Matt lifts me to my knees, and I hear each metal tooth of the zipper unlatch. He moves one of my knees between his legs and eases the skirt down, letting it fall somewhere behind him on the bed. Now I’m in just my bra and underwear, practically sitting in his hands. Every instinct in me screams to dart under the covers, make a joke, deflect. But I stay. I sit there and let him peruse my body.
He swallows hard. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he says, voice rough. “I want… everything. But I’m not rushing this. Not with you.”
Everything inside me trips over that last part. Not with you. Like I’m not just some impulse. I’m something he’s choosing to go slow for.
He leans forward, pressing open-lipped kisses along my collarbone, each one leaving sparks racing under my skin. My fingers dig into his hair almost without my permission.
He makes a quiet sound that does very confusing things to my insides.
“Tell me what you like,” he murmurs against my skin. His hands glide up and down my back in long, soothing strokes. “What feels good. What doesn’t.”
Panic flickers. My brain goes completely blank, like he just asked me to solve a calculus problem in the middle of a hurricane.
“I… I don’t know,” I admit, my voice small. “No one’s ever really asked.”
He stills, pulling back enough to see my face. There’s no judgment there. Just a kind of quiet fury I know isn’t aimed at me.
“He never asked?” Matt says, and I don’t need him to clarify who he means.
“No.” I try to laugh it off, but it comes out thin. “He had… rules. About what he liked. What he didn’t. And we only had sex once. I don’t truly know what I like.”
The admission makes me feel naked in a way the lack of clothes doesn’t. But Matt doesn’t flinch, just smooths his thumb over my lower lip.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Then we’ll figure it out together. At your pace.”
My chest squeezes so tight I almost can’t inhale. “What if there’s nothing to figure out?” I whisper, voicing the stupid fear that’s sat in my gut for years. “What if I’m broken? What if all this hype about how amazing it is and I’m just… a tomboy that doesn’t work right?”
My eyes burn suddenly. Damn it. I did not schedule tears for tonight.
He notices—of course he does. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Wedon’t have to do anything more than kiss. Hell, we don’t even have to do that. You just say the word.”
“And what if I don’t want to stop?” I ask, my voice shaking even as my hands grip his shoulders like I’d gladly anchor myself to him and never move.
His gaze darkens. “Then we go slow,” he says. “And you tell me what feels good as we go. I promise I’ll cherish every inch of your skin. Show you the intimacy you deserve. We don’t have to get it all perfect tonight. This isn’t a test. There’s no scoreboard.”
No scoreboard. No grading. Just… learning.
I let the idea sink in, surprising myself with how much calmer it makes me.
“But you said this is a one-time thing.”
“I lied to myself. Not now.”
“Okay,” I say, breathing him in. “How do we… start?”
He smiles then, small but real, and it does something ridiculous to my insides. “We already did,” he says, kissing me again, softer this time.
He leans us backward, shifts us gently, rolling so I’m on my back and he’s beside me instead of on top, one arm tucked under my shoulders, the other spread across my stomach like he’s anchoring me there. It’s protective, not trapping. He could move away in a heartbeat, but I could too.
Tattoos cover one side of his upper body, and for some reason, it revs my engine, faster thanHolly’s.I’m completely lost in all things Matt Stricker.
Matt takes his time kissing me, and it feels like he’s writing a song on my lips. I don’t know if it’s so I don’t forget or so he won’t.
Believe me. I won’t forget.
My fingers trace the patterns of his tattoos as I soak in every new feeling. His hand wanders along my hip, the side of my thigh, the dip at my waist. Every pass leaves a burning sensation behind.
Not frantic, not rushed.
