Chapter 44 #2
Matthew reaches out and takes my hand, drawing me forward to the edge of his large bed.
He sits, his thighs flexing, and pulls me into the space between his parted legs.
He looks up at me. His eyes are still dark with desire, but a profound tenderness now softens their edges.
Unable to resist, my hands lift to his face.
My fingers trace the strong line of his jaw, the slight roughness of his stubble, the curve of his lips…
He leans into my touch, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat. When they reopen, they lock on mine as he pulls me that last inch closer.
His fingers find the deep neckline of my dress, gently parting the fabric above the golden wings at my waist. My breath hitches when he presses his lips to the bare skin of my stomach. A soft gasp escapes me, my head falling back as my fingers comb through his hair.
His hands glide from my waist, slipping with tantalizing slowness under the hem of my dress.
My heart stutters as his warm palms begin a slow, caressing journey up my thighs.
At the same time, his lips begin their own ascent, kissing a searing path up the center of my torso, following the neckline higher as he rises from the bed to meet my height.
I stand flush against him as his mouth explores the skin between my breasts and his fingers find the small zipper at my back.
It glides down. He finds the single button of the halter strap at the nape of my neck and deftly releases it.
His fingers then move to my bun, pulling the pins free one by one until my hair cascades down my back.
With infinite care, he hooks his fingers in the loosened neckline and eases the fabric down my body.
The dress slides over my waist, my hips, pooling in a soft black puddle at my feet.
His eyes soften as they roam over me with awe and profound recognition.
He steps closer, so close I am enveloped in his solid warmth, his eyes searching mine with an unwavering devotion.
His knuckles gently graze my cheek, his thumb sliding down to trace the line of my jaw so softly it makes me shiver.
“Amy…” His gaze holds mine. “There you are,” he whispers, his voice husky with an emotion that resonates through every fiber of my being.
Those words.
They pierce the haze of desire, striking the very core. They unlock a flood of emotion so potent it nearly brings me to my knees. It’s the same gentle wonder, the same profound acceptance, from the night when he saw me remove my wig.
Tears, hot and immediate, well in my eyes, blurring his beloved face. A sob catches in my throat. The sound of being truly seen. Truly wanted. In a way I never believed was possible.
Matthew’s expression melts at the sight of my tears. His hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the tracks on my cheeks. My head tilts up, and my eyes flutter closed.
His thumbs continue their gentle sweep before his lips press a feather-light kiss to one closed eyelid, then the other. Each touch is a reverent benediction. A silent promise that sinks deep into my soul, soothing the raw edges of my heart.
When his mouth finally finds mine, the kiss is achingly gentle. A sharing of breath. A tasting of tears.
Then, one strong arm sweeps behind my back, the other under my knees, and he lifts me effortlessly. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, clinging to his solid strength.
He carries me the few steps to the bed and lays me down, my hair fanning out against the pillows.
He hovers over me for a moment, his expression a breathtaking mix of desire and awe.
That potent want still burns in the depths of his eyes, but it’s tempered with a deep tenderness.
He lowers himself beside me, propped on one elbow.
The mattress dips, bringing us closer. Moonlight catches the sculpted planes of his chest, the hard lines of his abdomen.
I feel the aching void within me pulse with a desperate, answering need.
My arm drifts upward to rest above my head on the pillow, an instinctive baring of myself to him.
His fingers trace the curve of my hip then follow my raised arm to the delicate inner skin, leaving a current of pure heat in their wake.
“Amy,” he breathes.
Just my name, spoken like that, is enough to make me melt.
His lips follow the path his fingers just charted. Starting at my wrist, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against the frantic pulse there. Then down the sensitive skin of my inner arm to the curve of my neck… my shoulder…
Each kiss is a brand. A discovery. A silent vow.
My hands find the smooth plane of his back, learning the flex and dip of muscle there.
Fingers spread wide, then tangle in the hair at his nape, pulling him fractionally closer.
A silent plea for more. He answers it, his mouth finding the hollow of my throat, lingering, tasting, while his hand continues its reverent exploration over the swell of my breast, then dips lower, tracing the line of my ribs, the gentle curve of my stomach…
A shiver racks my body. A gasp escaping my lips as his touch ventures lower still, his fingers grazing the delicate edge of lace.
“Matt,” I whisper. A broken, needy sound.
His head lifts, eyes dark pools of molten desire in the moonlight, searching mine. When he recaptures my mouth, his kiss is deep, intoxicating, and utterly consuming.
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
I arch against him, a silent offering, and he responds, his body covering mine. A perfect, welcome weight.
Our bodies find their own rhythm, a language older than time.
A fierce, tender collision of souls.
A healing. A claiming. An utter surrender.
Every touch is a vow; every shared breath a revelation.
In the moonlit stillness of his bedroom, there is only this.
Only Matthew.
Only this breathtaking, consuming fire.
And in this shared inferno—
We burn.