Runaway (Wolfes of Manhattan 3)

“Please what.” His breath was hot against my neck.

“Please. Let me keep them on. I want to look sexy for you.”

“God,” he rasped. “You’re so beautiful. So damned beautiful.”

I opened my eyes and met his gaze. “I want to see you. Please, Matt.”

He smiled. “Undress me, then.”

Undress me, princess.

No!

Fucking no!

Not now. You will not ruin this beautiful moment for me!

I hurled the unwanted images from my mind.

I trailed my fingers over Matt’s broad shoulders. I wanted to see what was underneath his T-shirt, but something stopped me.

“Riley?”

I inhaled, gathering every sliver of courage I could find, and I slid my fingers down to the bottom of his T-shirt and inched it up.

His skin was so warm. So warm against my tingling fingers.

Slowly I moved it farther upward, concentrating on how much I desired him. And with each new inch of flesh I exposed, my heart beat faster.

His lighter skin contrasted with mine. I was tan, of course. Spray tanned. Part of the job.

Matt’s chest was nearly bare but for a few blond hairs scattered over his pectorals. His nipples were dark pink, and when I slid my finger over one, it hardened under my touch as he sucked in a breath.

I had power over him.

Power I never knew I could wield.

It was thrilling.

I pushed the T-shirt over his head, and he lifted his arms to help me along. Soon it joined my clothes on the floor.

He kicked off his sneakers.

Now only his jeans separated me from that part of him. The part that both scared and excited me.

It bulged, and I stared.

Though I knew it was my imagination, I saw it beating in time with my heart.

Faster, faster, faster…

Until finally Matt took the reins from me. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and removed them.

And he was naked.

Naked before me.

I averted my eyes.

I was used to it, always averting my eyes, until he forced me to look. Forced me to touch…

“Riley.” Matt’s voice. “Look at me.”

I can’t. Just can’t.

Until finally, his warm fingers touched my chin.

“Please,” he said. “Look at me, Riley.”

Something in his voice made me obey, and I looked at him. Truly saw him. Indeed, truly saw any man for the first time.

His beauty astounded me. A god from Mt. Olympus couldn’t look better than Matteo Rossi. He took my hand, then, and led it to his cock. “Feel this. Feel me. Feel what you do to me.”

I gripped him, as if shaking his hand. He was warm and hard, yet his skin was like silk under my touch.

He closed his eyes and let out a low growl. “God, what you do to me. One touch from you is better than a homerun with anyone else. I swear to God.”

I dropped his cock.

He opened his eyes and tilted his head.

He was questioning something, and I knew exactly what it was.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Sorry for what? What’s going on, Riley?”

“I’m…frightened.” True words. The last time I had sex was with…

God, I couldn’t go there right now. I just couldn’t.

Matt reached toward me. “Baby?”

I forced myself not to cower backward.

He had hated it when I cowered. In his mind, I was supposed to want him as much as he wanted me. He never understood the two-way street of sex.

Fuck. What we had wasn’t sex. It was abuse. Molestation. Fucking incest.

I was forever tainted by Derek Wolfe.

He wasn’t the only one. Some of his friends fucked their daughters and sons. Sometimes he made me watch.

I supposed he deserved a little credit. He never let any of them touch me. Some of them passed their children around like the newest toy.

“Baby,” Matt said again.

I wanted to answer him. Truly, I did. But my mind was now polluted with images and memories that I could never erase, no matter how hard I tried.

I wanted so much to be with this man. This beautiful man.

I was leaving tomorrow, and I’d never see him again.

Can’t I have just one night? One beautiful night that isn’t marred by my father?

I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Okay,” Matt said. “I get it.”

Clothes rustled.

He was getting dressed.

My eyes pop open. “Matt…”

“It’s okay. We have the rest of the week. I won’t rush you.”

Except we didn’t have the rest of the week. If I wanted this—and I did—I had to act now.

I forced the unwanted garbage from my mind, advanced toward him, grabbed both his cheeks, and pulled him toward me.

I kissed him.

I melded our mouths together and kissed him—all tongue, teeth, and lips.

A glorious kiss.

A kiss not just of passion but of need. Of my need for redemption.

For that was what I truly wanted—to be redeemed for my part in my father’s madness. Once I turned eighteen, I could have stopped it all. I could have run.

But I didn’t, and by everything I believed in, I had no idea why I hadn’t.