Page 65 of Heat Island
“You’re still here.” He sounds pleasantly surprised, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face.
“Still here,” I confirm. “Is that okay?”
Instead of answering, he cups the back of my neck and draws me in for another kiss, deeper this time. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a soft sigh.
His hand slides down my bare back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I press closer, my body molding against his, and feel his immediate response—hard and insistent against my thigh.
“More than okay,” he murmurs against my lips. “Though I didn’t expect you to still be here when I woke up.”
“I almost wasn’t,” I admit. “Old habits.”
He pulls back slightly, studying my face. “Why did you stay?”
The question catches me off guard with its directness. I could deflect, make a joke, or give some superficial answer. Instead, I tell the truth.
“Because I’m tired of running away from things that might hurt me,” I whisper. “Because sleeping here last night was...I don’t know. Something I needed.”
His thumb traces my lower lip, his expression thoughtful. “And what do you need this morning?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with possibility. Behind me, I feel Kyren shift slightly, a reminderof his presence. I wonder if he’s awake, listening to our hushed conversation.
“I need to stop overthinking everything,” I whisper, making my decision. “I need to just feel.”
Matheo’s eyes darken. He kisses me again, more demanding this time, and I respond eagerly. His hand slides down to my hip, gripping firmly as he pulls me against him.
“Is this what you want?” he asks against my mouth, his voice rough with desire.
“Yes,” I breathe, pressing closer. “Please.”
He rolls me onto my back, his body covering mine as he settles between my thighs. I’m acutely aware of Kyren’s presence beside us, still seemingly asleep but somehow radiating awareness.
Matheo pauses, following my gaze to Kyren’s back. “Do you want me to wake him?” he asks softly. “Or would you prefer privacy?”
The question sends heat pooling low in my belly. The thought of Kyren joining us, of being between them both, is almost overwhelmingly tempting. But something holds me back—the memory of his rejection six months ago, the confusion I still feel about his motives.
“Just you,” I whisper. “For now.”
Matheo nods, understanding in his eyes. He lowers his head to kiss me again, one hand sliding up to cup my breast. I arch into his touch, letting sensation overwhelm thought, letting desire chase away doubt.
For once in my life, I’m not planning ten steps ahead. I’m not worried about consequences or complications or how this will all end.
I’m just here in this moment, and with this man who makes me feel wanted. And for now, that’s enough.
Matheo’s weight on me is a grounding force, his skin hotagainst mine as he deepens our kiss. My hands roam his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there, urging him closer. He growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through me, igniting sparks along my nerves. His lips trail down my jaw, then my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear. I gasp, my hips arching instinctively to meet his.
“You sure?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my collarbone, his hand sliding beneath the thin strap of my nightie.
“Very,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. I tug at the fabric of his boxers, desperate to erase any barrier between us. He chuckles, a dark, rich sound, and helps me shove them down, kicking them off somewhere under the sheets. His bare skin against mine sends a shiver through me, every inch of contact electric. “You can officially stop asking.”
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my nightie, pushing it up over my hips, then higher, until it’s bunched around my shoulders. I lift my arms, letting him peel it off completely, leaving me exposed under his gaze. His eyes darken, drinking me in like I’m a landscape he’s been aching to explore. He dips his head, capturing a nipple between his lips, sucking gently before flicking his tongue. I moan, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him there as heat pools low in my belly.
“Matheo,” I breathe, my voice a plea, a demand. He understands without words, shifting to position himself at my entrance, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a question in his eyes, a last check, and I nod, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
He enters me slowly, stretching me with a delicious burn, and I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. He pauses,giving me a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against mine, breath ragged.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his voice taut with restraint.
“It’s perfect,” I manage, rocking my hips to urge him deeper. He complies, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust stoking the fire building inside me. His hands grip my hips, angling me just right, and I lose myself in the sensation, in the way he fills me, in the rough drag of his stubble against my skin as he kisses my neck.
