Page 33 of Innocent Intentions

I shove at him, throwing every ounce of strength into it.

He doesn’t budge.

“Ugh, get off me!” I snap, desperate to escape before I do something reckless, like lean into him.

Don’t act like your boxer briefs aren’t soaked.Shut it! How else am I supposed to react when I wake up to a giant, sexy man humping me?You’re on his side of the bed. You sought him out.

Matty stirs. His voice is low, disoriented, drenched in sleep. “Huh?”

“You are on top of me! Get Off!” I demand, fighting the breathiness in my voice.

“Give me a minute, sweetheart.” His weight shifts, more of it settling onto me. “You’re too soft.”

Soft? How dare he!

“Get off, you bastard! Now!”

He exhales, completely unbothered. “Shh. It’s too early for this.”

Too early? The sunlight streaming through the window says otherwise.

“I swear, if you don’t get off me right now–” I cut myself off. I have no leverage. No threat to make.

Finally, finally, he moves, shifting lazily as he gets up against the headboard, the sheets still covering his torso.

I should be relieved. Instead, my body misses the warmth.

Which is ridiculous. How can I miss my kidnapper’s warmth?

I scramble to my side of the bed, putting as much distance between us as possible, but I make the mistake of looking at him.

Big mistake.

His dark hair is an absolute mess. Then he stretches, arms overhead, muscles flexing, and the comforter slides down his chest.

Good. Fucking. God.

His abs. His pecs. His cut, chiseled everything. My tongue flicks out to wet my lips. I hate myself for it.

A low chuckle rumbles from him. “Sweetheart, if you keep looking at me like you’re going to pounce, I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

I meet his gaze. It’s dark. Hungry. Dangerous.

My entire body flushes red. “Fuck off. You know you’re hot.”

His smirk deepens. “Don’t worry, spitfire. I’m holding myself back too. Seeing you in my clothes, no bra, knowing that sweet pussy is bare against mypants…”

My breath catches.

He’s watching me, devouring me with his eyes, the sleepiness long gone.

Then his words register.

Oh my God. He knows.

He must have seen my panties in the bathroom.

My brain scrambles. What pair was I wearing? Were they lacey? Or granny panty? Dear God, please tell me they were sexy.

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