Page 45 of Marry Me, Maybe?
Of course. That was the reason he was being sort of chill today instead of pounding me into the ground. And not the good type of pounding either.
“It had nothing to do with your family.” Not true, but Matty didn’t need to know I was still hung up on him. Hell, I’d already embarrassed myself by begging him to fuck me, and he’d walked away like none of it affected him. I wasn’t a sucker for humiliation.
“Then why?” he asked.
“Ozzie doesn’t deserve for people to talk about him like that. He’s…he’s really sweet. A good guy.”
Matty grabbed me by the neck, startling me.
He grazed my throat with his thumb, and every nerve ending under my skin lit up like wildfire. My stomach flipped, heat pooling low as a memory surged, his weight pinning me to the bed, his voice rough against my ear, both of us gasping into the night.
This grip—it was like that. Possessive. Commanding. Familiar.
“What the fuck is so special about him, huh?” Matty’s breath hitched, and his eyes blazed with the anger I now associated with him. “You want him too? That it?”
I swallowed, my mouth dry. “No. It’s not like that with Ozzie.” Why was I even explaining myself to him?
He clenched his jaw. “You gonna bottom for him now? That it? Because newsflash, I don’t think y’all are compatible.”
I stared at him, heart pounding, pulse a drumbeat under his fingers. “I only bottom for you.”
The stillness cracked. The air snapped tight.
Matty’s hand flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to make me feelhisbreathing hitch too.
We were back there again. Not on the ranch. Not beside a creek. But in that motel room, with the bed creaking and shaking, the neighbor banging on the wall for us to shut the fuck up, and his body on top of mine, both of us desperate,tangled, and young enough to believe passion like ours lasted forever.
“Fuck,” Matty whispered.
His eyes dropped to my mouth.
And I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Waiting to see if he’d cross that final inch.
Waiting to see if I’d stop him if he did.
10
MATTY
His throat. My hand.
His pulse fluttered beneath my palm. Hudson didn’t fight me. Didn’t so much as flinch. Just stared up at me with those whiskey eyes, dark with heat, resignation, and something close to shame.
He was still naked, glistening water trailing down his tanned skin, hair dripping into his eyes, chest heaving like he was holding his breath.
And fuck, he was beautiful.
Just like the first time I ever saw him, walking across the ranch yard, shirtless, muscles cut and sweat gleaming on his body under the sun. I’d wanted him instantly. No thought, no logic, just raw, all-consuming need.
I never could’ve predicted how hard I’d fall. Or how deep the hurt would cut.
I hated him. I did.
But I hated him in that bone-deep, couldn’t-let-go kind of way.
