7
ICLOSE MY EYES and get lost in the sensation as he brings his hot mouth to the crook of my neck and softly kisses me there. I rake my hands in his messy hair. He smells like coffee again — I love his scent.
When his hand finds its way under my sweater and cups my bare breast, my core melts, and my sex throbs. I want him inside me, but he’s slow tonight, taking his time, savoring me. Make-up sex is always like this. Sometimes I wonder if I cause fights because I love this so much. I love it soft and slow occasionally, even if we’re just friends. I crave that closeness.
I dig into his pants and wrap my hand around him. He lets out a moan. I love the sound of me bringing him pleasure.
He completely takes me by surprise when he grabs my ass again and flips me over on the sofa. He pulls the band of my sweats and panties roughly over my hips and knees. “I hate that fucking guy. I want to bash his head in.”
I sneak a peek at him as he rips off my sweats. His eyes are dark again.
He travels back up and bites my shoulder. “I want to meet this guy.”
I’m hot under his weight. My sweater is smothering me. I want him to tear it off. “No, you don’t.”
“I’d love to give him a piece of my mind,” he mutters against my clammy skin, and as if he can read my thoughts, pulls the knitted fabric of my sweater over my head. My breasts are exposed and begging to be touched. He wraps his warm mouth around one, and I melt into him.
I slide the palm of my hand against the soft hot skin of his torso, and pull up the fabric. A second later, he rips off his shirt. He’s shirtless and glorious, and shoots me a wink, fully knowing what effect he has on me.
“Matt Moore doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he says. “He has no clue how amazing you are.”
“Enough about him,” I say. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I just want to focus on Oscar and I, and this moment. This blissful moment.
I push him off me, and reach into the table next to the sofa where I keep condoms. I keep them here, my bedside table, and in the washroom cabinet because sometimes, we like to fuck on the toilet or in the shower, and once, on the bathroom vanity.
I turn away from him, and get on my knees. I need to get off tonight, and doggy-style always does the trick. He strokes my ass softly, and trails a finger up the length of my spine, until he reaches my nape, and grabs a handful of my hair and pulls lightly. I reach for him and guide him into me… he’s not moving fast enough.
He grabs the flesh of my hips hard when he finally sinks into me, and gives me what I’ve craved. I close my eyes and sink into the pleasure of it, and forget all about Matt Moore.
* * *
It’s a perfect moment.A hot cup of tea sits next to me. Mitzy and I are wrapped up in a cozy throw, and I have the latest Nora Roberts book on my lap, an old-fashioned hardcover.
And then, my mom calls.
The woman has the worst timing.
I can’t hide the dash of annoyance in my voice. “Hello, Mom.”
“Hi, darling,” she says. “I hope I’m not bugging you.”
I stare up at the ceiling. “No, not at all.”
“So, I’m calling about…” She hesitates, and I know she’s about to say something she doesn’t want to say. I instantly worry. Is it the wedding? Is it her health? Is it Sarah?
“I want you to listen with an open mind,” she goes on. “I know this will probably make you angry.”
I exhale a long breath. Meditation comes in handy when it comes to dealing with my mother. “What is it, Mom?”
“Well… Matt called me,” she finally tells me. “He wanted your number.”
My heart goes from zero to sixty. “What? Why?”
“I didn’t give it to him of course,” she’s quick to say. “He said he really wanted to speak with you, but knowing your history, I told him that I couldn’t give out your number.”
“Thank you.” Turns out, my mother is not as ditzy as I thought.
“But I did agree to give you his number when he practically begged.”
