Page 57 of Savannah Royals
“I was asking because I liked it.”
His lips are soft and sweet when he lowers them to mine. I’m patient for a few minutes while we kiss. It’s longer than he’s ever held and moved with me before, but there’s nothing behind it but innocence. No fire. No racing heart, no fumbling fingers. No urgency or desire. I’m so disappointed, I could cry. His hands wrap around me, but they stay firmly on my back and shoulders. He’s being gentle, and I can’t stand it.
Iknowthere’s chemistry. I feel it every time he looks at me. When he smiles, my gut clenches. Heart in my throat. But the minute he presses his lips to mine, the connection seems to shrivel up and die.
I realize, abruptly, we’re at a crossroads. I’m not interested in a relationship that’s comfortable and familiar, doomed to end in exploitation and heartbreak. If that’s where this is headed, then it’s better to end things now, before Paul gets his hooks in deeper. Before he makesmeget my hooks in deeper. I don’t want to hurt Matthew or his family, not in such a personal way. He’s either worth the risk or he’s not. And right now, I need to conduct a risk assessment.
“Matt.” I stop him with a frustrated groan. “I’m going to be honest with you, and it’s only because you’re absolutely killing me.”
“Okay.” He swallows nervously.
“It’s been rather lovely, spending all this time with you over the last month. But this”—I gesture between us—“polite, respectful kisses…it doesn’t do it for me. Not even close. If we’re going to keep seeing each other, I need to know you can give me a lot more.”
“Katarina—” he begins.
I can hear the excuse before he even strings it together.
“So either you stop treating me like a porcelain doll, or I go home right now.” My tone is final. Nonnegotiable.
“I’m not trying to treat you like a doll,” he answers. “I’m trying to be respectful. To treat you like a lady. The way you deserve to be treated.”
“Not all women want to be treated like a lady, Matthew. I certainly don’t.”
He looks closely at me. I’m locked in on his blue eyes. I see temptation burning there, and it gives me the tiniest of thrills. He just needs one more push.
“What’s it going to be?” I whisper, raising my eyebrows. Daring him.
The moment stretches between us, interminable. The hallway is silent, but it’s a silence so loud, it roars in my ears like a crescendo. I’m deafened with desire. Combusting with it.
Matthew lets out a soft groan before slamming me into the mirrored wall, his lips crashing over mine. His tongue dips into my mouth. Fingers rake through my hair. My body ignites, sparks finally roaring to life.
Yes. This.I press my hips into his, craving the closeness.Just like this.
His kisses are confident and demanding now. Unforgiving. Openly wanting.
I yield, surrendering my mouth to him. I moan into his lips and run my hands through his soft blond hair. His fingers tangle in my curls, then pull, forcing my head back to expose my neck. When his lips press into the hollow space below my ear, I exhale sharply. He slides one hand to cup my cheek and presses the other, palm flat, onto the mirror behind us.
“Katarina,” he whispers, his nose brushing mine. Foreheads touching.
I slide my fingers over his chest. Down, down, down. I pause for a moment at his waistband, then plummet further. He’s straining against his costume breeches, almost too much for my hand. I give him a gentle squeeze, and his answering moan nearly takes me out at the knees.I’m feverish with wanting. Coming undone all too fast for him, yet slow enough to hurt.
When my fingers move to work the buttons of his fly, Matthew’s eyes pop open.
“Not here,” he hisses, grabbing my hand. “Charlie could be around.”
“Charlie?”
“The club caretaker. He’s like a ghost. He’s ancient, and he’s everywhere.”
I’m panting with desire when he grabs my hand, leaving a smudged, sweaty palmprint on the gilded mirror. He pulls me down another hallway, into a dark room. He closes the door behind us with a softclick.
We pick up exactly where we left off. My hands go to his pants, and I sink to my knees in anticipation. But Matt’s fingers encircle my wrists, yanking me upward and pressing me back against the door.
“You drive me wild, Kat,” he murmurs into my lips. “Let me show you how much.”
With an astounding degree of confidence, his hand slides between my legs. Slides to a place I’ve only ever let Paul and Abe touch. He rubs me gently, and it feels so good, I actually grind myself into him, wanting more pressure. So much more pressure. His fingers move, digging through layers and layers of tulle. He’s searching for a break in the fabric of my costume, but he won’t find one. And beneath the traitorous tulle are my heavy silk stockings to contend with. There’s simply no way he’s getting me out of this monstrosity of a costume. It’s an impractical nightmare.
Betrayed by my exquisite fashion sense. It’s certainly a fitting way for me to perish.
