Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Tonight was fun.”
My lungs are still gasping for air from how he carried me out of the club. Half of my breathlessness is because of indignation, and the other half is from the thrill of being swept away from danger like precious cargo. But now, under his genuine smile, the messy state of my lungs as he carries me up the stairwell of his family’s home is solely compliments of him.
“Not the smartest man in the room, but I think I figured out that you enjoyed yourself, sweetheart.”
I curl my lips, wafting up the scent of the many cocktails I sampled tonight. “How can’t you be the smartest man in the room when you’re the only man in the room?”
I wiggle, wordlessly requesting to be placed down before I twirl to face him.
Bad move.
I’m drunk. Very drunk.
“Whoa…”
Before I can fall, Matteo is at my side, once again sweeping me away from danger. He whisks me across the space in three quick strides, pulls back the bedding, then places me on the mattress. As I stare at my shoes, suddenly oblivious to how buckles work, Matteo enters the walk-in closet.
I lean against the headboard, head spinning in the best way. I should feel embarrassed that I drank so much. My memories might blur at the edges tomorrow, but one thing won’t fade. Not even if I drowned myself in a hundred drinks would I forget Matteo’s roundabout way of saying he wants me to be his.
My pulse races through my body in all directions when Matteo returns seconds later with a faded college shirt.
“Whose shirt is that?” I think that’s what I say. My words are a little slurred. “Is it yours?”
“It sure as fuck better not be anyone else’s since it was in my closet.” He freezes, his brow arching. “Do you have men’s shirts in your suitcase?”
I run my teeth over my lower lip to savor the hint of jealousy in his tone before I gradually shake my head.
“Lucky…” His words are muffled, but I still hear them. I’m drunk, not deaf. “If you ever wear another man’s shirt, I’ll rip it off you before ripping out his throat with my bare hands.”
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to the thrift store. A used shirt would still work, right?” Eyes wide, I slap my hand over my mouth. I shouldn’t have said that out loud. “Sorry. I’m a little more… carefree when drinking than I thought I would be.”
He smiles. It isn’t the big, genuine grin he’s given me multiple times tonight, but it’s still catastrophic to my panties.
“Can you manage, or do you need my help?”
It takes far too long for me to realize what he’s offering when he hands me his shirt.
“I think I’ve got it.” On wobbly legs, I stand. “But if you could lower the zipper, that would be great.” I spin and stumble forward, my hands shooting out to grip the duvet.
Flashes of the corset scene in Wuthering Heights flood my head when Matteo eases my sways with one hand on my hip before the other pushes my hair aside so he can find the zipper of my skin-tight dress.
The backs of his fingers brush my spine as he lowers the zipper to the small indentations in my lower back. His touch is brief, but it provokes a moan that I feel everywhere.
The pleat in his trousers tickles the frilled hem of my dress, and my panties suddenly feel tight against my clit. Every shallow breath Matteo releases brushes against my skin.
I’m afraid to move, but I’m also grinding my hips upward without realizing. Try as I may, I haven’t gotten our exchange in the dressing room out of my head all night. Even while I sat across from the ogre I must marry, I kept replaying how Matteo’s pupils flared seconds before he went down on me.
Soft, needy breaths surround me as the throb between my legs becomes blinding. The spasms spark a restless energy through me. It’s daring and bold and inspires me to be the girl I was before the knocks of life taught me that being small was the only way to be safe.
“Matteo…”
I say his name differently this time. Huskily and full of lust. But he still responds with the same easy drawl. “Yeah?”
“I had fun tonight.”
Desperate to see the smile my commentary could muster, I whirl to face him, uncaring that my dress slips off my frame partway around.
Matteo’s dark, unreadable eyes lift from the lacy bra Lucia gifted me to align with my hooded gaze. “Not just at the nightclub. At the gala…” My chest thrusts as I shift my focus to the walk-in closet. “And in there.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs again, his voice far from easy and carefree.
After wetting my suddenly bone-dry lips, I nod.
He watches the trek of my tongue, his pants pitching, before he asks, “How much?”