They were from fuckingrelief.
“Good girl,” Matty murmured, kissing the corner of my mouth again. “Such a good girl for me. Say it back.”
“I’m your good girl,” I whispered.
“That’s right.” His smile was fierce and proud, the sort of look you give someone who’s just won a championship. “And I’m proud of you for saying it.”
The praise landed harder than anything I’d ever heard. My limbs went slack against him, breath stuttering, heart hammering so loud it erased every other noise.
He didn’t rush me. He steadied me. His hands moved with purpose, one palm splayed low on my back, anchoring—the other cupping my cheek while his thumb made slow, patient semicircles like a metronome. He smoothed a hand down my spine and pressed me closer until the heat of him was a blanket I could breathe into.
“Breathe with me,” he said softly, counting on his fingers. “In—two—three, out—two—three.”
His chest rose against mine, and his rhythm was calm and solid and, impossibly, contagious. My inhales stuttered, then lengthened to match his until the room stopped tilting and my pulse found a steadier line.
His palm moved from my back up to my shoulder and stroked the slope in slow, steady pulls, fingers splayed like he was erasing the tremor from my skin. When my hands balledin his shirt, he threaded my fingers through his and held them there as if to say I couldn’t get away even if I wanted. The pressure wasn’t tight enough to hurt…it was the right kind of insistence that said you’re safe to fall apart here.
“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice brushing against my ear. I blinked up. The intensity in his eyes was strange. It wasn’t hungry or amused…but reverent, like he was cataloguing something precious. “Say my name,” he ordered.
“Matty,” I breathed obediently, my voice shaking with the weight of my longing.
He smiled, a devastating curve, and tilted my chin with a calloused finger. “Again.”
“Matty.” I said it stronger now, my voice thick with the need to belong to him.
“Say what I call you,” he urged, his tone soft but commanding, coaxing me to claim the truth he saw.
“Your…good girl,” I whispered, the words blooming in my chest, no longer heavy with shame but light with possibility. They felt like a confession, a surrender to the part of me that craved his approval.
“Louder.” His hand cupped the back of my head. “Say it like you mean it, Ophelia.”
“I’m your good girl,” I said louder, the phrase settling in my heart like a piece of me slotting into place. His hum of approval was immediate, a soft vibration that sent a rush of arousal through me, my pussy clenching with need. My emotions swirled—fear that this was too perfect, hope that I could be his forever, and a desperate ache to be enough.
“Fuck, yes, you are,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to mine, our breaths tangling in hot, desperate pants. “My perfect girl. Now sayMrs. Adler.”
“Mrs. Adler,” I breathed, the name a fragile, shimmering dream that pierced my heart. It was a fantasy too beautiful tohold, a pipe dream I’d never dared believe could be real. Saying it out loud in front of him had me aching…aching with the hope that I could be his, truly his, even if it felt like reaching for the moon.
There was so much I was still hiding from him.
But if he could acceptthis…
Maybe he could accept…more.
His mouth crashed into mine, a kiss that was all fire and devotion, his tongue stroking mine with a sensual rhythm that left me dizzy.
His calloused hands roamed my body, tugging my dress over my head with a reverence that made my breath hitch. My bra followed, and my breasts spilled free, nipples tightening under his hungry gaze. He groaned, a primal, desperate sound that sent a fresh wave of wetness between my thighs.
“Fucking hell, Ophelia, these tits are fucking exquisite,” he growled, his voice thick with lust as he cupped them, his rough palms squeezing with a pressure that made me gasp. “So beautiful, giving yourself to me like this. You’re my whole fucking world, pretty baby.”
He lowered his mouth, lips closing around one nipple, sucking with a hard pull that sent pleasure spiking through me. His tongue swirled, teasing the sensitive peak, while his teeth grazed just enough to make me arch into him, a moan spilling from my lips. “So perfect,” he murmured against my skin, his breath a hot caress. “These nipples are so hard for me, aren’t they? My good girl, dripping just from my mouth.”
I moaned, my hands tangling in his hair, my body trembling with the intensity of his touch and the storm of my emotions. I felt worshiped, cherished, but also raw, like he was peeling back every layer of doubt I’d carried.
“Matty,” I whimpered, my voice breaking with need and vulnerability, my heart aching with how much I wanted this, wantedhim.
He moved to my other breast, sucking harder, his hand kneading the one he’d left slick and aching. “Fuck, I’m so obsessed with you,” he growled, his words an obscene prayer that stoked the fire in my core. “You’re such a good girl to let me worship you like this.”
The wordobsessedhit me like a lit match to dry tinder.
