19. Rule #19 Secret bedroom kisses are the best kisses.
Amelia
Trying to sleep is futile. For one, it’s only nine thirty. And for two, I still have the burn of Matis’s stubble on my lips.
That kiss will haunt me for the rest of my life.
The kiss on Saturday night was delirious and reckless.
The kiss tonight was a declaration.
He wants me. No, he aches for me. How the hell am I supposed to move on after that? I can never go back to the Amelia I was before I had that information. That he wants me. That this love is not unrequited. Or lust. Or whatever this is.
After my brother came in, looking awfully suspicious, I had to spend a while convincing him that I was fine and just overly annoyed with our meddling godfather.
Then I had to take Jacob outside and let him down easy. I explained that with my busy work life here and his life in America, I didn’t see much point in exploring this. It felt awful, but the whole time, I just kept thinking about that kiss.
There’s not a chance I’ll see or hear from him again, and I do feel a little bad about that. He was a nice guy. He was just no match for the sexiest, most charming man in all of France. Or Europe. Or hell…the world.
Lying on my bed, I stare at my phone screen and wonder if I should text him—Matis, that is. Should I be the one to start the conversation? Do I let it rest for a couple of days?
Part of me is hesitant to reach out to him out of fear of rejection. Even after the whole ache for you line, Matis grappled with this attraction. There’s a very good chance he’s going to continue pushing me away for self-preservation’s sake.
The other part of me just…misses him. It’s silly of me, but this is nothing new.
My life for the last five to seven years has been measured in moments between the ones where I get to see him.
And right now, we’re going on two hours, and while it’s nowhere near the longest I’ve gone, the way we left things has me feeling especially anxious for our reunion.
Suddenly, there are voices downstairs, and I sit up in a rush when I recognize the deep cadence and French accent of one in particular.
He’s here.
He’s…here?
My lips part as I wait, unable to make out anything he’s speaking to my dad about. He’s not…telling him what happened, is he?
Jesus, no, Amelia. Why would he do that?
I crawl off my bed and tiptoe toward the door, listening to their conversation. My room is far enough from the front of the house that voices don’t normally carry, but he is being loud, almost as if it’s on purpose. He’s warning me of his presence.
Opening my bedroom door, I walk down the hall toward the landing of the second floor in an oversized T-shirt. Peering over the banister, I freeze at the sight of him laughing casually with my dad.
“Well, you know I’m no help with technology,” my dad says with a laugh.
“I’m not normally this bad,” Matis replies as he looks down at his phone. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in on you like this.”
“I never mind.” My dad places a warm hand on Matis’s shoulder and seems to guide him toward the living room. “Come have a drink with me first.”
Just then, Matis’s eyes skirt upward and find me watching from the second level. I feel mine widen, mirroring his. What on earth is he doing here? Is it possible this has nothing to do with me and Matis randomly had a hankering for a drink with his best friend? Whose daughter he just felt up.
For the next hour, I pace a hole in my bedroom floor, wondering if I should go down there and say something (what, I don’t know) or if I should just sit up here and wait. Do I text him?
Am I overthinking this? Would a normal girl shrug it off, play it cool, and pretend nothing is happening? In my dreams. Me? I’ll just continue wearing out the rug in my room and chewing my nails down to the cuticle.
After about thirty minutes of this torture, Matis’s voice grows closer. I freeze, watching my open door.
“No, please don’t wait up. I’ll see myself out once I get this pesky app figured out.”
My dad laughs in the distance. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Matis chuckles. “Bonne nuit.”
My dad’s voice echoes from across the house as he clearly disappears into the bedroom he shares with my mom. Judging by her silence, I assume she’s already in there. If I’m not out and about, she’s usually early to bed.
When Matis appears in my doorway, my eyes bulge out of my head as I stare at him. With a panicked expression, he scurries into my room and quietly closes the door behind him.
My blood pressure is through the roof. He’s…in…my…room.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“I had to see you,” he replies, and my heart soars. “I mean…speak to you.”
