The Feline Gaze

I take a step toward him, and then another. I reach for him and move close until my breasts are pressed against his chest. My nipples are hard and peaked, ready for his mouth or his hands, and he smiles down at me.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers.

When he says these words to me, I feel like he means it. He really means it. It’s not something he’s saying because he’s horny or because he wants to get me into bed. Obviously, that’s already happening. No, when Matthew says that I’m beautiful, I really believe him because it feels like the words hold a certain weight to him.

He says that I’m beautiful, but what I hear is, “You’re enough.”

I’m enough for him.

I don’t have to be perfect or tiny or flawless.

Who I am is good enough, and he sees beauty in me regardless of any perceived imperfections or flaws.

I lean up and kiss him again and again. We make out standing up, touching each other, teasing each other. He tastes like whiskey and fire all rolled into one unbelievably sexy package, and I know that no matter what happens, everything is going to change after tonight.

I don’t think things can ever go back to how they were before. Not after all of this. More importantly, I don’t want them to. I don’t want things to go back to how they were before I met Matthew. I don’t want the life where I’m bored. I don’t want the life where I spend all of my time focused on work.

I want this.

I want the heat, the passion.

I want the laughter.

Being with Matthew – if that’s something he even wants past tonight – is something that’s going to require a lot, though. It’ll mean giving up part of who I am. It’ll mean giving up part of what I believe in. I won’t be able to just keep going on as I have been in the past. I won’t be able to just keep pretending I’m totally happy and fine without a mate because after tonight, everything’s going to change.

And I want it to.

I want him.

I want all of him.

Starting with right now.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I say.

“Oh no,” he says, feigning surprise. “What should we do about that?”

“Hmm,” I run a finger down his chest. “I could undress you?”

“Please,” he says, and his voice comes out thick with arousal. He lets me take my time unbuttoning his shirt. I slip it off his broad shoulders and push it back. The shirt falls to the floor in a heap, forgotten.

“Wow,” I murmur, touching his abs.

“I could say the same thing,” he says, and he reaches for my breasts. He runs his hands over them, bouncing them, playing with them. He teases me gently and pinches my nipples.

“Mmm,” I groan, and I reach lower. I take his pants and unbutton the top. Then I unzip. I slide the zipper down and run my hand over the front of his pants. Matthew’s cock is hard and thick and so ready for me.

“See, you’re not shy,” he murmurs.

“I never said I was,” I smile, and I push his pants and boxers down, effectively de-pancing him and releasing his cock. I keep looking at Matthew, careful to keep my eyes on his, and I reach for his length. Then I stroke him: softly at first, but then faster.

“Damn,” he groans.

“Definitely not shy.”

“Nope,” he whispers. “Not shy at all.”

“You like this.”