She leans forward, placing her mouth right next to my ear, her breath ghosting across my skin as she fists my hair in her grip. “You don’t get to come until I’m done with you. And. I. Am. Not. Done. With. You. Yet.”
She sits back, looking down at me. As if the sight of her above me and feeling her pussy clamped down around me wasn’t torturous enough, she reaches up to twist those damn piercings of hers.
Watching her, as she continues to use my cock like her own personal toy, her soft, full tits bouncing with her every movement. I’m helpless but to hold onto the softness of her hips and pray I can hold out.
“Sweetheart,” I beg, praying for mercy one last time. Desperate for her to stop, to slow down, to make this last. Inresponse, she leans forward, her tits so close I can tug those little pink bars with my teeth, as she destroys the last of my sanity.
“Stop begging and fill me up like you promised. You can do that, can’t you? My good boy.”
Fucking hell.
Hearing her call me that is my absolute ruin. There’s no stopping the way I dive for her breast, sucking one of those tight little nipples into my mouth as I slip my hand between us. It only takes a few firm circles over clit to have Lily joining me on the cliffs edge. Her body shakes as she cries out, pussy gripping me tight and drawing every ounce of cum out of my body.
I’m far from religious, but in this moment, I swear it feels like I’ve found something worth worshipping every single day. Every shiver, every gasp, every inch of her that’s mine, and I can’t get enough. It’s like the world narrows down to just us, just this, and suddenly nothing else matters.
I could spend my whole life trying to map her, touch her, memorise her, and still never get close to how perfect she is. And somehow, knowing that she’s mine, that this—this chaotic, wild, breathtaking thing—is ours… it’s enough to make me believe in something I never thought I would.
I want to protect her, possess her, revere her. I want every part of her, every day, every night, forever. And in this moment, I realise—I would worship her for eternity, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Chapter 40
The morning light pulls me out of sleep. With a yawn and a stretch, I fight through the thick grogginess blanketing me. The softness surrounding me tempts me to sink back into the warmth, to surrender to the sleep still calling my name, but the feeling of something hot and hard pressed against my back jolts me fully awake. Awareness hums through me, sweeping away the last traces of drowsiness.
When I open my eyes, I see the tattooed forearm draped over my waist, the silver watch glinting faintly in the light, and the ring I gave him for his twenty-second birthday. My heart stutters. Matt. I’m in Matt’s arms.
I shift, twisting in his hold, and find him already watching me—lazy smirk, half-lidded eyes, that familiar spark of mischief.The movement causes his hand to slide down to the small of my back, and heat ripples up my spine at the contact.
I don’t hesitate in reaching for him. My fingers trace the line of his chest, feeling the taut muscle under my palm, the steady heat radiating from his skin.
“Morning,” I sigh, but the tremor that slips through it betrays me.
His thumb draws idle circles against my skin, the kind of touch that I used to dream about wondering if we’d ever cross the clearly drawn line between us. But beneath it, there’s a hesitation, a stillness that doesn’t belong to him.
“Hey,” he says softly, his smirk faltering for just a heartbeat. The word lands somewhere between affection and apology.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The air between us feels fragile, stretched thin with everything we said last night, and everything we didn’t.
I should say something. Ask what this means, what happens now. But the weight of it all presses down on my tongue. Instead, I trace the edge of his tattoo—the skull encased in a four-leaf clover that marks him as a member of the Four Points—pretending my heart isn’t racing for a reason that has nothing to do with desire.
His fingers still against my skin, like he’s gathering courage.
“We should probably talk,” he murmurs. His voice is rough with sleep, but there’s a caution in it too, a gentleness that makes my chest tighten.
I let out a small, breathless laugh that sounds nothing like amusement. “That sounds dangerous.”
He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It usually is, with us.”
The truth of that hangs between us, heavy and familiar. I feel it in the way his arm tightens just slightly around me, as if he’s afraid that letting go means admitting this can’t last.
I shift onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, needing the space even though part of me aches at the loss of his warmth. “Last night was…” My throat closes around the words. I don’t even know what to call it. Too much? Not enough? Everything I wanted and everything I shouldn’t have?
He exhales slowly, eyes tracing my profile. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It was.”
Silence fills the room again, thick and fragile. I can hear the city outside—the buzz of traffic, a distant siren—but here, in this room, it feels like the world’s holding its breath.
“I don’t regret it,” I say finally, turning to face him. My voice is steadier than I expected. “But I don’t know what happens now. Nothing’s changed, not really. Sure, you’re no longer engaged, but I’m still public enemy number one. Ciaran would have a fit if he knew.”
Matt’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his eyes. “Neither do I. But what I do know is that none of that shit matters to me, Lil’. The only thing I care about is making this work, showing you I mean it when I say I’m not letting you go.”
