Page 91 of Savannah Royals
His hand starts at my hip. He slides a finger beneath the waistband of my knickers and drags it softly across my stomach. My groin clenches, begging him to go lower. He teases his touch up my side. Tingles and shivers overtake me, raising gooseflesh on my skin.
When he gives me his lips, I’m starving for them, starving for him. My tongue crashes into his. He lifts me up, slamming my butt onto the rim of the pool table. Chills ripple down my spine as he works the hooks of the brassiere. When I shrug it off, his hands go straight to my chest.
Matthew groans into my mouth and lowers me across the table. With fumbling fingers, we clear the stray balls. Once I’m on my back, he bends my knee and unrolls my stockings, one leg at a time. Dragging his fingers over my bare skin, pressing kisses to my inner thigh. My knee. My ankle. His eyes are raw, his lips fervent. Ravaging me.
I whimper as he works his way back up, moving toward my center. The wanting, the way I hunger for him, is ruinous.
He pulls my knickers down and slips two deft fingers inside me. My back arches as I cry out.
“God, you’re so wet.” His voice is gruff, rough with longing. He kisses me hard, swallowing my cries as he curls his fingers. First two. Three. He doesn’t let up until I’m screaming his name, over and over. Until I lose myself entirely, exploding into incoherence.
When my eyes finally open, I take a shuddering breath. Matt is there, waiting, gazing down at me with so much abject love in his eyes, it hurts. It sucks the breath straight out of my lungs, that look. Rearranges the gravity in the room. Something new blooms in my heart. Matthew’s love is sunlight, water, and air.
The look on his face, pure reverence.
What a heady way to be loved.
In the corner of the room, the phonograph skips. I lick my lips, then part them. Not entirely sure what I’m going to say, but breathless with conviction. Before I find words, his fingers start to move again.
“Matt…”My vision spins. I reach for him, and he grabs my hand. Bringing the inside of my wrist to his lips, he presses an open-mouth kiss to the tender skin.
“I want you screaming my name again,” he tells me, pressing a second kiss to my palm, tongue flicking. “Over and over. Exactly the way you just did.”
And in a matter of minutes, I am. Again. And again and again.
And only when my voice is hoarse, my breath ragged, my mind thoroughly obliterated, does he slide his hand out of my silk shorts. He locks my shaking legs around his waist and lifts. His lips move over mine as he carries me to his bedroom—building, crashing, falling.
Matthew kicks the door open, and we fall onto his bed. He pins me, securing my wrists above my head. He kisses his way down my chest. I wrap my legs around his waist and lift my hips, pressing against the hardness in his groin.
We roll, lips devouring, hands searching.
I straddle him low, closer than close, yet not close enough. I press down, the softest part of me against the hardest of him.
His answering moan is pure sin. Sheer longing.
I move my lips over his shoulder and pecs, trailing kisses across his chest and abdomen. I slide his drawers down and take him in my hand. He’s dripping wet. I don’t want to wait much longer, but there’s one last thing I desperately want to give him, this man who is always hell-bent on giving to others.
I open my mouth and pull him in. Deep. All the way to the back. I stay there for a minute, exploring pressure points with my tongue, listening to his response. He’s a new experiment, one I plan to figure out quickly. I sit back on my heels and take a breath. “How long can you hold out?”
“Not…long…” he pants.
I laugh and suck him down again, letting the vibrations from my throat taper out on him. He’s surprisingly vocal about what he likes, and he’s right. It doesn’t take long.
“Kat.” His tone is telling, and I see the question in his eyes. The need.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Yes. Now.”
He pushes me down, settling me between his legs. I lift my hips as he slides my pants off. He kisses me, full and deep.
“Matt, I need you inside of me,” I beg. “Now.”
He reaches to his bedside table for a condom. I snatch it from him and roll it on, his eyes drinking me in.
When he pushes inside me, it’s slow. It’s agonizing.
It’severything.
My head falls back on the feathery pillow, and I whimper with relief. With a guttural groan, he fills me completely. Buried to the hilt.
