He dipped his head, his lips sealing over the damp fabric, sucking with just enough pressure to make me gasp, the wet heat of his mouth bleeding through, teasing the sensitive peak beneath.
I moaned, back arching off the bed, pushing myself harder into him, desperate for more.
“Matty…” My voice was breathy, needy, and I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him there, feeling the soft strands slip between my knuckles.
He switched to the other side, teeth grazing just enough to make me squirm. A sweet ache pulsed between my legs, the soreness from Saturday flaring with every tug of his mouth, a delicious reminder of his fingers buried deep, his tongue lapping at me until I shattered.
He unclasped my bra with a flick of his fingers, tossing it aside carelessly. His mouth was on my bare skin in an instant, tongue swirling around my nipple while his hand kneaded the other, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
“You taste so good,” he muttered in a muffled voice, the vibration of his words against my skin sending shivers down my spine. “Every inch of you is perfect. My good girl, letting me have you like this.”
His words were sweet poison, seeping into my veins, making me ache for more. He lavished attention on my breasts, sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other gently, rolling it until I was writhing, my hips grinding against the air in search of friction, my core throbbing with need. He took his time, alternating between soft licks and sharp nips, his free hand sliding down my side, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my hip, mapping me like he wanted to remember every contour.
I’d been obsessed with him for so long. I’d built entire worlds around him in my head, nights spent replaying glimpses of him, fantasizing about his touch, his voice. And now, he was here, real and solid, his mouth marking me, his hands claiming me.
I wanted to absorb every detail: the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, damp with a hint of sweat; the flex of his shoulders as he moved, muscles bunching under skin; the tattoos inking his arms—an intricate sleeve of symbols and patterns that told stories I wanted to learn with my fingertips, my tongue. I wantedto trace them all, lick along the lines, taste the salt of his skin, feel the raised edges of ink under my lips, commit every swirl and shadow to memory.
“Matty,” I whispered, my hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles shift under my palms, the heat radiating from him like a furnace. My nails scraped lightly down his spine, and he shuddered, a low growl escaping him. “I need to see you. All of you.”
He lifted his head, and his eyes met mine. They were glazed and heavy with lust, his pupils wide enough to swallow the blue. “Anything you want, pretty baby.”
He sat back on his heels, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulders before falling away. His body was a masterpiece, powerful and sculpted, tapering from a strong chest to a narrow waist, defined abs etched from years of training, that deep V-line disappearing into his jeans like an arrow pointing to sin.
I’d seen him shirtless before—out on the field, when he went running and I’d followed him, in those moments when he’d seemed untouchable, a living, breathing fantasy I had no right to want. But this…this was different. There wasn’t a crowd or a camera or distance between us. He was here, right in front of me, skin within reach, real in a way that made my throat ache.
A new bandage clung to his arm, but I barely registered it; I was too caught up in everything else. Another tattoo, a band of geometric patterns, wrapped around his bicep, intersecting with a quote inked in fine script that readRise. Always Rise.
My breath caught.
He was going to see mine.
The same words curved along my ribs in French. They did mean something to me, every word of them…but I’d gotten them from him. From the day I saw that tattoo on his arm duringpractice, the sun hitting his skin just right, the words burning into my brain and never leaving.
I’d needed them after that.
Emotion tangled with desire, tightening my chest. I reached up slowly, almost reverently, my fingers trembling as I touched him. I traced the lines of ink over his pec, following them to the steady rhythm beneath, the pulse that matched mine, wild and human and his.
“You’re so beautiful,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. My voice was small, shy, the kind of confession that made my cheeks burn. “I can’t believe I’m touching you.”
For a split second, mortification fluttered in my chest.
But if he noticed, he didn’t show it.
His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t mock. Instead, something softer flickered there, something that made my stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with how he looked at me…like my words had just undone him.
My fingers followed the ink, dipping into the valleys of his abs, circling a small scar just above his hip, a pale mark from some old injury. I leaned in, pressing a kiss to one tattoo, then another, my tongue darting out to taste him. I licked along the edge of a pattern on his ribs, feeling him tense, his breath hitching. Another kiss to his collarbone, my teeth grazing the skin, and he groaned, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head.
His breath hitched again, and he groaned deeper, his hand covering mine, pressing it harder against his chest.
“You’re killing me, Ophelia. Touch me all you want. I’m yours.”
The words sank into me like a brand, carving their way straight into my heart. I wanted them to be true. WantedI’m yoursto meanyou’re mine…not just for tonight, but always. Thesound of his voice saying it made every fragile, impossible thing inside me ache to believe it.
He leaned down, capturing my mouth in another kiss, his body pressing me back into the mattress, the weight of him delicious, grounding. His hands worked at my jeans, fingers fumbling with the button in his haste, then sliding the zipper down slowly, teasingly, the sound loud in the quiet room. He peeled the denim down my legs, taking my panties with them, the fabric catching briefly on my hips before giving way. I was completely bare beneath him now, the cool air kissing my skin, but his gaze was fire, warming me from the inside out, making me feel exposed and cherished all at once.
Matty paused, sitting back to look at me, his eyes roaming over my body like he was committing it to memory—every curve, every flush, every tremble.
“Fuck, look at you. Spread out for me, so wet and ready. My pretty baby, all mine.”
