Chapter 10 #2
His hands grip the arms of the chair, white-knuckled, and I hear the faint creak of wood under his fingers as I start to roll my hips over him. My eyes roll back, my back arching at the pressure of his cock grinding against my clit.
He exhales through his nose, a shudder running through him. “Lily… you don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then show me,” I plead, my hands sliding along his arms, desperate for the connection I know I shouldn’t crave.
His gaze locks on mine, fierce and pained all at once. “Tell me to stop.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to.”
He swears under his breath, grabbing my hips and stilling me. His grip is firm, almost bruising, and I can feel the tension running through his muscles. And his eyes… his eyes look wrecked—dark, stormy, like he’s battling something inside he can’t control.
“You don’t get it,” he says, voice low, rough with need. “I dream about moments like this. I wake up shaking because I know I can’t have you. And now you’re here, on my lap—” His words fracture; he swallows hard, his throat moving as if every syllable costs him. “And I can’t breathe.”
I can’t stop myself from leaning into him, chest pressing against his, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth in a tentative, testing kiss.
His hands tighten, and I feel him shiver beneath me.
The air between us hums with everything unsaid—the danger, the desire, the guilt, the part of us that knows the line we’re crossing could destroy everything.
“I wish you could be mine,” he whispers, more to himself than me. His forehead drops to mine, breath hot, and for a heartbeat, the world outside ceases to exist. There’s only him and me, and the pull between us that’s been simmering for too long.
I close my eyes, letting the moment stretch, letting the forbidden, devastating thrill of it wash over me. Every heartbeat, every shiver, every touch is electric—sharp, consuming, and entirely ours.
And in the back of my mind, a warning nags, but it’s drowned out by the heat, the want, the utter impossibility of stepping back now.
My chest aches. “Matt…”
He closes his eyes like the sound of his name hurts him.
“I can’t want you like this, I’m supposed to protect you. You’ll hate me for the mess I’m dragging you into.”
I touch his jaw, the stubble rough under my fingertips. “I could never hate you.”
His eyes open, and what stares back at me is emerald, darkened with heat and something dangerously close to longing. “I’m not a good man, sweetheart.”
“I don’t believe that. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
Something in him snaps. I see it in the way his shoulders stiffen, in the way his eyes narrow, sharp with hunger. Feel it in the way his hands tighten on my hips.
“You should tell me to stop,” he repeats, low and dangerous.
“I don’t want to.”
“Fuck it,” he swears, shoving the chair back from the desk, dragging me against him until I can feel every hard inch of him beneath my body, pressed impossibly close. Closer than I ever dared dream we’d be.
Then his mouth is on mine—hungry and claiming, all his restraint shattered in an instant.
My hands tangle in his hair, fingers threading through the red strands, pulling him closer, and I bite down on his lower lip, tasting him, swallowing his groan like it belongs to me.
One arm crushes me to his chest, the other sliding under my hoodie, hot palm skimming up my back until his thumb grazes the side of my breast. I gasp, arching into him, and he breaks from my mouth to press his lips to my throat, biting just enough to make me shiver.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, it hurts, Lil’.
” His voice is ragged against my skin. His hands fisting in the fabric at my hips before he lifts me, sliding his hands under my ass.
Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist, hands buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine, kissing him like I’m drowning and he’s the only air I’ll ever get.
When he lays me down on his bed, he just stares for a beat—hair messy, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild, consuming me with every glance. I can feel the heat radiating off him, tension coiled tight in his shoulders, like at any moment he might snap.
“You have no idea how bad I want to ruin you.” The way he says it—like a warning, like a promise—makes my pulse hammer in my throat.
“And you have no idea how much I want you to,” I confess, reaching up to pull him closer.
That’s all it takes and with a curse, he’s on me again, hands under my shorts, dragging them down, his mouth hot and hungry against mine. His earlier hesitation is gone, and all that’s left is the man who can’t stop touching me, can’t stop wanting me, no matter how wrong it is.
His mouth drags over my jaw, down the line of my throat, leaving heat and bruises in his wake. Every place he touches feels claimed, branded. So wholly his, I know there’s no going back from this.
“Matty—” It’s half a gasp, half a plea, but I’m not sure which of us it’s for.
