“Come with me,” he whispered in my ear just before delicately nibbling on the lobe, his stubble vaguely scratching against my skin. He continued down my neck, trailing wet, tempting, kisses as he led us toward another room. Between kisses, he breathed me in and a faint moan escaped him, “God, Chloe, have I told you yet how fucking incredible you smell?”
I answered him with my lips against his, my hands lifting up his shirt to untuck it as we stumbled somewhere together. I slipped my fingers underneath the cotton fabric to graze them along the defined muscles of his stomach.
“Have I told you how incredible you feel?” I asked against his neck.
We reached the stairs, and he took my hand, leading me up. As we ascended, the faint smell of new construction flavored the air, growing stronger. When we arrived at the top, he walked me through the darkness, stopping to turn on a small golden desk lamp that casted a shadowy yellow glow into the room.
My eyes briefly explored the space, an attic that had been converted to a bedroom, which appeared to extend the entire length of the small home. Everything was wooden. The floors. The walls. The sloped ceiling.
The craftsmanship was beautiful.
But not as beautiful as the man standing before me.
I inwardly laughed at my own inner-thought, suddenly aware that I read way too much romance, a habit I picked up early on from my sister. Nevertheless, it was true. Every solid-muscled, sexy-faced, kind-spirited part of him was beautiful.
“It’s beautiful up here,” I said. “Did you remodel it?”
“Yeah,” he replied as he led me toward the bed that rested on the far wall in front of two windows. “Just finished a few weeks ago. It took me almost a year to do in between working at the shop and doing security on the side, but it was worth it.”
“You did this yourself?” I asked as I took a look around the room. The wood paneled ceiling sloped down on each side of the bed, giving a cozy feel to an otherwise abundant amount of floor-space. The architecture of the room was truly incredible, but when I felt the heat of his body press against mine, and his hand slip under my shirt, making its way to my breast, the distraction consumed me, our environment becoming a mere afterthought. My lids instinctively closed from the sensation of his thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. His warm, wet lips trailed up my jaw, his hot breath tickling my ear.
Giving in to the invigoration he inspired within me, I let out a soft sigh and whispered, “Is there anything you can’t do?”
He removed his mouth from my neck and looked at me with intensity. I could tell the answer that lingered on his tongue wanted to jump out, but he hesitated. What was he thinking?
“Let’s pretend that there is nothing I can’t do,” he answered. “What would you want from me then? I mean…if I could do anything?”
“Nothing,” I replied honestly. “I don’t want anything from you, Matt. I just want you.”
I could feel his eyes on me. I knew that neither of us were talking anymore, but I couldn’t seem to form words at the moment. My focus landed solely on his mouth. I loved how his teeth were mostly straight but had just enough crooked imperfection to give him a compelling amount of individuality. I loved the shape of his lips too. Not too full, not too thin. And so soft for such a masculine guy. Mix that with the short stubble surrounding them and—dear God, I wanted them on me.
“And your lips,” I confessed. “I’d like to have those, too. On me.”
“Is that so?” he asked, holding back a laugh.
I nodded.
He carefully traced his fingers along my jaw and to my chin. With our height difference, I instinctively found myself on tip-toes, my arms wrapped around his neck. The way he looked at me, completely absorbed in my features, was the best kind of aphrodisiac. My body had already been on high alert, but now, with him taking me in like this, the urge to be close to him, to touch him the way I need to touch him, and be touched that way in return, was stronger than ever.
“Tell me something,” he requested, his voice deep, almost a low growl.
“Okay.”
He traced his fingers along my jaw and gently brushed against my cheek, teasing, “Where…exactly…would you like these lips to be?”
My eyes instinctively closed from the surge that just shot through me as I thought about all the parts of me I wanted his lips to touch, and I couldn’t stop the smile from forming on my face.
This.
This was how it would start.
I released him and backed up to the bed, sitting when my calves touched the mattress.
“Everywhere,” I whispered, leaning back on my elbows and just slightly parting my knees in an invitation for him to join me.
He accepted the invitation by kneeling on the floor in front of me and parting my knees even further. He settled between my legs, his body pressing against my inner thighs, eliciting a slight gasp to cross my lips.
“Chloe?” he asked as he looked at me, eyes screaming with a conflicting mixture of hunger and self-control.
“I know,” I replied, trying my damnedest to keep my heartbeat under control. “We’re taking it slow tonight. Making a memory. Savoring it. It’s okay, Matt. I’ll follow your lead. I want to.”
A slow smile emerged on his face but only for a second before his expression changed to an intensity that I could barely resist.
“Lay back,” he instructed, his voice resolute.
I did as he said and leaned back onto the comfort of his bedspread, closing my eyes. His heated hands moved up the denim on my thighs, feeling every inch, pressing in the most important places, and commencing the union I had been waiting for all night.
He gracefully unbuttoned and removed my jeans and panties together with deliberate ease, pulling the cuffs off the heels of my feet and discarding the clothes to the floor. He took his sweet, heavenly time as his hands and mouth skillfully worked their way back up my bare skin in a series of massages, nips, and kisses that induced tiny goosebumps to prickle all over me. My body continued to react to his touch in glorious ways, my skin now on fire and heart galloping, as I relished in every moment of it.
