“Oh... Oh, my...” she breathed, and Matt felt himself growing hard at the sound.
His fingers moved steadily up her inner thigh, beginning to become more insistent with their movements, increasing the pressure with each passing second. “And of course, caressing...” he whispered before starting to trail little circles with his tongue in the sensitive hollow just below her ear.
“And kissing...” she gasped. “You forgot kissing...”
He hadn’t forgotten kissing. It was the first thing he’d said, but he was pretty sure he knew what she needed. Hell, what he needed. Smiling to himself, he raised his mouth and pressed his lips against hers with a firm yet gentle touch.
The moment their lips touched, Amy moaned as she reached up and grabbed his forearm, digging her nails into his skin, causing an all-consuming need to overtake him. She opened to him, and as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, he kissed her roughly, insistently, desire crashing through him with an intensity he was not prepared for.
Matt felt himself swelling harder and harder by the second, his erection straining against his pants. He felt like he was a teenager again, that the danger of coming in his pants was an actual legitimate possibility.
He moved his hands up over her hips to her waist. With one arm, he encircled her, pulling her closer to him. He never wanted to let her go. With the hand that was still at her waist, he closed his fingers around her, slipping them just under the hem of her blouse and making contact with her hot skin. The contact sent a jolt through him and he groaned, intensifying the movement of his mouth and tongue even further.
Damn. If this is how good foreplay was with Amy, how amazing was sex going to be?
--- ~ ---
Amy tried to process how amazing the sensations that were flooding her every nerve ending at that very moment felt. Whoa. She wanted to go into phase two with the goal of having a “satisfying” sexual encounter. This was so far beyond “satisfying” that it barely even existed in the same universe as "satisfying." And they hadn't even taken their clothes off yet.
She reveled in the feeling of Matt's tongue inside her mouth, loving the way that the interplay of their tongues seemed to be connected to every little intimate part of her body. Every time Matt pressed his tongue inside her mouth more intensely or twirled it around her own, she felt a jolt in her nipples or deep inside her core.
Her hands rose, as if of their own accord, and she threaded her fingers through his hair. It felt thick and lush underneath her touch, and she never wanted to disentangle herself. In fact, she thought that she could be quite satisfied if she spent the rest of her life here on this couch, kissing Matt, stroking his hair, and feeling him touch her.
Even as she had that thought, she could feel Matt's hand moving back down between her legs. As his fingers spread, kneading her inner thigh, she felt her center heating up, aching with intense need as his hand drew ever closer.
“Oh, Matt…that feels…so good,” she whimpered.
“Open your legs just a little bit more for me,” he rasped into her ear.
Amy did as he asked and spread her legs farther apart. She watched as Matt moved his fingers up her jean-clad thigh even closer to the very center of her desire. With his mouth, he moved down her neck, kissing, licking, and sucking his erotic path. She felt her nipples hardening excruciatingly beneath the soft cotton of her bra as his hot and open mouth drew nearer to them. His hands and mouth were causing a fevered need to build inside of her, but he still hadn’t touched her at her core where she wanted his hand to be. She wanted his hand to be touching her center more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.
At that mental image, without even realizing she was doing it, a soft, needy moan escaped her as she thrust her hips forward. This instinctual move inadvertently pressed her center directly into Matt's hand, where it had been so busily and so pleasurably caressing her inner thigh. He adjusted to this change in the choreography seamlessly and fluidly, angling his hand so that his fingers were rubbing her pleasure button in small circles, varying the speed and intensity in which they moved. Oh, lord. She had learned about techniques like this in her research. Now she was finding out that they did, indeed, feel every bit as good as her interview subjects had said they did, even through the added barrier of her jeans.
As if they had a mind of their own, her hips began slowly rocking back and forth against Matt's hand. The delicious friction caused desire to build within her like a slow-burning fire gaining momentum. Flutters of pure ecstasy skittered through her abdomen, and the energy that was building up within her made it so that she could hardly sit still. All of a sudden, she found that her entire body—legs, torso, arms, and mouth—was filled with a hot, pulsing rush of pleasure. Matt’s muscles tightened beneath his shirt as she grasped at his shoulders, her hips rubbing up against him at an ever-increasing speed.
She felt an overwhelming need to get closer, closer, closer. She felt, in fact, that it might not even be possible to get as close as she needed to. The need that was gnawing inside of her felt insatiable, unable to ever be satisfied, but she was compelled to try to fill it anyway. She needed to get close to Matt in any way she could—physically, spiritually, emotionally. She just needed to get closer.
“I’m right here. I’ve got you.” Matt’s deep voice vibrated against her ear, causing white bursts of pleasure to spiral through her.
Amy couldn’t think. She couldn’t talk. All she could do was feel. She was so lost in the sensations Matt's expert touch was causing in her that she had actually lost touch with the conscious part of her mind, the part that regulated movement and speech. She was operating entirely on instinct now. And she loved it.
