Page 110 of Unloved

It isn’t what I thought he meant byfeelhim, but it’s perfect.

My fingers swirl over my clit in slow but tight circles. His bicep brushes my nipples through my shirt, and that combined with the feel of his bare skin against mine, so close to where I need him, elicits an embarrassingly needy noise from me.

Embarrassment threatens, but before a single thought can derail my arousal, Matt is in my ear again.

“So beautiful, Ro. Just keep doing what feels good. Just like that, princess. Good girl.”

His praise feels as good as his touch. The noises I’m making only grow as he angles his hand, fingertip pressing at my opening.

I nearly swallow my tongue, and a loud, keening noise—almost a sob—bursts from my lips. I pull my hand away from myself, biting my lip and furrowing my brow as he starts to inch his way into me.

He pauses, and my knuckles go white with their grip on the sheets beside me.

“Breathe, Ro. You can touch, baby,” he says reassuringly, pressing a kiss into my hair.

His fingers feel thick, but I’m embarrassingly wet, clenching around him as he slowly stretches me.

“I need—” It’s embarrassing. Tyler hated this, that I couldn’t justcomelike other girls. That I didn’t feel good enough with just him, hating when I tried to touch myself while we—

Matt stops touching me and I almostdosob this time. My stomach clenches, the heat of the lust coursing through my body mixing with the anxiety of asking for what I want.

But I don’t need to.

His hand finds mine, guiding it back to the swollen wet flesh, moving my fingertips in a light, practiced circle.

“Don’t stop,” he says. “It’s okay to want both at the same time. If that makes you feel good.”

The relief is instantaneous, as is the flood of heat as he moves his finger back to push into me, soft and gentle.

“I want you to feel good, Ro,” he breathes, pressing in and out—once, twice, before adding a second finger that has my other hand gripping his forearm. The need to keep him there and pull him away makes my stomach flip.

He curls his fingers and I jolt, shifting until the solid length of him is pressed into my hip. There’s a heady rush of confidence in knowing he’s just as affected by this, that he wants me just as much.

It’s enough to have me relaxing a little in his grip as he works my body over. He’s an award-winning musician, and I am his instrument, though the sounds he continues to pull from me are anything but musical. Still, I don’t hold back, letting myself fall entirely into him.

The heat grows hotter and hotter in my core, tightening until I can’t hold it back anymore.

“Rosalie,” he moans into my ear, and I shatter with a breathy, “Matt,” to match him, cresting the wave with abandon, knowing he’ll hold me through it. Keep me safe.

It’s quiet, only the huffed sounds of our breathing and the light press of his lips to my neck over and over. My body stays wired, but the energy shifts to panic and embarrassment. I pull abruptly from his arm and almost sprint to the bathroom, shutting the door and sinking against it.

A beat passes, and then, “Rosalie?”

God, will I ever tire of hearing my name from his lips?

“I need a second,” I say, chin tipped to my shoulder. “Actually—um, I have… I have work. I need to get ready.”

“Okay.” I can easily imagine him nodding repeatedly outside the bathroom. “Okay—um, I can go. Unless you need a ride.”

My heart is in my throat. “No, I’m, uh, I’m good.”

Another, longer pause. “Okay. I’ll see you later then, yeah?” I hate the sadness I can hear in his tone, carving lines in my skin like I’m rolling on broken glass.

“Yeah.”

Dr. Tinley calls me to her office Monday morning, which leaves me unable to sleep Sunday night with the anxiety rolling through my system. Dreams about missing the meeting entirely, or even getting fired, plague me all night.

I knock rapidly and peek into her office, the warm ambience always soothing.

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