I pull my skirt back into place as I follow him deeper inside the room, my legs still shaking from the potency of his kiss, his touch. The effect he has on me is so powerful, so unbelievably overwhelming, I’m not sure what to think, or how to think.
“So? Is it just like yours?” he asks as we approach the window that overlooks the city.
I glance around, notice the orchids, the bright pink throw across the foot of his bed, the sleek, glass furniture. “Definitely. It’s almost identical.”
“You must have a really great boss then,” he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. God, he’s sexy. “Putting you up in a fancy hotel like this.”
“He’s pretty great,” I say, my voice soft. “He’s smart, successful, extremely wealthy, but he never throws it around. In fact, I tend to forget he’s so well off.”
His smile fades and his expression goes serious. “Do you prefer that, Bryn? Does my—financial status intimidate you?”
I shrug, trying to push down my small-town-hick worries so they don’t rise to the surface like they always try and do when I talk money and status and wealth. “A little bit,” I admit.
It’s something I never even realized before. Matt can have anything he wants. Can go out and buy whatever he wants, he has so much money. He’s a billionaire for the love of God, yet I know he doesn’t live in a giant mansion, I’ve never seen him drive an outrageously fancy car beyond his sensible—but gorgeous—Range Rover. He’s not flashy, not outrageous, like I can only assume his father can be.
And I find that extremely attractive, how simply he lives. If he’d been such a blatant, wealthy man, like Archer Bancroft, who intimidates the shit out of me every time I’m around him, I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle Matt.
But he’s not like that at all. He’s gentle and kind and sweet and hardworking and sexy as all get out.
“Don’t let it.” He comes to me and presses his mouth to mine in a lingering, drugging kiss. “You did forget to mention one thing about me though.”
I frown up at him and give in to what I’ve wanted to do all night. I touch his face, span my fingers across his cheek, so I can feel the slightly rough prickle of his stubble against my palm. “What?”
“My charismatic good looks.” He grins, and I laugh, but he muffles my laughter in seconds with his mouth, kissing me so deliciously deep my head is spinning, my legs grow weak and I slump against him, lost in his taste and the way his arms grip me around my waist.
I pull out of his embrace without a word, and he lets me. I go to the window, desperate to gather my racing thoughts while I stare at the city spread out before me. Pressing my fingers against the cool glass, I gaze down and watch the bright lights of Times Square flash, the seemingly millions of people that fill the sidewalks, the cars, the streets.
“Your view is familiar,” I tell him from over my shoulder, smiling when I feel him stop just behind me, just like he did when we were in the elevator. But this time he doesn’t touch my shoulders.
He settles his big hands at my hips, giving them a firm squeeze before he lets them wander down across my backside. “Nervous?”
I close my eyes, losing myself in his assured touch, the way he squeezes and massages my skin. Everything inside me melts when he slowly tugs my skirt up, until the fabric is bunched just below my butt, my legs, my thighs completely exposed. “Yes,” I admit on a whisper.
“Don’t be. I’ll go slow,” he promises, and I believe him. “Christ, you’ve got the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.” He grips my hips and pulls me toward him slightly, so I’m bent at the waist, my butt thrust out.
It’s overtly sexual, the way he has me positioned. And when he steps closer, my backside brushing against the front of his jeans, I bite my lip to keep a moan from spilling out.
“Move closer to the window,” he commands, and I do so keeping in position as best I can. His hands slip beneath the bunched fabric, touching my hips, and his fingers curl around the skimpy waistband of my panties. He pulls them down, over my butt, down my thighs and then I’m helping him, kicking them off while they get tangled around my shoes. I go to pull those off as well but his dark command stops me.
“Keep the shoes on.”
Oh. My.
Matt
HER PANTIES ARE solid white lace, a scrap of fabric that probably barely covered her, not that I’ll ever know now, since we tugged them off and they’re now lying discarded on the floor nearby.
Not that I’m protesting.
She’s a contradiction. Innocent yet sexy, with the face of an angel and a body made for sin. One minute she’s shy and acts inexperienced, the next she’s a laughing, sultry mistress who looks like she wants to devour me in one swallow.
I like it. I f**king love it and want to discover more about her, everything that she holds within, everything that makes her who she is. But she holds out on me. She told me bits and pieces of her past earlier at dinner. She’s a woman who’s run from her problems. She acts like she might run from me.
But I won’t let her. After tonight, she’ll know who she belongs to.
Me.
I’ve waited for this moment for far too long to prolong it further, so I grip her by her hips and grind against her, let her feel my hard c**k against her lush ass. She hangs her head down and moans, the agonized sound going straight to my dick and hell, I want to thrust in her now. Just fill her with my c**k and know what it’s like to finally be a part of her.