And just like that, it plummets.
“You couldn’t call?”
He’s keeping his distance between us, torturously so. Why must he stand so far away? But I know the truth. He doesn’t trust himself to be any closer.
“No, Amelia,” he says, and I hate when he uses my name. I mean, I love the sound of it on his tongue, but I prefer Trouble or my new favorite, mon trésor.
He puts his hands up as if he’s trying to ward me off, like I might attack at any moment. “I came here to tell you that what happened at the club—”
“And Saturday night.”
He winces. “And Saturday night…was a mistake.”
I saw this coming, so as much as it hurts to hear, at least I don’t have shock and disbelief to process as well.
“Was it really?” I ask. “Was it a mistake? Because mistakes don’t usually happen twice in a row.”
He scrubs a hand over his face and turns away before spinning back toward me. “Not a mistake, but…a regret.”
Ouch.
“No,” he says, quickly correcting himself. “Not a regret. It’s just that we cannot do this, Amelia. You must know that we cannot do this.”
“But you said you ache for me,” I whisper, feeling like a fool so desperately begging a man to want me. It’s humiliating.
His eyes find mine, and there’s pity in the gray irises. “I do, mon trésor. But that is my cross to bear. You are too young for me. You are my goddaughter. You have known me your entire life. It would be wrong.”
Just like today, he takes one slow step after another toward me, almost as if his words say one thing but his body says another.
It’s like he can’t help himself. No matter how hard he tries to stay away from me, he physically can’t.
We’re going in circles, constantly saying we can’t do this while simultaneously colliding like stars.
When we meet toe-to-toe, I feel for the first time like I have power in this scenario. Reaching up, I place my hands on his warm chest. I’d like to memorize every inch of his body.
“It doesn’t feel wrong,” I whisper. Gazing up into his hungry eyes, I see a new version of Matis that I have never seen before. He is looking at me like I am a meal for him to devour, not a girl to protect.
“But it is,” he murmurs. His soft hands start gently over mine, which are still placed on his chest. With a defeated sigh, he runs his caress along my arms toward my shoulders.
Goose bumps erupt in their wake. With every touch of his fingers, it’s like the first time my skin has felt any touch at all.
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Matis.”
His chest hums with a low growl. The conflict in his eyes seems to be tearing him apart, and I wish he’d just give in.
As his fingers reach my shoulders, I inch closer, drawing them down my back. His gaze flits from my lips to my eyes and around my face as if seeing it for the first time. When his tongue darts out between his lips and wets the lower one, I know he’s about to give in.
“You really are trouble,” he mumbles.
Then, without another word or sound, he pulls me against him and covers my mouth with his own. Inside, my body delights with satisfaction. It feels like winning.
He licks the seam of my mouth, and I open for him without hesitation. He dives his tongue in as I do the same to him.
Matis doesn’t kiss like any man I’ve ever kissed before.
He kisses without fear or indecision. He kisses to own and hypnotize.
When his lips are against mine and his tongue is in my mouth, I don’t even know my own name.
But I don’t care. Who needs a name? I need nothing when I have his mouth on mine.
The kiss grows hungry and wild without anything to stifle it. There is no one outside that door. We would have heard them coming. There are no doubts or concerns or second thoughts. We’ve already had those. There is just this kiss and every wonderful thing it could evolve into.
He nibbles delicately on my lip, and I let out a whimper. He freezes, and I expect him to pull away and tell me we can’t do this after all.
Instead, he gently backs me up toward my dresser against the wall.
His body feels so good. He’s tall and strong, and the strength in his arms and shoulders makes me feel safe and precious.
Time stops as we kiss and kiss and kiss.
Our hands explore each other. Our lips trail down each other’s jaw and throat and face.
I don’t think I have ever been happier in my life, but there’s a hunger in Matis’s movements.
It’s almost as if the more he holds himself back, the hungrier he is to indulge.
