He kisses my mouth, using one hand to stroke my breasts, torture my nipples, and then fingers me until I’m panting and sobbing his name, pleading for him to fuck me.
“Want me?” he whispers, his fingers stroking me, filling me up. “Want my cock inside you?”
“Yes!” I whimper. “Please, Matt.”
“Oh fuck, yeah,” he whispers, pulling his fingers out, and pushes his cock inside me.
We both moan at the sensation. He grabs my leg, lifts it around his waist, pushing deeper, and I cry out, the pleasure bordering on pain, the fullness stopping my thoughts.
His mouth descends on mine, silencing me, and he starts thrusting in earnest, pounding inside me, every stroke lighting up my body like a neon sign, making my mind flicker.
And all the while he’s kissing me, eating up my mouth, my taste on his tongue, my body at his mercy, invaded and taken and it’s starting again, the clenching deep inside me.
“Matt…” I breathe when he breaks the fusion of our mouths to draw breath. “I’m… I can’t…”
My pussy clenches hard, and I bite my lower lip not to scream. A loud moan escapes me as I come again, tightening around his cock again, and again, my back lifting off the bed with the intensity of it.
“Oh Christ.” His face contorts, and his body bows over me. “Fuck, Tay...” His eyes go wide, and his mouth goes slack as he thrusts erratically a few more times inside me, making me groan, and pulls out his cock in the last moment, spilling scorching heat all over my belly and breasts. “Damn.”
He collapses beside me, an arm over my chest, breathing harshly in my ear. His cum is crisscrossing my body, like a net. Like he captured me.
I like it.
I grin up at him, and he lifts a shaky hand to stroke my mouth. “You know…” he murmurs sleepily. “You’re the light of my life.”
“And you’re mine,” I whisper, staring at his handsome face, the pretty long-lashed eyes, his square jaw, the fall of dark hair over his forehead.
He smiles.
God, that smile. A hell of a smile. It makes his eyes brighten and dimples appear in his cheeks and… it turns my heart over.
And then he says, “I love you.”
Epilogue: Golden Promises
Octavia
“Come on, Tati,” Cole says, tugging on my hand.
I take another step, stumbling on a fold in the carpet. “Where are we going?”
“You will see,” Mary says from my other side.
“Eventually. Because right now I don’t see a thing.”
The blindfold is scratchy, tickling my cheekbones. There’s an itch on the bridge of my nose, but two very determined kids are holding tightly on my hands, leading me across the living room.
As we approach the door, the fresh morning breeze sends strands of hair over my face, and the scent of flowers and mown grass.
“Am I not allowed a peek? Just a peek?”
“No, Tati,” Cole says patiently, and I supress the urge to giggle at his serious baby voice. “No peek.”
“But how will I go down the steps without seeing?” The three porch steps are pretty steep and breaking my leg would spoil the day.
“Daddy is waiting,” Mary says.
Oh good. No broken legs in today’s plan.
Relieved, I let them tow me outside, onto the porch, feel the sun warm on my skin – on my cheeks, my mouth, my neck, my arms.
I’m a bit shaky, and I hope nobody has noticed. Since my kidnapping by Jeff Adams and the night I spent in the storeroom in the back of the ice cream shop, I have developed a small fear of the dark.
Yeah, I was sedated most of the time I’d been there. But not all the time. And anyway, no idea how brains work. I just know that mine shies away from the darkness these days.
It’s been two weeks since that night, but the fear that I’d die alone without seeing my family or Matt and the kids again keeps resurfacing in my dreams, turning them into nightmares.
Despite the warmth of the sun, the urge to yank off the blindfold is too strong, pressing on my chest. I’m already digging in my heels and tugging myself free of the kids’ hold, when strong hands land on my waist.
“I’ve got you, Tay,” Matt’s deep, growly voice says, instantly calming me, and he lifts me up into his arms. I yelp and throw my arms around him, miraculously managing to snag them around his neck and not punch him in the face by mistake. He swings me off the porch. “Easy now.”
“Matt…”
“Yeah, baby. Right here.”
“The kids? Those steps are steep.”
He kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice warm. “Are you ready?”
“For what? What’s going on?”
“You forgot already what I promised you.”
I snuggle into him, inhaling his masculine scent of musk and spice. “You promised me many things.”
“And I always deliver.”
This makes me laugh. So cocky, so relaxed and playful.
So different from the man-beast I first encountered at this very spot. I unwind one hand from his neck to touch his face.
Without seeing, the sensation of his beardless face is even more intense. Powerful. I trace the line of his jaw, the dimple in his cheek that means he’s smiling. I touch his mouth and he kisses my fingertips.
His lips on my fingers send electric shivers down my spine and heat pools in my belly, starting a throb between my legs.
This man is big, big trouble…
The kids giggle and run about us, and Matt’s steady heartbeat slows my fluttery pulse down until I’m limp in his arms, my head resting on his muscular shoulder.
“So where are you taking me?” I whisper, lulled by the rhythm of his steps over the low-cut grass.
“I promised you a picnic. But our plans were interrupted.” His smile slips. I feel it under my fingertips, hear it in his voice.
“Only put off,” I say. “We’re here now.” I huff. “Why am I blindfolded for a picnic?”
“You’ll see,” he says, just like his daughter earlier, and his smile returns, sharp and wicked. I trace it lightly, smiling, too. “Know what? I like this blindfold on you. It’s giving me ideas for later.”
I tense up a little. “I don’t like it.”
“That’s because you haven’t tried it.” He stops moving. “Or is it something else?” He slowly kneels and pulls me on his lap. “The nightmares. Shit. I’m sorry.”
He pulls the blindfold off me, and I blink, unseeing, in the bright light.
“Don’t be.” The world comes back into focus, the garden, the tree, the red blanket on the grass, the kids spreading dishes and packages. “Not your fault.”
“I’d never have used this,” he waves the black cloth, “if I’d known.”
“I know.” I stroke his face, endlessly fascinated by his smooth cheeks. “It’s all right. I’ll get over this. Maybe this is good,” I go on, thinking. “Getting back in the saddle and all that.”
“You should take your time.” He frowns. “No reason to rush anything.”
“But I want to try this with you. Whatever it is you have in mind. I…” I stop him with a finger on his lips when he starts to protest again. “I trust you.”