Page 170 of Unloved

He freezes, a tender smile tentatively spreading—nervous, worried I’ll take the words back.

“Yeah?” he asks, disbelieving and wanting in a way that pulls at my chest.

“Yeah,” I say to reassure him, voice strong. “And I’m not scared, because it’syou. I was terrified that it would be hard to trust someone again, to be this vulnerable, but…” I bite my lip before the words spill like tipped-over wine. “I think falling in love with you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

It’s his turn to laugh, but his eyes shine, glimmering with tears. A thread of worry worms through my stomach.

“What?”

He shakes his head, stepping toward me. “Nothing. You just… you said something really similar once.”

My brows furrow. “I did?”

“Yeah.” Matt reaches out and takes my waist in his hands. “At the party, back in August?”

“Oh God,” I moan, trying to cover my face with my hands. He nudges them away with his nose. “The one where I sang karaoke in your car like a drunk crazy person.”

He grins broadly. “The one where you called me your celebrity crush—”

“I didn’t—”

“And jumped off the shed into the pool to ‘feel something.’?”

“I—” The words don’t make it out this time. I shake my head as my cheeks heat. “God, that’s so horribly embarrassing—”

“No.” He cuts me off with a quick press of his lips to mine. Then another, much slower and softer. Keeping our foreheads pressed together, he continues. “I jumped with you, and when we were in the water together, you told me that you thought I’d be really easy to love.”

My eyes pull from their locked spot between his pecs, meeting the spring green of his intense gaze. “I did?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I thought about that a lot. Like, every day. It’s the first time anyone has said anything about me being easily loveable.” He tries to joke, but I can see how deeply this affected him and I want to hug my drunken self for being honest.

“Oh,” is all I manage to say, intoxicated by him in this moment.

We kiss, gentle, almost tentative, and it still leaves us both breathless.

“And, if it wasn’t clear, I love you, too,” he says. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time.”

When we get to the hotel room, he presses me into the mattress, and I preen under his ministrations. We undress each other in slow, languid movements.

Every time we’re together now, intimate, it’s comfortable. Matt so completely commands all of my attention he banishes the threat of self-destructive, painful thoughts of before.

He kneels on the hardwood floor, pulling my knees over his broad shoulders as he kisses my thighs, teasing me and avoiding the place that aches for him until I plead breathlessly. I can barely get the words from my lips before his tongue is firm and insistent over my clit.

My orgasms are so heady I barely notice how loud or intenseI become vocally, but it pleases Matt—pulling throaty moans and, “That’s it, princess. Let me hear you,” from his mouth over and over as I turn to liquid in his hands.

He moves over me languidly, mouth shining with my release as he grins and lowers to his forearms. The comforting press of cool metal to my overheated skin ignites me further, hands reaching, twining in his hair.

Beneath the intensity this time, there’s an inherent softness. It’s always been there, in the corner of the room as we explored each other’s bodies. But now, with the weight of sharedI love yous, it seeps into every movement. Every touch.

Matt is so much more than his body, more than sex. But he has always shown love physically—and I can feel it with every press of his skin to mine. Every lingering kiss. The catch in his breath as he slides into me. Our mouths nearly touch, but we don’t kiss, sharing breath—the scent of warm mulled wine heavy in the air as we pant and he pulls another orgasm from me.

His pace is slow, the feel of him dripping like syrup over my skin. I want to feel this way forever, keep him clutched between my thighs, holding still as I chase my own release, riding every wave.

“You feel so good,” I moan, watching as the praise ignites him. “God, Matt—please, baby.Moremoremore,” I slur, head tossing back.

Matt’s hips pick up the pace, the slow intimacy melting into a light frantic energy as he gets closer.

“Come for me.” I say it this time.

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