Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
The realization that Damon’s right, and I actually do like Matt, freaks me out. I can’t be the guy he needs.
Then he goes and covers me with his sweaty, beefy body, and I come unglued. The soft kisses on the back of my neck while he continues to fuck me are exactly what’s wrong with this scenario.
Closing my eyes, I cherish every move, every thrust, because this is a mistake of epic proportions. It’s a mistake I know I’m going to repeat time and time again, because when I screw up, I royally screw up.
“Noah.” Matt’s breathy voice sends me that much closer to the edge. “I’m gonna”—he grunts—“soon …”
I love the unintelligible sentence and the fact he probably thought he said it right. I reach for my cock. A few strokes and I’m going to go off the edge. If I had the chance, I could probably come hands free with how he’s pounding me.
He comes with a shout, and I suddenly regret being a stubborn asshole, because I want to see it. I want to see how he loses his composure.
Instead, I settle for his hand snaking around my waist and taking over stroking my cock. The second his fingers wrap around me, it’s all over. My ass clenches around his still hard shaft inside me, and I come so hard I swear I can’t remember the last time I’d felt physically exhausted from an orgasm.
When Matt pulls out and collapses beside me, I flatten onto my stomach and practically bathe in my own jizz. I should clean that up.
My eyelids are droopy when Matt climbs off the bed, but when I hear a “Holy shit!” I know he’s found my bathroom which is bigger than my kitchen. I can’t help laughing.
Drawers open and close, and before I can ask him what he’s looking for, the water runs in the sink and then he’s back with a warm cloth in his hand.
“Roll over,” he says, his tone gentle.
For some reason I can’t explain, I do as he says and don’t protest when he wipes the cum from my stomach and off the bed. It happens so fast it takes until he’s back in the bathroom for me to realize he’s taking care of me. And I like it.
I roll back onto my stomach and bury my head in my pillow.
“What are you moaning about now?” Matt leans against the bathroom doorframe and folds his impressive arms across his wide chest. His naked body is nothing but phenomenal, and for a short while, I get to play with it. But I need boundaries before this gets out of control. Right now, I hold all the cards, and I’m not willing to share them.
Climbing out of bed, I grab a pair of sweats out of my drawer and throw them to Matt before finding myself a pair.
“I’ll show you your room,” I say and walk out before I can memorize the frown on his face. I’d much rather remember the way he stared down at me while he fucked me for the first time.
Matt stumbles after me down the hall. “Okay, what the fuck is up with that?”
I sigh. I’m not used to people calling me on my shit. “I prefer to sleep alone. We can screw around, do whatever in my bed, but to get a good night’s sleep, I need my own space. And as we’ve already established, you’re like a clingy bear when you’re asleep, and you don’t even mean to be.”
“Did you just call me a bear? Aren’t they fat?”
“You’re more like a wolf with that beard.” I lead him down the stairs to the biggest guest bedroom. “You can take this one.”
“What a dump,” he says dryly.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Help yourself to anything you want. I’ll have to do a grocery order, but there’s beer in the fridge.”
“Nutritional.”
“Goodnight.” I turn to leave, but he pulls me against him.
When his mouth meets mine, and his tongue forces its way into my mouth, I know without a doubt I’ve definitely made a mistake.
He pulls back and lets me go. “Goodnight.”
Chapter Nine
Matt
Even though the streets of New York are filled with millions of people—literally—it’s the first time I’ve been out in public in months where I’m not self-conscious. The thing easing my mind is the fact everyone still thinks we’re in Bermuda.
I reach for Noah’s hand and lace our fingers together.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I wanted to try something. This is weird. I’m holding a guy’s hand in public and not freaking out over it. It’s … kinda awesome.”
It didn’t escape me last night when Noah shut down. Pretty much as soon as I’d entered him. When he rolled over, I realized I was making it too personal. He doesn’t do serious. We’re not having a real relationship. It’s sex and then pretending to be in love for the cameras.