Page 31 of Hostile Love
The soles of my bare feet anchor in position, steadying myself as I inhale him deep into my lungs.
I could swear a Colombian rainstorm is battering the roof over our heads if I wasn’t certain, it was the whoosh of fiery blood pumping faster in my skull.
He loves me.
“I’ll never hate you, Mat,” I confess, the words sounding breathy and rushed.
The rumble of his throaty chuckle rolls like thunder.
“I know…and I also know I could fuck you against this wall and you’d be wetter than ever for me. Isn’t that right,Daniela?” His chestnut eyes search mine. “But I’ve done all that. Been there before. Played the game. Fucked the horny girls in their fathers’ mansions knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere.”
Silence creeps around us as he considers the vulnerable position I’m in.
“But that’s not who I am. I thought you saw through the mask I’ve worn all these years. Turns out you’re just like everyone else. You only see what's on the surface.”
Matheus sighs and releases me, putting a safe measure of space between his naked body and mine.
“I was wrong…about everything…including you,” he says.
“Maybe we were both wrong,” I counter.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you going?” I snatch his wrist as he goes to leave. “You’ve been drinking, and you’ve got no clothes on.”
The atmosphere changes. It crackles, the thickness of it uncertain.
All I can feel is this man's eyes all over my breasts—hot and hungry. I swallow down the flutters in my throat and stare up at him in a hushed standoff, still linked to him by my own doing.
“Get your hand off me, Dani,” he mutters.
“Or what?” I taunt. “You’ll shoot an unarmed woman with your big gun.”
I can’t help myself. I’m stopping the guy from leaving and pushing him for a reaction at the same time.
It’s like I need Matheus to fight with me, so I’d have another reason to be angry with him. To make it easier when I watch him go.
Or maybe I’m just weak.
“I’ll get clothes from somewhere. No big deal. Now get your hand off me,” he repeats, his voice strained.
“You’ve been drinking, which means you can’t ride your motorcycle, Mat.”
He swings me into his chest, bumping me tight against him. The collision has me gasping and dizzy.
Warmth blooms between my thighs, the scorching heat of it raising my temperature.
“You don’t have permission to touch me. We aren’t a thing anymore,” he says quietly.
Leaning back a little, he runs the end of his gun over my left breast. The sensation of cold steel combined with the hot lust burning in his eyes kicks off a treacherous shiver.
Our gazes fuse, his fiery and unreadable, while mine’s hurt and conflicted.
“So, either remove your hand or do something about the hard dick you’ve given me.”
Straight white teeth sink into the corner of his bottom lip. The result, a deviant smile.
“Wouldn’t youhatethat, little firecracker?” he mocks, the words dripping with sarcasm. “My Souza cum all over your beautiful face.”
