Wicked Fortune (Wicked Nights #5)

Chapter 19

NINETEEN

I can’t remember ever feeling so turned on by a man. And it’s not just because I’m grinding against him, his cock so hard I think it will probably burst out of his jeans.

It’s the feel of his hand on my hip. The press of his other hand as it cups the back of my head. His low, guttural groan of pleasure, the sound of which makes me so damn wet.

It’s all of those things, each part making up a wild and sensual whole.

Mostly, though, it’s his eyes. Those vibrant eyes that are locked on mine, as if challenging me to ride him harder. Faster.

“Aria, oh, god, Aria …”

My name from those lips works on me like an aphrodisiac—not that I need any help in that regard. Matthew Holt is the literal embodiment of everything I want in a man. Everything I’ve wanted for years, though I’ve tweaked my mental checklist here and there over the last two decades. Elementary school Aria hadn’t considered the benefits of sensuality. College Aria did.

Strong. Powerful. Sexy. Successful. Protective. This man is everything I’ve craved. And ruthless. And determined. And arrogant.

And dangerous.

Possibly very, very dangerous.

I know my mind’s little voice speaks the truth, but right now, I don’t care. How can I when I’m half-naked, grinding myself against him and edging close to the best damn orgasm I’ve had in my life?

“Matthew,” I whisper, partly because I can’t hold the fullness of this feeling inside me any longer. Partly to shut up that tiny, bitchy part of my brain.

“Oh, baby, yes,” he murmurs, his head bent back as I move my hips, stroking myself against him, the tiny silk triangle of my thong rubbing the denim of his jeans, making me hot and needy and very, very wet.

It’s wild and raw and glorious—and I want so much more. And unless his Academy Award collection includes one for acting, I know that he does, too.

“Matthew,” I whisper. I keep one hand twined in his hair. With the other, I reach down between us to find the button on his jeans.

He stops my hand. “No.”

I whimper. “Please. I want?—”

But he cuts off my words by tugging my head down to his and claiming my mouth in a kiss that’s wild and hot and so damn sensual I truly believe I could come just from this. Except I won’t have to, because while his mouth is busy pushing me toward heaven, his fingers are about to finish the job.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, two fingers snaking under my thong, then teasing my clit before thrusting inside me. “You are so damn wet.”

“Please,” I beg again, because it’s the only word I can find at the moment. The only way to let him know how close I am to shattering in his arms. How much I want him inside me.

As if in answer, he runs his hands up my legs, his fingers grasping the dress still bunched-up around my hips. I’m straddling him, my hands on his shoulders for balance and my bent legs on the leather upholstery. Now, I rise up, lifting my arms above my head so he can pull the dress all the way off.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tossing the garment carelessly aside. It’s one of my favorites, but I hardly notice. I’m too obsessed with the way his hands are teasing my breasts.

I watch as he licks the pad of one thumb, then gasp when he brushes it over a nipple. It’s as if he’s found a magic button that triggers a flurry of sparks that rush from my breasts all the way down to my core.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs as I cry out in response to yet another brush of his fingertip, this time on my other nipple. “I love how responsive you are.”

I swallow, barely managing words when I say, “Well, I love what you’re doing.”

“I can tell.” I hear the masculine satisfaction in his voice, then see it when he meets my eyes. He holds my gaze as he slides his hand along my cleavage, then over my belly, making me tremble with longing, only to whimper when he halts his sensual exploration right at the band of the thong.

“Don’t stop,” I beg, and though I expect him to torture me a little bit more, he complies, his hand moving lower and lower under that tiny bit of silk until his finger finds my clit and sends a chorus line of pleasure dancing through me.

With a low moan, I close my eyes and arch back, my knees pressed against his hips and my hands clutching the edge of the leather couch cushions for balance as his fingers stroke and tease, sparking every cell in my body—and promising a bigger explosion to come.

I’m ready—so ready, and I don’t even realize I’m grinding hard against the denim-clad bulge of his cock until he says, “That’s it, baby. That’s so fucking hot.”

I need more—hell, I need him—and as he holds my hips—as I continue to grind against him—my fingers go to work on the buttons of his shirt. But I can’t focus. I’m too turned on. Too wild. Too lost.

“Fuck it,” he says, then grabs his shirt just below the collar and rips the damn thing open.

I meet his eyes, and we both laugh. Then he takes my chin and tilts my head up, capturing me in the kind of deep, hot kiss that’s at least as intimate as fucking. “I liked that shirt,” he whispers after he breaks the kiss. “Let’s make this worth it.”

He grins, and I laugh again, trying and failing to remember when I’ve wanted a guy as much.

But there’s only Matthew. Hell, I can’t even remember any other man. They’re all a blur. Just appetizers while I’d waited for the main course.

His body is perfect. Hard, defined muscles, but not so much that he’s overly ripped. Instead, his bare chest looks as sensual and perfect as he does when he’s in a suit. As if his body is flipping the bird to anyone who tries to judge him, because try as I might, I can’t find a flaw.

On the contrary, he’s warm and perfect, and I sigh with feminine pleasure as I trace my fingertips over the lines that define his chest and abs.

I don’t finish, though. I want more than fingers on flesh, and so I cup his neck, then rise up a bit as his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me closer for a long, deep kiss, our tongues warring as I rock my hips, teasing his cock. Wanting. Needing.

Before, I’d been enjoying the anticipation. Now, I’m impatient. I want him inside me, and I bend forward, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper his name. And all the while, my fingers are still fumbling for the button on his jeans, then the zipper.

