Chapter 44
FORTY FOUR
THE CLUB’S BASS line begins to seep back into my awareness.
A dull, relentless throb from another universe.
Matthew’s body is a furnace against my front.
His arms are wrapped around me; my hands are clinging to his shoulders.
His eyes, when they finally open onto mine, are blown wide.
Pupils dark, swallowing the green. They blaze with an unguarded intensity that mirrors the inferno he just ignited in me.
He searches my face, his gaze dropping to my lips, swollen from his kiss, then back to my eyes.
And even amidst the haze of passion, I realize: this time this isn’t just a reaction. This isn’t a performance.
This is inevitable.
Matthew cups the side of my face. His thumb brushes across my kiss-bruised lower lip, almost reverently, sending a fresh shiver through me.
The intensity in his eyes doesn’t lessen, but a new urgency tightens his jaw. “Come home with me.” His gravelly words are lost between a question and a plea.
Words fail me. I give a short, shaky nod, my body aflame, every nerve ending pulsing with a desperate need for him.
A faintly triumphant smile ghosts Matthew’s lips before his hand slides from my jaw to wrap around my fingers.
When he straightens and steps back, his intensity shifts from pure desire to focused urgency.
My legs feel strangely disconnected, moving of their own accord, following his lead without hesitation as he navigates us through the crowded dance floor to the exit.
The club’s energy is replaced by the shriek of a distant siren and the blare of a car horn. The sounds are sharp and startling. The cool air clears my head just enough to register Matthew’s firm grip as he leads me through the parking lot, stopping at his dark sedan.
He opens the passenger door, and I slide inside, the scent of leather and him enveloping me. For a moment, I just watch his silhouette cross in front of the headlights, a solid shape against the night.
The driver’s side door opens, and he slips in, plunging the car into an intimate quiet.
The engine purrs to life. He shifts in his seat, his arm brushing mine as he reaches for the gearstick.
Before putting the car in drive, he pauses and extends his hand, resting it palm up on the center console between us.
A silent offer.
A question.
My breath catches, my lower lip slipping between my teeth. An unseen current pulls my hand forward until it meets his, palm to palm. His fingers immediately lace through mine with a quiet, definitive possessiveness that sends a tremor of pure, resonant connection through my entire body.
He gives my hand a squeeze before his other one shifts the car into gear. The engine hums, and we pull smoothly out of the parking lot, leaving the chaos of Hydra behind us.
My breathing sounds too loud in the enclosed space.
Shallow and quick. I risk a glance at Matthew.
His profile is stark in the fleeting glow of passing streetlights, jaw tight, his focus seemingly on the road.
But I can see the slight tremor in the hand gripping the steering wheel.
I hear the subtle catch in his breathing that mirrors my own.
He feels it too. This unbearable, unvoiced anticipation.
Words feel impossible. Dangerous, even.
Like striking a match in a room filled with fumes. One wrong syllable and whatever fragile, intensely combustible understanding we’ve reached might detonate prematurely.
Matthew’s hand remains laced with mine, his thumb occasionally stroking my skin. Each light caress sparks a pure want that coils deep in my core as we race towards the privacy his house promises.
The city lights bleed away, replaced by the hushed darkness of his neighborhood. Matthew turns onto his street and pulls into the driveway.
He cuts the engine. The sudden silence is no longer filled with the hum of the road, but with the deafening, unspoken question of what comes next.
My heart is a frantic bird, fluttering against my ribcage.
Matthew presses a soft, lingering kiss to the back of my hand before releasing it and exiting the car.
His movements are sharp with a tightly leashed energy as he rounds the car to open my door.
He offers his hand, and when my trembling fingers meet his, his grip is firm, pulling me gently to my feet.
He leads me up the short walkway, drawing me forward in a silent, inexorable pull toward his front door.
The sound of the lock disengaging is deafening in the quiet night.
Matthew’s hand is a warm pressure at the small of my back, guiding me over the threshold. The door swings shut behind us, swallowing the outside world and plunging us into near darkness.
The latch catches with a soft, final click.
That single sound is the only signal we need.
The dam breaks.
His hands find my waist, pulling me hard against him. His mouth crashes down on mine with a savage hunger that I meet with equal force.