Pinning my hips to the hardwood, he holds one hand over my mouth and lets the other drift down the front of my long T-shirt. My body trembles in anticipation.
“You’ll have to be quiet, Trouble.”
My eyes practically roll into the back of my head from his words alone.
“I’ll be quiet,” I whisper against his palm with an obedient nod.
When his hand reaches my hip, I shudder, and he freezes. Still holding a hand over my mouth, he stares into my eyes, and I see the turmoil swimming in his gray irises.
“I can’t do this,” he mumbles.
And yet he makes no move to pull himself away. So with a shake in my hands, I slide my fingers over his and ease them down between my thighs.
When they reach the soaked center of my panties, I tremble and it’s his turn to whimper.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.
I’m starting to sense a pattern here.
My back arches over the dresser as he slips the fabric to the side and gently runs his finger through the pooling moisture.
“Oh God, what is wrong with me?” he whispers, a rasp to his voice as he drops his head against my shoulder. His other hand falls away from my mouth.
I no longer have to ease his fingers along. He is in control now and runs them through my folds with pressure. Enough to make me yelp quietly into his neck.
“More, please,” I whisper.
“I told you to be quiet. What if your father came in?” he mutters darkly, and I know it tears him up to say those words out loud. My father. His best friend.
It might make him feel bad, but it makes me feel hot and needy. I want him behind closed doors and in secret. I want him to slip his fingers between my legs in all the places we are not supposed to. And technically…we’re not supposed to anywhere.
“I’m going to hell for this,” he growls into my ear as his thick finger slides inside me.
My head hangs back with a silent cry. He moves slow at first, which is good because I’m still trying to figure out how on earth this is happening. How did we get here? Something that felt like such an impossible dream only a few weeks ago is now a reality.
“Does that feel good?” he whispers almost silently against my cheek as he moves his finger at a slow, steady pace.
I nod.
“I’m a monster for this, Trouble. Don’t you understand how terrible I am?”
Lifting my head, I stare into his eyes as I hook my hands around his neck. “Would a monster make me feel this good?”
His face twists in agony as he continues to plunge a finger inside me. “I want to make you come, Trouble. Will you come for me?”
I’ve never felt so good in all my life. I don’t even care if there’s an orgasm at the end of this because it’s heaven already. An orgasm would just be the end anyway. I’d like this to last forever.
Then he hooks his finger, curling it against a spot inside me that makes my knees buckle and my hips thrust. I have to slap a hand over my own mouth to keep from screaming.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” he breathes against my cheek. “That’s the spot. Has a man ever found this before?”
I shake my head.
“Has a man ever made you come with just his fingers, Trouble?”
“Never.”
“You deserve better,” he growls quietly. Then the pad of his hand presses against my clit and he works his whole hand on my core, pleasuring me from the inside out and making me feel things I have never felt before. Alone or with a man.
“I don’t know if I can be quiet,” I gasp as he works me with one deft hand, taking me to another plane of existence.
“You better,” he whispers. Muffling my cries with his lips, he kisses me passionately as his fingers work me harder and harder until I feel like a balloon about to pop.
When the climax does hit, I know I’m screwed.
While I manage to keep quiet, it’s not getting caught that I’m worried about.
I realize that I’m getting a taste of heaven, and that’s never a good thing.
Because there is nothing above heaven. It is the pinnacle, and no one gets to keep heaven forever.
I’ll die before I feel anything this perfect again.
“That’s it, Trouble,” he mumbles against my lips. “Come on my hand, baby. Let me feel you.”
He works my body through the longest orgasm of my life. He never lets up or relaxes his hard pressure and fast pace. My heart is pounding so hard, I can feel my ears begin to buzz and crackle.
The only thing that brings me back to earth is Matis lowly muttering to himself, “Oh God, what have I done?”
Hanging in his arms, I smile because these words of regret or self-deprecation haven’t stopped him yet, and I don’t think they will stop him now.