13. The Edge of No Return #2
In one swift motion, he hauls me up and steps between my legs, his body flush against mine—unyielding, filling every inch of space. His mouth claims me, fierce and demanding, swallowing the moan that escapes.
I arch into him, thighs cinched around his waist, locking him in place. His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, coaxing me open, and I yield—drunk on his taste, on the fire he’s reignited after years of silence.
One fingers twist in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wants, deepening the kiss until I’m drowning. The other teases the hem of my dress before sliding beneath, his touch gliding higher. He lingers, taunting, fingertips resting just shy of where I burn.
He’s enjoying this. I grab his hand, guiding him closer, toward the ache tearing me to pieces.
“What are you doing, Melina?” His tone drops low, edged with restrained amusement.
I tilt my hips against his erection, desperate for friction. “Please, Matty,” I whisper, trembling. “I need you to touch me.”
He hisses through his teeth. “You know I have a breaking point, right?”
I tug at his palm again, breath hot in his ear. “Then fucking find it.”
A groan tears from his chest, his resolve shattering into a million pieces.
“Fuck it.”
In a heartbeat, his mouth crashes back to mine as his fingers drive deep inside, stretching me, filling me, stealing the air from my lungs.
A shameless moan wrenches out, echoing through the kitchen. He pants against my skin, forehead pressed to my shoulder as he fucks me with a devastating rhythm.
I exhale sharply, body arching into him, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure floods me.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. “I want to watch you fall apart.”
I force them wide, meeting his gaze—dark, hungry, blazing with something that sends fever blooming in my core.
“Jesus, you’re soaked.” The words scrape out, frayed at the edges, raw with hunger. His thumb finds that needy spot, circling over and over—unyielding, in complete control.
“Please,” I gasp. “Don’t stop.”
The sounds spilling from me are too loud, but I can’t hold them back.
“Shhh,” he says, rough with amusement, though nothing in his touch is playful. “The neighbors will hear.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the neighbors,” I pant, writhing beneath him, chasing the high I know is coming.
This isn’t going to take long. I’ve never been this turned on, never fallen apart this fast.
“Matt—” His name spills from me, desperate, my nails sinking into his shoulders as my body seizes. “I’m so close.”
“That’s it. Come for me.”
I shatter, a cry tearing loose as my orgasm crashes over me, pulsing around his fingers, drenching them.
He groans, working me through it, dragging out every last wave of pleasure.
“Good girl.”
When he finally pulls free, I whimper at the loss—only to watch him bring them to his lips and sucks them clean.
His eyes lock onto mine, dark and dangerous, full of filthy promises. “Fuck, baby. You taste even better than I imagined.”
I’m still catching my breath, body limp and skin flushed, when he leans in. “You think that was good? Wait until I have my mouth on you.”
I’m still trembling, pulse erratic, but the ache for him hasn’t faded. Instinct takes over. I reach for his thick, rigid length pressed against my stomach, the part of him as desperate as I am.
But before I can, his hand shoots out, stopping me cold. His grip is firm, breath uneven. He shakes his head. “Taking it slow, remember?”
I swallow hard, eyes searching his face, testing his resolve. “You just made me come, Matty.” My fingers brush his wrist, coaxing, trying again. “I have to return the favor.”
Something flickers across expression. Hesitation. Conflict. A war in his own mind.
He’s not just considering the offer—he’s recalling those who came before. The ones who took, who expected, who never stopped to think that maybe I hadn’t always wanted to give.
His jaw flexes, nostrils flaring as his gaze pins me—steady, unshakable.
“No, Melina. You don’t.”
The words knock the breath from my lungs. I blink, stunned by the finality in his tone.
“This is not a tit-for-tat relationship.”
“But I want to touch you,” I whisper, softer now, pleading.
His grip tightens on my wrist, his control fraying, ready to snap.
“And I want you to touch me,” he growls, voice rough. “But the second you do, I won’t be able to stop.”
He exhales sharply, his forehead dropping to mine, the air between us thick with everything unsaid.
“Slow, Melina. That’s the only way I can hold on.”
I let out a frustrated groan, my entire body humming, still aching for him.
“You’re killing me, Matty.”
His deep chuckle sends a fresh wave of heat through me, but he doesn’t budge.
I exhale sharply and push off the counter, my legs unsteady as I slide down from where he had me perched.
Without thinking, I press my forehead against his chest, inhaling the warm, intoxicating scent of him, grounding myself in his presence.
His hand slides into my hair, fingers lingering. He doesn’t want to let me go either. Then, just like that, he turns and walks toward the living room as if he hasn’t just ruined my entire life.
"Get in here, wench," he calls over his shoulder, grinning. "We’re watching Yellowstone."