Page 109 of Unloved

His voice is gruff, arms trapping me around the waist as I grind down. I’m panting, chest heaving as I grip his shoulders for leverage.

“That’s it, Rosalie.”

The sound of my full name rolling from his lips has me jolting, rocking higher and higher, almost cresting that mysterious, elusive wave. My stomach hollows out, an edge of fear as I—

“Rosalie—”

My eyes whip open, sweat beading on my brow. That sounded like—

Oh my God.

Matt Fredderic.

Matt Fredderic in my tiny twin bed, pressed entirely against my back while I’m writhing and have my hand—I look down briefly—in my pajama pants.

The embarrassment shoots through my body so swiftly I feel like I might pass out from the intensity of the shame. That, or cry, eyes welling a little as I stay completely frozen, facing the wall of my room.

I’d taken that side at his insistence after asking him to stay with me for the night. I felt too raw to be alone, and Matt was worried I would fall out of the too-small bed attempting to fit both of our long-limbed bodies.

“Ro?” Matt asks again, chin resting lightly on the curve of my shoulder, breathing into my neck—which very much doesnothelp my current predicament.

“I— I’m—”

Nothing. I have no words, just a lump in my throat, my skin hot with mortification. Shame rolls through my gut like lava.

“Rosalie,” he breathes, his hand coming up to my waist, shifting my hips. The angle thrusts me against my hand, and I nearly cry out.

Instead, only a muffled whimper crawls from my tight-lipped mouth.

“I need—”

Matt’s hand lands on top of mine, over my soft, thin pajama pants, working like an ice-water-level shock to my overheated system, or a gallon jug of gasoline and a lit match with how quickly my need and desperation notch up to an insurmountable level.

“Easy, princess,” he says, voice stern, but with a morning scratchiness that has my toes curling. “Do you want me to help you?”

I want him to doanythingto me.

“Yes, please,” I breathe.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the skin below my ear. “So polite,” he praises. “Such a good girl.”

“Freddy—”

“No,” he says roughly. “Call me Matt. Please.”

Matt’s hand flattens, firmly pressing my own hand to my sex. The pressure makes me gasp and thrust my hips forward a little desperately.

“Can you come like this?” he asks, not even a trace of teasing in his tone. Just a soft, genuine question. “I want to know what feels good for you, princess.”

“It all feels good,” I say, so shakily I’m worried it might’ve been gibberish. “Please.”

“Move your fingers,” he commands, though his voice stays even. “Do you want to feel me?”

“Please.Please.”

I’m not sure if I’ve nodded, or if my vision has gone hazy. But he directs my body to lie more on my back, one of his arms still beneath my neck.

Matt’s fingers trail back up my stomach and under the waistband of my pants, feather-light touch slipping over my overly sensitive skin until the warmth of his hand meets mine.

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