Amy had never been this lost in passion before in her life. She had never been this wildly divorced from control in reality. She couldn't believe how much that fact did not scare her in the least. Maybe it was because she felt so safe with Matt, or maybe it was because the sensations that were overtaking her were so powerful they overrode her brain. Whatever the reason, she was absolutely in love with the way that she was feeling right now. She never wanted to come back down to earth.
Digging her fingers into Matt's shoulders, she twisted, trying to get closer to him. In one quick movement, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her on top of his lap so she was straddling him. Not losing a beat, he continued to kiss her. He also made the transition completely smoothly, never letting his fingers lose contact with her center, where he was still applying that heavenly circular pressure she never wanted to stop.
She felt Matt's free hand sliding its way up her torso underneath her shirt and stopping only when he was cupping her breasts, still covered by the soft cotton of her bra, with his strong fingers. Although only moments ago she would not have thought it possible, the pressure of his fingers against her nipple sent her to even new heights of ecstasy. She moaned, unable to even comprehend the pleasure that was flooding her body at that moment.
Then, without warning, she felt pressure of an entirely different sort build deep in her belly. She couldn't believe it. She was really going to have an orgasm. Right here, right now—on her couch—with Matt. Although she knew that, for some people, this was a fairly regular occurrence, for her it was mind-blowingly significant. Monumental, even. So unbelievable, in fact, that she wasn't even really certain it was truly going to happen until she felt the overwhelming sensation start to emanate out from her pleasure button, up through her torso, and out to her extremities. She cried out in overwhelming passion, her entire body spasming with the sheer power of the dizzying explosion of feeling that rocketed through her.
Matt kept his fingers moving steadily, both at her center and at her breast, and guided her gently but firmly through the orgasm and back down to earth after it.
She collapsed against his chest, loving the feel of his solidness against her. Spent and panting, her head still spinning, she whispered, “I think I love phase two.”
Matt laughed. “Oh, baby,” he s
aid affectionately, stroking her hair. “That was nothing compared to how good it's going to be later. We didn't even get our clothes off tonight.”
As she pushed up so she was sitting face to face with him, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean? We can still—”
Matt threaded his hand in her hair, and even the tips of his fingers rubbing her scalp sent tingles through her entire body. His chest was rising and falling rapidly with every labored breath. “Not tonight. That’s part of the fun. The build-up. You don’t want to rush it. I promise,” Matt said as he sweetly pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Oh, okay,” Amy breathed reverently. She wasn’t so sure about that, but since she’d just had the most amazing orgasm of her life, she wasn’t going to argue.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Matt walked through the door to the teachers’ lounge, his bag from the Taco Truck in hand. He had stopped by Amy's classroom at the beginning of their lunch period, but she was nowhere in sight. He had looked for her in the greenhouse, but again, she was not there. If she wasn't in the teachers’ lounge, he had no idea where else to look.
He scanned the room hopefully and grinned when his eyes alighted on her lovely face. There was an open seat at her table, so he walked over and sat down next to her. Although he could tell from her body language that she was acutely aware of his presence, she merely glanced at him distantly and greeted him with a professional sounding, "Hello, Mr. Kellan.”
He grinned at Amy’s all-business tone and replied huskily, “Hello, Ms. Maguire.”
Her eyes widened at the intimate, flirty tone in his voice, and she gave a slight shake of her head when he did not moderate his facial expression appropriately. She eyed the other teachers at the table significantly, ending her quick visual survey by looking directly into his eyes, clearly trying to convey the message that she did not want to engage in any—possibly unprofessional—flirting behavior in front of their colleagues.
Well, he thought with a smile, he would give it his best shot, but honestly he wasn’t sure he could rein it in. He couldn’t get the sounds of her coming out of his mind. The look on her face. The way her body had rocked against him. He definitely did not want to embarrass Amy or be unprofessional, so he would try and ignore his body’s visceral reaction to her. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
He attempted to immerse himself in the rather vehement conversation that was going on between Art Gardine and Autumn Canela about the place of the artist in society. It wouldn't be fair to call it a debate, since the two were firmly on the same side of the argument, which was that artists—particularly activist artists—were unsung heroes, arbiters of public conscience, and guardians of culture.
Matt was fascinated by hearing the two of them express themselves so passionately and so articulately. Honestly, up until that point, he had thought them both so eccentric that he was actually surprised to hear them making such coherent arguments.
He realized that he had become distracted when he heard Mrs. Coolidge strike up a conversation with Amy. Oh, Mrs. Coolidge. He knew that she generally liked to talk about her curmudgeonly views on the downfall of "young people today."
He turned his head and tuned in to the new conversation.
"... And then I told him—straight to his face, I told him—I'm not coming in here to do any more of those Student Service Days. It's not on my contract hours, and I'm not gonna do it. I know all of you young people might think differently, but I've been around the block a few more times, and I've learned a thing or two."
"Well," Matt injected, trying to bring a positive spin to things, "one nice thing about Student Service Day is that you get a chance to interact with other staff members you might not normally get much of a chance to hang out with." He gave Amy a warm smile and a small wink. "I know that Ms. Maguire and I had a great time that day. Didn't we?"