I hesitate, expecting him to order me to slow down. To savor.

But he says nothing, and I make quick work of it, then exhale a little oh when his cock springs free, revealing the very obvious fact that he was wearing nothing under his jeans. He’s huge and hard, and just seeing how turned on he is makes me melt a little bit more.

And makes me wetter than I ever imagined I could be.

“Aria …”

My name is both a wish and a command, and I don’t have to ask what he wants. What we both want. I rise up on my knees, then bend forward, enjoying the erotic sensation as the hard, hot length of him strokes my most sensitive parts. I slide my palms along his torso, then up to his chest and over his own hard nipples.

“Please tell me you have a condom,” I whisper, and see his answering smile before he leans over me and pulls one from a bedside drawer. He rolls it on, managing even though his eyes never leave mine. Then he flashes that cocky grin as his fingers tighten in my hair, and he pulls my mouth to his in a deep, claiming kiss.

As his tongue teases my mouth, his hands find my hips and he lifts me up until the tip of his cock is right there and I hear myself begging him to fuck me, to just please fuck me now .

And then he’s there, and I arch back as he enters me in one exquisite thrust, the kind where pain melds with pleasure and then melts into a sensation of bliss. I cry out, and he silences me with a long, deep kiss, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock inside me.

“Aria,” he murmurs, and the sound of my name on his lips turns me on even more. I put my hands on his shoulders while his stay on my hips as I ride him, slow at first, then faster and deeper until it’s no longer me doing the work but him controlling my movements, his cock going deeper inside me than any guy before him. So deep it feels as if he’s touched my soul.

“Matthew,” I murmur, but I’m not even sure that I spoke aloud. I’m lost in a sensual haze, my body on the verge of exploding, the atoms spinning out of control.

I feel that distinctive pressure building inside me, and his soft orders for me to come with him. To go over. To explode. And I’m close—so very close. My clit rubs against his skin and the dark hairs that trace a line from his torso to his cock. And his cock is working its own magic, the thrusts teasing all the sensitive spots hidden inside me.

But it’s the brush of his fingertip over my ass that finally sends me over. That unexpected, naughty, erotic touch that pushes me over the edge and has my core clenching tight around him as I arch back and gasp with wild pleasure even as he cries out, too, his orgasm melding with mine as we lose control together.

I’m breathing hard, my mind spinning as if I lost time simply from the force of that explosion. I’m limp. Sated. But when I lean back and meet his eyes, I see that his are still full of fire and need. And though his cock’s not quite hard again, it’s definitely working toward that goal.

“You’re insatiable,” I say.

“How about you?” There’s a tease in his voice. “Think you can keep up with me?”

I feel that delicious tug in my pussy and grin. “I think I can give you a run for your money.”

He makes a show of looking me up and down. “I do love a woman who can keep up.”

“And I love a man with stamina.”

He winks at me, then tugs his jeans—now down around his ankles—all the way off. He’s essentially naked, the ripped open shirt his only garment.

He stands, then holds out his hand to me, his body so sculpted and perfect that I have to take a moment simply to soak it in.

“Come on,” he urges, and I slide my hand into his without thinking.

“Where?”

“Bedroom,” he says. “I want to fuck you properly.”

“Oh.” Since that sounds like a perfectly lovely idea, I follow him around the curve of the house to the double doors that lead to a massive bedroom overlooking the canyon, the trees of which are glowing in the light of a huge full moon.

“Beautiful,” I say.

“Very,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about me.

My skin heats in a blush, ridiculous considering what we just did, but there’s something about the look in his eye that makes me shy. A need. A longing. And it’s me that’s the source of that look.

It’s humbling.

And it’s a little wonderful, too.

He crooks a finger, and I go to him. I’m naked. Vulnerable. And he slowly looks me up and down. “You’re perfect,” he says.

I shake my head. “I’m really not.”

His fingertips stroke my cheek. “I’m your boss. Don’t argue with me.”

I laugh. “I’m pretty sure that since you’re my boss we’re not supposed to be doing this.”

He lifts a brow. “Feeling harassed?”

“Very much the opposite,” I tell him, and we share another grin.

“How about now?” he asks as he scoops me up and tosses me on the bed.

I gasp, then laugh. “Yeah, now maybe a little.”

He climbs onto the bed, then straddles me, pinning me down as I lay on my back. “As a dutiful boss, I guess I need to make up for that by treating you very, very well.”

His voice has lost the playful tone, replaced by something dark and needy.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you,” I say, the words heavy with truth.

“Tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me.” A shiver runs through me. “Matthew, please. Please fuck me.”

I see the heat in his eyes. The tightening of his cheek. The flash of primal lust across his features. And, oh, how my body responds.

He leans in, his lips finding mine as his cock teases my entrance. I hold my breath, anticipating the pleasure of him filling me. But it doesn’t come. Not until I beg him. Then he slides inside me, his hands just above my shoulders, his mouth pressed to mine, and his cock thrusting deep.

I move just a little, watching his face, seeing the need grow. “Deeper,” he murmurs, the word little more than a groan, and it mirrors the way I feel, my body on fire, desperate and needy.

I want him. I want every inch of him, and then I want more. I want all. Every bit of this man who fills me up. Who fascinates me, excites me. This isn’t just sex, it’s a joining.

I tremble, feeling excited. Alive.

And this is the moment I realize that I may have fucked up.

Because however much I might crave this man, I might literally be in bed with the enemy.