Page 107 of The Fiance Dilemma

A flutter broke on my chest. “When?”

“The second I’m sure I won’t end up fucking you inside this truck.”

My belly dropped, that delicious anticipation building up. “Why?”

Matthew’s eyelids shut.

“My truck is big enough,” I continued, leaning toward him. Just a little, just enough. He made a sound in his throat. “And I don’t thinkI’ve ever done it in a back seat.” His hands moved to the steering wheel, fingers clasping around it, leather squeaking. “What if I want to? With you. What if I want you to kiss me, then fuck me here?”

His eyes reopened, jaw clamping down. “What if I want to give you something better than that?” He glanced at me, the brown in his eyes seemingly darkening, the creases of tension around his mouth pleading with me. “What if I feel like I’ve already gotten carried away? What if I don’t like that the first time I made you come I wasn’t touching you? What if Ihatethat the first time I touched you, I wasn’t able to hear or see your mouth move around my name? What if I wasn’t planning on doing this tonight, and now I’m wondering if it’s the right time?”

There was a moment. A pause.

I didn’t breathe.

Then he spoke, “What if I can’t give you any fucking firsts, so I want to make sure I get a chance at being your last?”

My chest expanded. That emotion I’d held throughout the day swelled, making it hard to contain. My hand reached out to cup his jaw. Matthew leaned into my touch. My smile made his eyes light up. “Come inside?” I said. “Please.”

He frowned, but I didn’t waste time. I turned in my seat, determined to make it okay for him, to make it possible for him to give me all those things, even when all I wanted was him.

When I pushed the passenger door open and my feet hit the ground, Matthew was somehow there. The dazed look on his face made my smile even bigger. Even more determined. He offered me his hand, and when I clasped it in mine it was me who pulled. I led him inside the house. Then up the stairs. Then down the hallway. Then inside my room. I ignored all the tingles spreading all the way across my body from that hand held so tightly, and led him where he’d stood earlier tonight, right before we left for that disastrous dinner.

“Here,” I finally said, watching his eyes go crazy as they bouncedbetween me and what was behind my back. His expression turned fierce, devastated, almost as if he wanted to scream or fall on his knees. “You once told me that perfection is subjective. Remember?” He didn’t nod or shake his head, but I continued anyway. “This moment, right here, right now, is perfect for me.” My lips fell, all that wrangle of emotion and tingles and anticipation came to a soft stall. “And that’s because you’re in it. That’s because it’s you. Only you. I don’t care about firsts when I have you.”

Time seemed to halt for a moment, it was less than a heartbeat, nothing more than a fraction of a second.

Then Matthew’s mouth was on mine. Hungry. Desperate. Hands clasping both sides of my face, holding me to him, as if I was going to run away or disappear. I moaned into the kiss, melting, feeling like I was going to slip away, right between his fingers.

The thought had me bringing my arms around his neck, slipping my hands into his hair, fisting those locks that reminded me so much of the sun painted on my wall. Joy and need surged, meshing in my belly, making me slant my lips, changing the kiss, making it greedy. Our tongues touched and I pulled at his hair. Matthew groaned in response, deep in his throat. The only warning before his arms shifted and we were moving.

My back clashed against the wall.

One of his hands remained along my face, the other one pushing down, over the fabric of my dress. Collarbone, breast, ribs, waist, hip, it went, the roughness of its weight pulling at the sateen. I wanted out of it, the dress, I wanted that touch on my skin, on me. His fingers moved, traveling down my backside, over my ass. Setting up camp right under my thigh.

He pulled my leg up in a brisk motion, then rested his weight against my hips.

I moaned into his mouth, making him come up for air just so he could say, “Fuck.”

“Yes,” I agreed, panting. Breathing all over the place.

Matthew’s hum was appraising, content, eager. And when his teeth closed over my bottom lip, my eyelids fluttered shut with a shudder.

His mouth returned, this time softer, slower, but making the kiss more intent. Making sure it stayed with him. Me. Tattooing himself on my lips.

“You think I make this moment perfect?” he asked, mouth moving away, words falling on my jaw. I started to nod, but his grip on my leg changed, fingers spreading. He opened me wider, pushing his hips further in. A loud moan escaped. “You think you can be all sweet and soft and callmeperfect?”

I reopened my eyes, just so I could see him when I said, “Yes.”

Matthew smiled, and it was big and cocky and dark, all swollen lips and lipstick smudged over his skin. I knew in that moment. I simply knew. I’d never wanted a smile—a man—more than I did him. I’d never loved like I did him.

The thought made me so breathless I gasped for the air eluding me.

Matthew’s expression darkened, reading me. He kissed me again. Hard. Harder than earlier. Harder than I’d ever been kissed.

In the next beat, his hands were releasing my leg and face, and I was flipped around.

My palms fell flat on the wall.

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