Amy's eyes widened, and she quickly turned her face away, cheeks blazing. Damn. She looked so cute. He loved seeing that flush rise up her cheeks. He thought that “embarrassed Amy” might just be his favorite version of her. Oh, who was he kidding? He had fifty favorite versions of her. But “embarrassed Amy” was at the top of the list.
Rather than answering his question, Amy simply made a few noncommittal noises, but Mrs. Coolidge was too wrapped up in her topic to even notice.
"Well, like I said, you young people may have a different perspective on things than I do at my age. Different things seem enjoyable to you when you're young. It seems like all I ever want to do anymore is take a hot bath, read a good book, and go to bed. That's my idea of fun."
"Oh I don't know," Matt replied with a wicked smile aimed at Amy, hoping to get one more blush out of her. "A hot bath and a trip to bed sounds like it would be pretty fun to me."
Amy kept her face placid but kicked him hard underneath the table. He grinned wider. This was actually kind of fun.
--- ~ ---
Amy desperately tried to brainstorm ways to extricate herself from this situation. She was a very private person, which was exactly the reason she had not wanted to go to a restaurant in Hope Falls when she and Matt had gone on their pseudo-date. She didn't want people to know that there was anything going on between them. People were generally clear cut in their ideas of the relationships of others—black and white. Together or not together. She doubted that people would be able to wrap their minds around the shades of gray that characterized her relationship with Matt.
First of all, she could never explain the experiment—or heaven forbid, phase two—to anyone at this table. They would never understand—and she would forever be humiliated. Plus, it was none of their business.
Which was precisely why she could not believe that Matt was actually sitting at the table and flirting with her as if they were some sort of couple and it were acceptable for their colleagues to know about it. It was most emphatically not.
The worst part about it was that he did not seem to understand that this was serious to her. Judging from his facial expression and tone of voice, he definitely thought that this was a joke. He was teasing. And since she was not in a position to be able to set him straight right now, she found herself in the very awkward circumstance of being trapped at the table, because if she tried to escape, she ran the risk of that action being the catalyst that caused Matt to say something in front of the others that could never be taken back.
Dang it.
The worst part about all of this flirting was that, well...deep down, she was actually enjoying it. She knew it was dangerous. She knew that it could possibly get tongues wagging. She knew that it might set off a series of events she would not be able to turn back the clock on. However, despite all of that, she couldn't help herself—she liked it. She liked being the center of Matt's attention. She liked that he was going out of his way to get a reaction from her. She just plain liked it.
Besides, she thought to herself, actually causing a blush to rise to her own cheeks, the only tongue I should really be worried about is Matt's.
"Honey, are you feeling okay?" Mrs. Coolidge asked, concerned, pressing the back of her hand to Amy's forehead. "You're looking a little flushed, and I must say, you do feel a little warm.”
Don't look at him, Amy willed herself. Don’t do it!
Still, even though she did not so much as glance in his direction, she could still feel his playful grin. She sensed it. She knew it was there.
Do. Not. Look. At. Him.
Losing her inner battle, Amy failed almost immediately in her quest to resist the compulsion to take a quick glance over at Matt, and when her eyes met his, he made her laugh by adopting an exaggeratedly innocent expression as if to say, "Who? Me?"
Oh dear. This whole thing—this whole arrangement—was going to be so much more complicated than Amy had ever anticipated it would be. It wasn't that she hadn't given any thought to what would happen if word about them got out, especially at the beginning of their flirtation. But as she became more and more drawn to him, thoughts about the con
sequences of their actions had drifted farther and farther to the back of her mind. Now those concerns were rising again to the forefront—with a vengeance.
And yet, in spite of it all, there was a part of her—an ever growing part of her, if she were to be honest—that simply wanted to surrender to the flow and play along with his flirting. Consequences be damned. Not worry so much about what people thought. Just let go of all sense of propriety or fear about the future and lose herself in the pure joy of bantering back and forth with the sexy man she was attracted to.
And the idea of that, in turn, lead her to thinking about what it would be like if they could do more than just flirt out in the open. If they could kiss, if they can hold hands, if they could embrace—in short, if they could just be a real couple. The idea made her head spin.
She knew she couldn't go down that road. What was between them was not a burgeoning relationship. What was between them was a simple agreement. And it was amazing— pretty damn spectacular, actually.
If phase two was all of Matt she was ever going to get, then that wasn't half bad, she told herself. In fact, it was a lot better than that. It was fantastic.
Yes, there was no question that phase two was great. The only question was…was phase two enough? As mind-bendingly transcendent as it was—and dammit, it was—could it ever really be enough?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Amy sat on her couch, anxiously fidgeting as she lifted her heavy drapes, pulling them to the side. The chill of the freezing temperatures outside seeped through her double-pane glass windows. Lifting her warm mug of hot chocolate to her mouth, she blew on the surface of the hot liquid to cool it off. Steam from her cocoa wafted through the air, fogging up her window, causing her to not be able to see the street outside. She pulled the sleeve of her robe over her hand and wiped off the glass so she could have an unobstructed view of the beauty of nature in an attempt to calm her frazzled nerves.
Snow Days (The Hope Falls Series) Page 17