Page 85 of Dashing for Love

I narrow my eyes. “Explain.”

He digs a knuckle into my arch, a move so good that my eyes roll into the back of my head. “It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “What matters is that the secret’s out, and we’re going to tell Willa.”

I want to press him, but his hands feel so good on my feet that I can’t be bothered. When his hands move farther up my legs, kneading and massaging, I care even less.

He stands and leans down to pick me up, one arm beneath my knees and the other behind my back. I squeal and wrap my arms around him. “Let me take you to bed, Goldie.”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes, please.”

He undresses me with reverence, taking each piece of clothing off and following it with lingering kisses. He divests himself of his own clothes, and when he settles between my legs, the delicious weight of him on top of me, he kisses me like there’s no tomorrow. He tunnels a hand through my hair possessively, his other flexing and grabbing me like I’m going to float away.

After he’s brought me to orgasm with his mouth, he pushes into me slowly, every inch a decadent torture. His eyes never leave mine, his hips thrusting and swirling as though trying to wring every last emotion out of me. The entire experience feels different, as though he’s broken through some kind of barrier.

“Fuck, Golden,” he whispers as I come. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

It takes everything in me not to tell him I love him.

Chapter 31

Matty

IWAKE UP with my golden girl in my arms.

Because she is. Right?

Fucking Ox. I know he didn’t mean anything by it—of course he didn’t—but the entire conversation made me sound like an asshole.

Maybe Iaman asshole.

No. No, what I am is scared.

I get credit for realizing that, right? I have to. It might be all I get in this entire shit sandwich that’s been served up on a platter for me.

I’m scared of losing Goldie. So scared. It’s not like she’s given me a reason to be scared—and if I justtalkedto her, I might find out I don’t have a reason to act like this.

But I just…I don’t deserve her. Someone as cautious as me, as boring as me, can’t possibly deserve a woman as vibrant and alive as Goldie. She’s golden. So precious, and sweet, and kind. She sees nothing but the best in people, while I’m…whatever I am…and no way is that good enough for her.

Hell,no oneis good enough for her.

And sure, I know that she’s the only one who can decide who’s worthy, and I shouldn’t be making that decision for her, blah blah blah. But let’s not kid ourselves: if I couldn’t immediately answer Reid last night when he asked if it was serious, then do I really have any business wasting her time?

She shifts a little, just enough so I can roll out of bed without disturbing her.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom and begin the morning ritual: let the dogs out, start the coffee, feed the cats, let the dogs in, feed the dogs, feed the hedgehog. I pull out the vanilla creamer I’ve started keeping at the house for her.

I’m so lost in my thoughts, making breakfast I don’t know I’ll even be able to eat, that I don’t hear Goldie come into the kitchen. And when her arms wrap around me and she kisses my shoulder, the absolute worst thing in the world happens: my body stiffens.

And there it is.

If my own body can’t be trusted to react appropriately, then I have no right to her. None.

She releases me immediately, and a beat later, she appears at my right, pouring a cup of coffee and putting way too much vanilla creamer in it, just the way she likes it. She doesn’t speak.

I plate our eggs just as the toast that she started pops out. We meet at the table, still silent, until finally she breaks.

“What’s going on?”

I look up at her. She’s looking at me with wide open eyes. They’re so innocent.

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