3. Sienna #2
His hips snapped forward, hilting in a single, brutal thrust. His mouth covered mine before I could even think to cry out, swallowing the sound, and he gave me all of two breaths to accommodate the sheer size of him before he moved.
Oh, God.
Oh, fuck .
That wasn’t fair .
He was perfect. Stupidly, annoyingly, agonizingly perfect, the burn of the stretch morphing so quickly into the burn of pleasure that I nearly forgot where we were as his pace started out ruthless.
His hands pushed my thighs up, his fingers digging into the backs of them hard enough that I was positive I’d be coming back from the Amalfi coast with both a tan and bruises, before one hand left and grasped my jaw instead.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice low.
I blinked through the haze and snapped my gaze to his. His pupils were blown, his jaw set tight, a single wave of grey hair falling forward over his brows. Why did he have to be hot?
His grip on my jaw tightened, his thumb pressing into the hinge. “Bet you thought I wouldn’t live up to the arrogance.”
Asshole. A breathless laugh leaked out of me, but then his angle changed, and the laugh choked and bled into a whimper that I barely managed to keep quiet. His smirk was victorious.
“By all means, sweetheart, tell me if I don’t,” he rasped, his hold on me shifting, his thumb dragging across my lower lip.
Every thrust was deliberate, deep, the kind of precision that made my thighs shake and my eyes struggle to stay focused and heat coil low in my gut.
“But I can feel the way you’re clenching around me like you’re seconds from coming again. ”
He released my face and dragged his hand down my body, roughly palming my breast over the fabric of my dress, before drifting lower. My hands fisted in the shirt still barely covering his shoulders, the heat between us turning heavy, slick, and feral. “Matt?—”
His breath tickled my ear. “Tell me, Sienna, do you normally manage to come from just this?”
I hated him. I hated him so much , even as I started to peak, even as it built from just the way he was burying himself inside of me. The hand between our bodies pressed down flat on my lower stomach, and I nearly lost my mind. “Fuck you,” I gasped, digging my nails into him.
He laughed, low, dark, and sinful, his teeth nipping at my jaw. “You are.”
My orgasm hit before I could mentally prepare for the onslaught without stimulation, sudden and violent and ripping the air from my lungs.
He swallowed the cry climbing up my throat with his mouth on mine, grunting, groaning quietly against my lips as his hips jerked and stuttered, his own release flooding him and filling me.
For a heartbeat, the only sounds were our ragged breaths and the low hum of the plane. But then he was pulling back, just enough to meet my gaze again, a rim of hazel barely visible around his blown pupils.
Christ. I wasn’t going to get a single second of sleep on this flight.
————
Matt’s scent still lingered on my skin as I exhaustedly dragged my roller behind me down the gangway.
I’d let him touch me three more times after the first, need outweighing rational thought.
The partition had gone back up after that, him insisting he needed at least an hour of sleep, but I hadn’t been able to for a single second.
My body ached in every good way and a handful of bad ways from not getting any rest, but I couldn’t find it in me to care.
Ryan was no longer the last person I’d slept with. That was enough to make the stupid decisions worth it.
I tried not to think about how Matt’s hands had felt on my skin despite being able to feel his presence walking behind me.
We hadn’t exchanged full names, hadn’t given each other phone numbers — once and done.
That was it. Strangers who probably wouldn’t cross paths again.
And even though he’d touched me like Satan himself had blessed him with the ability to give out sin, I was fine with that. He’d raised my standards.
But something was different. Something I couldn’t quite place.
The staff along the gangway gave me a smile and a wave, but I saw the way their faces shifted just as I got passed them, morphing into something far more reverent and appreciative in the millisecond before they were out of view, their gaze locked on the man behind me.
The moment my sandaled foot crossed the threshold into the airport to head for Immigration, I heard it.
“How was your flight, Mr. Strathmore? Everything up to standards?”
I froze.
Just for a half-second, everything shut down.
Strathmore.
The air in my lungs left in an instant.
Strathmore.
Matt Strathmore. Matthew Strathmore.
No. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t be real.
But the puzzle pieces started clicking into place before I could catch my breath — the flight.
The fact that Ryan managed to get us a first-class experience that fancy, so easily, before I’d kicked him off the booking.
The fact that Matt— Matthew —had gotten that seat last minute.
I’d slept with Ryan’s brother.
Ryan, who used to talk about his estranged sibling like he was the devil reincarnated.
Ryan, who’d told me he was disinherited from their family’s wealth because Matthew—not Matt, Matthew —took everything and locked the accounts.
Matthew, who owned an airline. This airline.
The one I’d flown on, courtesy of a ticket Ryan had booked months ago when I still thought we had a future, and he had a soul.
God.
I felt sick.
I didn’t turn around. I walked faster, through the doors of the terminal like they’d personally offended me, needing to be anywhere else than within eyeline of him. Away from Matthew Strathmore, away from the man I’d let myself want without knowing just how tangled and fucked-up it was.
This was going to my fucking grave.