He took the waistband of my sweatshirt and slowly brought it up, lifting it over my head. Once he unclasped my bra and removed it, he leaned back on his knees, still at the end of the bed, and took in every exposed part of me. With each passing second, his eyes grew darker and more saturated with emotion than I had ever seen before, almost as if he had just unveiled something important. Something meaningful. Something irresistible. I leaned on my elbows to stare back at him.
“Perfect,” he whispered, his eyes exploring my body and landing on my soul. “So fucking perfect.”
The way he gazed at me told me that he wasn’t just talking about my body, although I’m sure that was part of it. I didn’t know what to say because I was far from perfect, and I didn’t understand why he couldn’t seem to see that. I was the most imperfect, dysfunctional person I knew.
I had never had a man react this way to me before. Never had a man give or want so badly to please me like Matt did. No one else ever made me feel so desired on such an intimate, personal level. Men rarely had any concern for how I felt. Never, actually.
“I want you to remember this night, Chloe,” he said with an almost pained expression, as if I could ever forget it—or him.
I sat straight up on the bed, closing the distance between us. Our lips interlocked and moved together in harmony, tongues tenderly meeting, while my exposed body became remarkably sensitive to every last touch.
The cool air in the room contrasting with the heat of his body.
The comforter under me.
His hand on my back.
The fabric of his t-shirt against me. That troublesome, confining, pesky t-shirt.
“Your clothes are in the way,” I breathed, wishing like hell they were off so that I could feel his skin on mine. A whimper escaped me as his tongue arrived at my breast, circling, and sending currents throughout
my body, while my back instinctively arched in response. I wanted to give him the same exquisite feeling he was giving me.
A soft moan that escaped him as he began to kiss his way up to my neck, mumbling, “Fucking clothes.”
I slipped his t-shirt up over his head and stood us both up to unzip and remove his jeans. Once his clothes were off, I let my hand slide down his chest, his stomach, and gently grasped his length, casually stroking and tenderly circling my thumb around the tip, our gaze never once breaking. Closing his eyes and letting his head drop down slightly, he let out a soft moan, momentarily losing control, allowing his body to react to my touch.
A moment later, he regained full control, his voice no longer muted as he let out a primal growl and fisted the hair at the base of my head, squeezing tightly. Before I could react, his lips accosted mine, hungrily capturing the high we both craved, stirring the passion within me, my heart beating stronger and harder than ever.
He pulled away and looked me in the eye, allowing us to catch our breath, and connecting us in a whole new way. I was beginning to love the push and pull between us—the passionate forcefulness followed by a soft tenderness. I couldn’t get enough. His eyes darkened more and more with every passing second, his breathing becoming deeper and heavier the more I continued to caress the most sensitive part of him. “Fuck, Chloe, you’re killing me, here.”
I smiled, “Death by sex? Sounds like a good way to go to me.”
He chuckled softly, “The best way.”
I backed him up to the bed and gently urged him to lay back by leaning into him.
“What are you doing?” he asked softly as he laid back and propped himself up by his elbows, his face stern.
Shit, I was supposed to follow his lead, not take it. Whoops. Still, I wanted to see how far he would let me go.
“Shh, don’t worry,” I replied as I straddled him. “I’ll go slow.”
He grinned. “I don’t think so, Chloe.”
He flipped me over with so much speed and force that I let out a squeal, followed by a few small laughs from the exhilaration of it. With a glimmer in his eyes, his face now hovered only a few inches from mine as he rested on his forearms. His fingers combed the hair from my face, while he pressed small, affectionate kisses on my lips and nose.
“I just want to make you feel good tonight,” he whispered. “Will you let me do that?”
I would let him do anything right now. “Only if you say please.”
What? Did I really just say that? Oh, to bloody hell with my stupid mouth. The correct answer would’ve been ‘yes please,’ not ‘say please.’
Please God, let him say ‘please’ so he can get on with making me feel good.
He looked at me, perplexed for a moment just before he buried his face in the crook of my neck and let out a chuckle. When he lifted his face back up to look at me, he was still smiling.
“You’re such a damn smart-ass, you know that?”
“You like it?” I meant for it to be a statement, but it came out as a desperate question that brimmed with hope.
His grin widened, “Yeah, Pink. I like it.”
He reached over to the nightstand drawer and pulled out a condom, taking only a moment to roll it on. When he finally guided himself into me, my eyes helplessly closed from the intense, long-awaited sensation that flowed to every last piece of me, relaxing me completely.
I let out a sigh, “You feel incredible, Matt.”
His movements were slow and deliberate as he continued, never once taking his eyes off mine, like he was reading me, observing my reactions, to make sure he did everything right, and at the same time relishing in the satisfaction of it all. God, this experience with him was so incredibly unique. No man has ever looked at me like this, with such tenderness and appreciation. Especially not during sex.