“Tell me to stop,” he pleads one last time, though his hands are already skimming up my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. He sounds like a man trying to give himself an out, but the way his voice shakes… he doesn’t want one and neither do I.
“I don’t want you to stop.” I shake my head, digging my nails into his neck to keep him exactly where I need him. The last thread of his control snaps so clearly I almost hear it.
He pushes my hoodie up and over my head, tossing it aside without looking where it lands, his eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world worth seeing. His palms cup my breasts, fingers kneading through lace, thumbs circling until I’m begging for more.
“God, Lily…” His head drops to my chest, mouth closing over the swell of one breast through the fabric, sucking until I cry out. “You’re… perfect.”
Then he’s kissing me again, deep and consuming, the kind of kiss that makes me forget my own name. His free hand slides between my thighs, and when his fingers finally touch me where I need him most, I gasp into his mouth.
“Fuck, you’re soaked for me,” he growls, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around my clit that make my hips jerk. “You’ve been thinking about this, about me. Like a naughty, needy, little thing. Haven't you?”
“Yes,” I breathe, and he curses again, low and filthy, like my confession breaks something in him.
“You’re going to regret this. You’re going to hate me, Lil’—and that’s going to destroy me—but I can’t stop when you beg for me so prettily.”
“Impossible.” My voice trembles, but the certainty in it is bone-deep. “I told you… nothing could ever make me hate you. You’re my Matty.”
For a heartbeat, he goes utterly still, like the words hit somewhere tender, somewhere he never lets anyone reach. I almost laugh at how true it is—how ridiculous and terrifying and inevitable—but the sound dies in my throat as he moves.
He hooks his hands beneath my thighs and yanks me closer with desperate, hungry strength, sitting back on his haunches as he does so.
The movement pulls me with him, and suddenly I’m straddling his lap, hovering over him while his body braces mine.
A broken moan slips out of me as my body collides with his, my pussy pressing against his thick cock beneath his sweats.
Only two thin pieces of fabric keep me from feeling all of him—hot, hard, unmistakably there.
And suddenly breathing feels impossible.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls, each word a hot drag of air as he traces patterns on my inner thighs. “I’ve thought about this so much. About you, underneath me, coming apart in my hands.”
Wrapping an arm around my back, he holds me against his chest as he lowers his mouth to mine.
I sink into his hold, weaving my fingers through his hair and touching all the parts of him that have previously been off limits to me.
His groan rattles through his chest when I open my mouth, letting him inside.
I’m lost in his touch, in the way our bodies slot together like missing puzzle pieces, and how rolling my hips against his feels like second nature already.
He gently tugs my hair, and the action pulls a needy moan from my throat. He smiles against my lips in response.
“Does my girl like that, hmm?” he whispers.
I moan in response as I roll my hips again. He tugs my hair again, this time pulling back from me, and I whimper at the loss of contact before I can stop myself.
“Such a perfect mouth,” he says, tracing my lower lip with the pad of his thumb. I dart my tongue out and wet his finger, tasting the salt on his skin for the first time. In retaliation, he uses his now wet thumb and forefinger to pinch my nipple, drawing a shocked hiss from me.
“Matt,” I breathe out, leaning forward to chase his touch, rolling my hips again in the process.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Be a good girl for me. Show me how much you need this.”
I grind my hips down onto him, his cock nestled against my centre, and hitting my clit with satisfying precision.
“Oh, fuck,” I exhale. It feels too good.
He feels too good. He keeps his palms pressed to the middle of my back, toying with my bra strap as he watches me work myself over him.
Dry humping wasn’t on my agenda tonight, but it feels too good to stop.
I shamelessly rock my pussy back and forth along the length of his cock.
The way he looks at me is enough of a reaction to urge me to do it again.
“Like this?” I lean forward, my lips brushing his with every word.
“Just like that,” he groans, encouragement threading through his voice.
His thumbs glide beneath the swell of my breasts, teasing the edge of my bra before easing the fabric down.
The way he touches me feels deliberate—like he’s mapping every curve, committing me to memory.
He sinks his teeth into his lower lip as his gaze lingers on my bare skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes, reverent and hungry all at once.