Page 32 of The One
It’s as if everything else fades, leaving only the intensity of his gaze, pulling me in, making my heart race.
I picture him sliding in beside me on this bed, his body just inches from mine, and I writhe in eager anticipation of his touch. The heat between us is palpable, the air thick with the promise of something more.
Oh, these sheets feel so nice. So soft and cool against my heated skin. The contrast is electric, and I can almost feel his hand, grazing over my arm, sending shivers of electricity through me.
My nipples pucker, sensitive and needy, and I let my hands glide slowly along my body, circling my hardened peaks.
Oh, so good.
But it’s not enough. I want more, need more. His touch, his weight, his warmth, pressing me deeper into the soft coolness of this bed.
The thought alone makes my breath hitch, my chest rising and falling faster. I can’t stop the fluttering ache inside me.
I want him closer, so much closer. My craving for him is consuming me. I ache with want.
So I glide my hands lower and let my fantasy Mateo take care of me.
Hmm…
Pleasantly buzzing from touching myself, though frustrated as usual for not reaching the finish line, I sit up and reach for the bottle of water on the nightstand. Dammit. It’s empty. I forgot to pick up a new one from the kitchen on my way back from the garden.
My throat feels parched. But the kitchen is miles away. Can I even find it again in the dark?
Only one way to find out.
Slipping out of bed, I grab the robe hanging on the back of the door, wrapping it tightly around myself before stepping into the hallway.
It’s eerily quiet. Shadows stretch along the walls, cast by the dim moonlight filtering through the open window at the end of the corridor. I hesitate, trying to remember which way leads to the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, I head toward the grand staircase. The soft carpet muffles my steps, and the only sound is the faint rustle of my robe as I descend, my eyes sweeping the darkened hallway below.
To the right, a faint glow spills from a door left slightly ajar. The kitchen is to the left, I think.
My curiosity sparks. Who else is awake this late at night?
After my little fantasy, of course, I’m hoping it’s Mateo.
I know I should just grab my bottle of water from the kitchen and go back to my room, but the temptation is too strong.
The desire to see him in an unguarded moment burns through me. Will it be him?
Like a stalker, I creep to the right, careful not to make a sound, my heart giving a little jump in my chest as I peer inside the sitting room.
It is him!
Mateo is stretched out on a sleek, low-sitting leather lounge that’s facing away from the door. Still, I can see his head resting on a pillow, eyes closed.
The golden glow of the lamp beside him casts soft shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the slight furrow in his brow. He has an expression of quiet intensity that makes my breath catch.
I love the way his beautiful face catches the light, but it’s not what captures my attention.
It’s the slow, deliberate movement of his hand, peeking in and out of my field of vision in a steady rhythm.
Oh. My. God.
My breath falters again, my pulse stuttering before slamming into a frantic rhythm. My body is aching to move, but still, I stay frozen, unable to look away.
Is he…?
