He closes his eyes like the sound of his name hurts him.
“I can’t want you like this, I’m supposed to protect you. You’ll hate me for the mess I’m dragging you into.”
I touch his jaw, the stubble rough under my fingertips. “I could never hate you.”
His eyes open, and what stares back at me is emerald, darkened with heat and something dangerously close to longing. “I’m not a good man, sweetheart.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
Something in him snaps. I see it in the way his shoulders stiffen, in the way his eyes narrow, sharp with hunger. Feel it in the way his hands tighten on my hips.
“You should tell me to stop,” he repeats, low and dangerous.
“I don’t want to.”
“Fuck it,” he swears, shoving the chair back from the desk, dragging me against him until I can feel every hard inch of him beneath my body, pressed impossibly close. Closer than I ever dared dream we’d be.
Then his mouth is on mine—hungry and claiming, all his restraint shattered in an instant.
My hands tangle in his hair, fingers threading through the red strands, pulling him closer, and I bite down on his lower lip, tasting him, swallowing his groan like it belongs to me.
One arm crushes me to his chest, the other sliding under my hoodie, hot palm skimming up my back until his thumb grazes the side of my breast. I gasp, arching into him, and he breaks from my mouth to press his lips to my throat, biting just enough to make me shiver.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, it hurts, Lil’.” His voice is ragged against my skin. His hands fisting in the fabric at my hips before he lifts me, sliding his hands under my ass. Instinctively, mylegs wrap around his waist, hands buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine, kissing him like I’m drowning and he’s the only air I’ll ever get.
When he lays me down on his bed, he just stares for a beat—hair messy, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild, consuming me with every glance. I can feel the heat radiating off him, tension coiled tight in his shoulders, like at any moment he might snap.
“You have no idea how bad I want to ruin you.” The way he says it—like a warning, like a promise—makes my pulse hammer in my throat.
“And you have no idea how much I want you to,” I confess, reaching up to pull him closer.
That’s all it takes and with a curse, he’s on me again, hands under my shorts, dragging them down, his mouth hot and hungry against mine. His earlier hesitation is gone, and all that’s left is the man who can’t stop touching me, can’t stop wanting me, no matter how wrong it is.
His mouth drags over my jaw, down the line of my throat, leaving heat and bruises in his wake. Every place he touches feels claimed, branded. So wholly his, I know there’s no going back from this.
“Matty—” It’s half a gasp, half a plea, but I’m not sure which of us it’s for.
“Tell me to stop,” he pleads one last time, though his hands are already skimming up my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. He sounds like a man trying to give himself an out, but the way his voice shakes… he doesn’t want one and neither do I.
“I don’t want you to stop.” I shake my head, digging my nails into his neck to keep him exactly where I need him. The last thread of his control snaps so clearly I almost hear it.
He pushes my hoodie up and over my head, tossing it aside without looking where it lands, his eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing. His palms cup my breasts, fingers kneading through lace, thumbs circling until I’m begging for more.
“God, Lily…” His head drops to my chest, mouth closing over the swell of one breast through the fabric, sucking until I cry out. “You’re… perfect.”
Then he’s kissing me again, deep and consuming, the kind of kiss that makes me forget my own name. His free hand slides between my thighs, and when his fingers finally touch me where I need him most, I gasp into his mouth.
“Fuck, you’re soaked for me,” he growls, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around my clit that make my hips jerk. “You’ve been thinking about this, about me. Like a naughty, needy, little thing. Haven't you?”
“Yes,” I breathe, and he curses again, low and filthy, like my confession breaks something in him.
“You’re going to regret this. You’re going to hate me, Lil’—and that’s going to destroy me—but I can’t stop when you beg for me so prettily.”
“Impossible.” My voice trembles, but the certainty in it is bone-deep. “I told you… nothing could ever make me hate you. You’re my Matty.”
For a heartbeat, he goes utterly still, like the words hit somewhere tender, somewhere he never lets anyone reach. I almost laugh at how true it is—how ridiculous and terrifying and inevitable—but the sound dies in my throat as he moves.
He hooks his hands beneath my thighs and yanks me closer with desperate, hungry strength, sitting back on his haunches as he does so. The movement pulls me with him, and suddenlyI’m straddling his lap, hovering over him while his body braces mine. A broken moan slips out of me as my body collides with his, my pussy pressing against his thick cock beneath his sweats. Only two thin pieces of fabric keep me from feeling all of him—hot, hard, unmistakably there.
