Page 73 of Miss Matched

His mouth moves to my neck, his stubble scratching against my sensitive skin as he bites down into the flesh at the base of my throat.

“You’re mine,” he says on a thrust, sinking his teeth into me once more.

The pain mixes with the pleasure in a blur of ecstasy.

“This pussy”—he sinks harder—“this gorgeous body”—another thrust—“your beautiful fucking mind.” He drives in so hard I scream his name.

“Say it,” he says.

My body arches with him. “I’m yours,” I tell him. And I know it’s true down to my core. Even if it’s wrong or messy or terrifying. I’m his.

His lips stamp my mouth, swallowing my scream as I come for him again. He’s right behind me, dick throbbing as my aching walls squeeze. It isn’t until every spasm abates that he stills, our bodies pressed together and slick with sweat.

Even with him still inside me, he already feels too far away. Like I can’t keep him close enough. Like sand slipping between my fingers, blowing away in the wind.

I need more.

And more.

And more.

Zac releases my hands, and I wrap them around his back. He plants a tender kiss on my cheek, sprinkling more along my jaw and down my neck to where I’m sure there is a mark from his teeth.

Sounds are still muffled, and my vision swims with bright light as I come down from a high so far up I didn’t think it was possible.

I push my hair from my eyes, and his bright green stare locks on me.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says, and I can’t help but smile.

“Disheveled and fucked?”

“Fucked by me.” He’s serious. He lowers his mouth over mine with a kiss as he finally pulls out.

Wetness slides down my leg.

“Speaking of fucked,” he says against my mouth. “We forgot a condom.”

I’ve never been so wrapped up in a man that I’ve been this reckless. Physically, emotionally, I’m in a full tailspin.

“I’m on the pill,” I tell him, trying not to panic. “And it’s been a while.” I’m embarrassed to have to admit that, but just because I don’t believe in long term relationships doesn’t mean I spend all my time sleeping around.

“I get tested regularly, and I never forget to wrap it up.” He looks down between us. “Well, until now, I guess.”

Of all the lines we’ve crossed, this one shatters the last wall. No barriers. No holding back. It should scare me, but I crave the closeness.

“Okay then,” I say, burying my face in his neck.

He turns his cheek and kisses me on the temple. “Okay then,” he repeats.

Zac gets up and heads to the bathroom for a towel. I try to take it from him when he returns, but he insists on cleaning me himself, carefully wiping the warm fabric between my legs and then tucking me into the sheets.

It reminds me that it isn’t the sex that worries me—it’s the before and after. The helping me into bed, the climbing in beside me, the holding me until our breaths are even and we’re on the brink of falling asleep. The safety of his arms. The intimacy.

The quiet.

As I drift off to sleep, I know I’m no longer scared of the falling. It’s the hitting the ground that’s going to hurt.

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