I nodded. “Okay.” My brain was fuzzy and focused on soothing this ache inside me. Why was he telling me this? “Should I know you?”
He shook his head. “No. I just thought you should know. That I’m Matt Easton,” he said as if it were important, as if I needed to listen carefully. As if I should be understanding something I didn’t. “I don’t want to hide anything, mislead you in any way.”
“Mislead me? How?”
He blinked once then twice. “Just by not telling you.”
“Okay.” Had I heard of him before? Seen him in anything? He was handsome enough to be a movie star and his name did sound familiar, but he could just as easily have been the guy our town librarian praised for mowing her lawn. I trailed my fingertips over his eyebrow. I wasn’t sure why he felt he had to tell me. It wasn’t as if he was George Clooney and a swarm of paparazzi was gathered on the deck. He was clearly some here today, gone tomorrow actor. And soon he’d be far away from Worthington. “Does that mean you want to stop?”
He ground his hips toward me and kissed me again. I guess I had my answer. Maybe I’d understand why he’d hit pause for a couple of seconds later, but right now the only thing I wanted was more of his kisses.
“Let’s go inside,” I said and he pulled me from the wall and led us indoors.
The door clicked shut and darkness enveloped us.
He carried me into the kitchen, set me on the countertop. “You’re beautiful,” he said, taking a half step back.
I covered my mouth with my splayed fingers, trying to hide my smile at his compliment. I’d pulled on yoga pants after work, and no one was beautiful wearing an elasticized waist.
His hands dipped into the back of my leggings and panties and somehow, without effort, he stripped me naked so my bare ass was on the counter and I wore nothing but my bra.
“Let me look at you.” He stepped back and lifted his chin as if he were proud of the way he’d undressed me. “Your bra—take it off.”
He pulled his open shirt out of his pants and stripped it off as I reached behind my back for the clasp.
He deserved to be on display with his face—all cut jaw and soft blue eyes. Masculine and beautiful at the same time. With his body—chiseled and the color of brown sugar.
He was perfect.
I watched as the light coming from the porch lit up his hungry face. “Yeah. That’s good,” he said as I removed my bra.
The cold marble beneath my hot skin seemed to feed my lust. I opened my legs under his inspection. I wanted his eyes, his fingers, his dick between my thighs. Right. Now.
“You have a beautiful pussy,” he said, bringing his gaze from between my legs to my face.
I tilted my head in acknowledgment, in invitation.
Two feet of space separated us, but it felt as if every glance physically touched me.
Slowly, his hands went to his fly, popping open his jeans. His eyes never left mine.
He slid his pants down. I was anxious to see what came next.
I sucked in a breath as he fisted his cock, dragging his hand up, rounding the head before pushing back down.
I couldn’t remember a man’s dick making my mouth water before.
“Let’s mess this pretty pussy up a little, shall we?”
My hips rolled forward, and he didn’t torture me any longer as he stepped between my legs.
Watching me, he trailed his fingers over my folds with one hand, his other still on his cock. I bit my lip, fighting back the moan building from the base of my stomach.
“Don’t hold back. I want to take what I want. But I want to give you what you need. And I have to see, hear, feel what that is.”
I gasped.
“Yeah,” he said with approval and blinked, slowly, as if lust was stalling his reactions.
His fingers left my sex and he grabbed my nipple, circling then pulling. They were almost painfully swollen with arousal. My breath caught and I braced my arm against his chest.
“Oh yeah. You like that. You like it a little rough.” I tensed. I didn’t like the thought of being hurt. “Oh no, baby, not pain. But you wanna get fucked right. I get it. I know it. And I’m the man to do it.”
He slid his hand down, exploring confidently, showing me he was in charge.
It was exactly what I wanted.
He pulled me to the edge of the counter and pushed his cock up my folds. My stomach wound tighter and tighter.
He broke our kiss, and I glanced down to find him positioning a condom over his tip. He didn’t wait until it was on before he slid his lips against mine, diving his tongue back in to explore my mouth.
His crown pressed at my entrance and our kiss slowed and deepened, our foreheads touched as I nudged my fingertips against his shoulder, preparing myself. Our mouths open, our lips just a breath apart, he began to push into me, firing off sensation into every atom of my body.
He was so hot, so big, so full. He kept pushing and pushing, his hands holding me in place. I tried to swallow down my cries but then remembered what he’d said and choked out, “Yes.”
He groaned as he buried himself in me, stilling, adjusting, giving us both a chance to savor the moment. This couldn’t get better, wouldn’t last.
“You’re so tight. So motherfucking—” He ground out the words as if speaking stole the last drops of energy in the universe.
I squeezed and released my muscles, trying to milk his cock, encouraging him to soothe my need for him.
“Holy Jesus.” As if he’d been hit by a lightning strike, renewed power coursed through him. He kissed me again, pulling out just a little and then pushing in farther than I thought possible.
I tightened my fingers against his skin, hanging on to the feeling that I might burst with pleasure at any moment.
“More,” I cried out. “Please.”
The corners of his mouth twitched with a smile. He blinked, then shifted gears and found his rhythm. Every time he pushed in, my breath caught. Every time he pulled out, I whimpered with the loss.
Shifting angles, he pressed me back until I lay flat on the counter. I reached behind my head, fumbled for the edge, and braced myself.
“Christ, you look too perfect.” He swept his hand between my breasts and pushed against my lower abdomen as he continued to pump into me. I arched my back in response to the pleasure ratcheting up with each touch.
“I’m going to come,” I screamed.
The hair around his face was darkened with sweat and he increased his pace, his breathing heavy and labored. He was like a living sculpture, every carved muscle perfectly crafted, every inch of him in complete proportion.
He glanced between our bodies, staring at the place where his dick slid into me. I followed his gaze, then looked up. Our eyes locked and, the final step toward my climax complete, I screamed out as my orgasm tore through me like a tornado.
The booming in my ears muffled his grunts and moans, and instead of floating down from bliss I continued to climb, my orgasm circling and circling like a stuck vinyl record.