To my absolute shock, I felt a giant rock begin to form in throat, my eyes stinging. Why was this happening at a moment like this? Why did my body feel the need to push tears out—tears that had remained dormant for years—now? When everything was so good?
I closed my eyes in an effort to hold them back, but Matt had already noticed them.
“What’s wrong,” he breathed, concerned and confused. “Am I hurting you?”
I huffed out a humorless laugh. The idea that he could hurt me, physically or emotionally, any more than I had already experienced, seemed completely ridiculous to me.
“No.” I opened my eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. “Not at all. Please. Don’t stop.”
“I want this to be good for you.”
“It is,” I urged, no longer able to control the quiet drop that ran down my temple. “I’ve just never felt like this before. I promise, being with you, like this, is better than anything. Please don’t stop.”
It was true. Even different from the last time we were together, when raw, carnal desire was the prime motivation behind our lustful passion. That night, he had given me the best sex I’d ever had. Up until now. Up until this moment where we were connecting with each other on a whole new level.
I had no idea that it could be anything like this.
It dawned on me that for the first time in my life, I was in the midst of making love to a man.
Before now, sex had given me only a small, single ingredient of what was possible, a tiny morsel to sustain me, to quench my insatiable hunger—my starvation for a connection to another human being without ever permitting any linking ties that could inevitably strangle. But tonight, with trust driving me forward, I allowed our bodies and minds to interlace. Because of that, I was partaking in a multi-course fare, with complex recipes and a multitude of ingredients and flavors in the soothing company of the one person who meant the most to me.
And he wasn’t just sharing this monumental experience with me; he was the driving force behind it. He had been the guiding light to opening this door, the person who had been able to break down the thick barriers that I had constructed to keep my heart protected in a misguided effort to shield it from any more agony.
As an overwhelming flow of sensation and emotion consumed me, I came to terms with the side effects of my prior choices. They protected me but also kept me from living a life of meaning. A life that involved breathtaking moments like this one.
A life that included love.
It was only now, with our flesh and spirits united, with him tenderly gazing into my soul, witnessing the vulnerable parts that I had kept hidden for far too long, that I could finally admit to myself that I loved him.
I loved him.
Chapter Nine
~Matt~
Past (Age Twenty)
In my head, Maya would be at the airport when I returned home from deployment.
In reality, just Mom, Dad, and my brothers greeted me.
Don’t get me wrong, I had missed them too, and I wasn’t some dreamer with his head stuck in the clouds, fantasizing about a tearful reunion with his long-lost love, where everything wrong instantly becomes right, simply at the mere sight of each other.
I’m a realist.
I’d accounted for the fact that it would likely be awkward between us at first, seeing as it’d been over nineteen months since we’d seen each other.
I’d accounted for the fact that we’d need to work at our relationship.
I’d even accounted for the fact that she may not want to even hug me at first.
But in my mind she’d at least be fucking there at the airport.
Until now, I hadn’t given a second thought to her lack of response when I texted her my flight’s arrival time. I remembered her last message to me, “Be strong and come home. We’ll talk then.”
I’d just assumed she’d come.
“Matthew!” With a huge smile, my mom rushed toward me and squeezed me tightly, crying happy tears into my shoulder. My dad followed suit and joined us in a group hug. And damn, I was happy to see them. Not just happy, but relieved too. I had missed the hell out of them.
But t
he elated feeling I expected to envelop me never came. In fact, the more the reality of Maya’s absence took hold of me, the more dread I felt.
Fuck. I had to let that go for now. Had to be grateful that I’m home. Had to cherish this moment. I sighed out the doubt and embraced them.
When Mom and Dad finally let go of me, I exchanged handshake-hugs with my brothers.
“Glad to have you back in one piece, bro,” Dylan said with genuine relief in his voice.
“Me too, man,” Trey added. “But you know you’re not getting the basement back, right?”
He had taken over my basement bedroom when I left home. In the time I’d been gone, Trey had gained at least 6 inches in height, and his voice had changed from a kid’s to a man’s. I couldn’t help the pang of guilt I felt for not being there for him while he grew up.
“Yeah, about that...,” I teased. “Who said you could have my room, Punk?”
“You did, asshat. Remember?”
Mom scolded him for the curse while the rest of us laughed.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, buddy,” I playfully jabbed. “I remember it…just giving you shit. And I’m staying with Dylan, so the basement’s all yours.”
“Boys!” Mom interjected, “It’s a good thing Addie’s not here to hear you swearing like this. Trey, you know she repeats everything you boys say. She looks up to you two.”
There was that pang again. Adalyn was talking? She was just a baby when I left. She couldn’t speak a word yet.
With regret in her eyes, Mom looked at me, placing her hand on my arm. “And now that you’re back, Matthew, she’ll look up to you too.”
Trey nodded in compliance.
“Speaking of Addie,” I said, “how come my baby girl’s not here?”
“She has a fever,” Dad replied. “Karlie stayed home with her so we could all be here.”
I tensed at the thought of something being wrong with my little sister. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah,” Mom replied, “the doctor said it’s going around. She’ll be over it within a few days.”
The Fragile Line: Part Two (The Fine Line #3) Page 7