that drove him crazy. I slipped my hands under his shirt and tweaked his nipples. I raked my nails through his hair, down the back of his neck. I dug my fingers into his tight ass.

“Take it out,” he gasped against my mouth. Always so bossy.

“You take it out.” I licked his jaw.

He fumbled with the knot on his pants. While I sucked on his neck, he guided my hand to his cock. Rock hard. I pumped it a few times, moving the skin over his rigid erection.

He tried to lift my dress, but I pushed away his hands.

“Hannah, please.”

“Not yet.” I leaned back into the couch. “I want to watch you. Let me watch…”

Matt’s sadness was gone, replaced by frustration and confusion. I nudged him off my lap. I couldn’t have moved him if he didn’t want to move, but he yielded. Maybe he felt guilty about all the lies. Maybe he was too horny to complain.

“On the floor,” I whispered. I watched him with wide eyes. Would he go along with my idle fantasy? Matt loved to see me desperate for him; I loved to see him desperate for me. We weren’t so different in our desires.

Matt hesitated, glaring at me. I fluttered my eyelashes. Please?

“Fine,” he said. He slid off the couch and knelt on the floor, his cock in his hand. My breath quickened as I looked at him. Perfect. Matt hadn’t even taken off his pants. His hair still smelled like shampoo. He looked disheveled and delicious, a fantasy incarnate.

He stared at me as he jerked off. Sometimes his eyes strayed over my body—my legs in nylons, heels on my feet—and sometimes he glanced down at his cock, but most of the time he held my gaze. He didn’t say much. He was trying to keep it together, I could tell.

He began to pant, his arm and hand moving faster. I licked my lips. If I had Matt’s boldness, I would have told him that this was so erotic for me. This. My lover in his raw need. My * swelled in my tight thong, the sensitive skin tingling.

Matt’s lips parted. He twitched with pleasure.

“Fuck.” He sighed.

Cum oozed from his tip. I listened to the sound of his lust, the sound of him working his own body furiously.

“Don’t cover it,” I said. “I … I want to…” A wave of heat reddened my face. “I want to watch you come. On yourself…”

Matt moaned. He was too lost to pleasure to glower at me now. He stripped off his T-shirt and sprawled on his back. I stood over him, staring down. My jaw dropped. Why was this so hot? I clenched my hands to keep from touching myself.

Matt writhed on the floor. One hand caressed his sac while the other jerked up and down his shaft, twisting from base to head and back.

“God, oh God,” he moaned, and I knew he was going to come. The first thick spurt of cum hit his chest, another spattered along his stomach, and finally it oozed down his cock to his fingers. He hissed and cursed and said God, f*ck, f*ck, his eyes closed.

I swayed on my feet.

My thong was soaked.

Matt’s eyes drifted open. He relaxed against the hardwood, his chest heaving.

“How wet,” he asked between ragged breaths, “are you—after that, Hannah? Are you happy?”

I touched my cheek. I felt feverish with arousal.

“Get down here,” he snarled. “Get out of your clothes. Come ride my face.”