My purse drops to the floor.
My hands fly up, tangling in his hair, pulling his face closer, deepening the kiss.
His mouth is an answered prayer. A consuming fire.
He groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through my lips. One of his hands slides from my waist, up my bare back, fingers splaying wide to press me even tighter against him. Just when I think I might actually combust, he tears his mouth away, leaving me gasping, chasing his lips.
He drops his forehead to mine, our ragged breaths mingling. A fine tremor runs through the arms holding me; his entire body is a tightly coiled spring of pure, restrained energy.
“Bedroom,” he murmurs, the word a mere exhalation against my skin.
He doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips find the sensitive curve of my neck, tasting, nipping. A helpless shiver racks my body. His hand on my back shifts, a silent, urgent command.
Our bodies stay melded from hip to chest as we move in a clumsy, desperate shuffle toward the staircase. He finds the first step with his heel, moving backward and pulling me up with him. Our mouths crash together again on the narrow tread. A deep, searching kiss.
My fingers clench in his hair.
I stumble in my stilettos and swiftly kick them off. His arm is an iron band around my waist, holding me steady. My free hand finds the banister for balance, the other still an anchor in the softness of his hair as our dizzying ascent continues.
Each step is a negotiation.
A stolen kiss.
Halfway up, he presses me back against the stairwell wall, his body a delicious, demanding weight. A gasp tears from me as his fingers slide beneath the hem of my dress, his palm pressing flat against the bare skin of my thigh. His open mouth maps a path along my jaw, moving higher.
I arch against him, my hips instinctively seeking his.
His hands are everywhere, reigniting every inch of my skin.
A torturous, exquisite exploration.
Every breath, every kiss on this staircase is a tightening coil of anticipation. By the time we reach the landing, I’m trembling, every nerve singing, my hunger an aching void only he can fill.
Matthew pulls me with him down the short hallway and into his bedroom, a space bathed in the silver-blue shimmer of moonlight. His mouth finds mine again, a deep, seeking kiss.
His leather jacket is a thick, maddening barrier. I break our kiss with a frustrated groan, my hands fumbling for the zipper.
“This…” I gasp against his lips, “has to go.”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest.
He doesn’t help. He just lets me wrestle with the heavy pull of the zipper, his eyes dark and hooded, watching my fumbling efforts with an intensity that makes my fingers tremble.
Finally, it gives.
I yank the jacket from his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a forgotten heap.
Emboldened, my hands go to the hem of his black T-shirt. He lifts his arms in a silent invitation, and I pull it over his head in one swift motion, tossing it aside.
My breath falters at the sight of his bare chest.
Planes of muscle carved by the moonlight.
Slowly, reverently, my hands map his abdomen, feeling the tight ripple of muscle, the soft dusting of hair that trails downward.
My fingers trace the ridges of his ribs, learn the curve of his shoulders, the strength in his biceps.
His breath hitches. But he stands perfectly still under my exploration, his hands gripping my hips, thumbs stroking lightly, igniting a slow burn deep in my veins.
My fingers glide lower but falter at the cold metal of his belt buckle. A sudden flicker of nervousness, of the sheer magnitude of this moment, makes my touch unsteady.
My hands retreat to his chest.
Instantly, his own hands cover mine, stilling their tremor. Gently, he guides them back down, pressing my fingertips against the solid buckle.
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “All yours, love.”
And it shatters the last of my reservations.
My fingers, steadier now, close around the cool metal of his belt buckle and pull the leather free.
I lift my gaze to meet his. His eyes are dark, almost black with desire, tracking my every move as his breathing grows harsh.
My hands move to the button of his jeans, fingertips brushing the zipper, and I hesitate.
A silent question in my eyes. He gives the barest nod, his jaw tight.
I draw the zipper down slowly. The rasp of metal teeth is loud in the charged quiet.
The rough denim gives way.
My hands grip the waistband and I push the heavy jeans down over his lean hips and powerful thighs. He helps, kicking them free until he stands before me in nothing but black boxer briefs.
The sight of him…
So beautifully sculpted.
So utterly exposed.
So intensely focused on me.