Chapter Sixteen

Lexi had lost sight of Matt for only a second when the front door slammed open and there he stood, glistening wet, muscles hard, hair stuck in wild, damp tendrils. He carried with him the faint scent of fresh cut grass.

The art of yoga forgotten, she fell into a heap.

Rather than laugh, he reached for her, his work-roughened hand capturing hers as he wordlessly tugged her to her feet. He’d been sweaty, but after that stint with the water hose, he was drenched and dripping water. “Might want to lose the pants,” she said.

“I hope you know what you’re saying.” His voice, deliciously gruff, shattered the last of any resistance she might have thought she harbored. If he didn’t look so hell-bent on ravaging her, she might have been the one on her knees, begging. Or something.

Not that she wanted to admit it. “I’m saying you’re getting the floor wet.”

“That’s not all I’m going to get wet,” he said with a growl, crashing into her with a kiss that obliterated imagination and fantasy in an explosion of white-hot lust. The chill on his skin blasted the heat on hers, and she didn’t think she imagined the steam between them or the fog that enveloped her as he carried her, fully vertical, his chest pressed against hers, to the sofa. Which was in full view of the window. Which she forgot to care about when he cradled her face with his hands and said, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“That’s the opposite of forgetting,” she reminded him, almost hoping he’d take the out, because dear God, this could not be real. She’d seen Matt nearly every day of her life, but never with the intense, searing heat she saw in him now.

And it was for her.

She knew exactly what it felt like for him to slide inside of her. She knew how full she felt, how connected they were. How eager her body was to take as much as she could and, God help her, make room for the rest. She knew the way he felt inside, driving deep, hard, making her world splinter and vision fade into the sparkly tendrils of a shattered reality.

But she didn’t know the weight of him on top of her.

Not until he stripped her of what little she wore, stepping out of his wet clothes as he followed her down to the sofa. Every part of her trembled, aching to be the piece he touched first, but it was her mouth that won out. Where the kiss before had been demanding, this one teased, deepened, tasted so sweet, and was so gentle that the heat of tears threatened. Never had she felt so treasured, and it was just his mouth, nipping and probing, leaving her boneless and weak.

And absolutely starving.

He stopped to smile, to murmur her name, and she remembered what he’d said about her eyes. Lost herself in his. His grin widened. He traced a fingertip in wide circles around one breast, ignoring the pink flesh and the hardened peak that strained for attention. All thoughts of this being any kind of game were lost. Begging, she rocked her hips upward, trying desperately to get him to touch anything, but he ignored her, toying lazily. “You’re driving me nuts,” she murmured.

“’Bout damn time,” he said, his teeth nipping at her neck.

“You never stopped.” She grabbed his hair, pulling him back for a hungry kiss. He groaned, ending it, and diverted his attention to her breast, touching his tongue to just the tip until she arched her back, demanding he take the whole thing. When he did, she thought she’d die from the pleasure of it. Desire tore through her, hot and tumultuous, reckless and needy, and no amount of twisting and repositioning put him in the right spot to relieve the pressure. “Matt, I swear to God, if you don’t just do this—”

“Not much on foreplay, are you?”

“I’m going to say this only once. I need you. Right now.” She hated to admit those words to him, but if he didn’t relieve this pressure in her, the tension would twist and bend and break and—

“I need you. I’ve never—”

Oh no. If he said even one tiny little thing right, if he made this anything but physical, she’d fall a thousand feet to her carnal death. This had to be about sex. They were forgetting this thing, eventually. He could move on from the sex, and she’d be okay. If it was about them, when he lost interest, she’d lose her best friend. She couldn’t handle that. This… This she’d handle as best she could. “Please don’t make it more than it is.”

A flash of hurt touched his eyes, but she ignored it. She also ignored the twinge the words left in her chest, because it didn’t matter how real this felt. They were blowing off the heat of this attraction, something that was bound to happen after so many years of getting under each other’s skin.

“Haven’t you realized,” he said softly, “that it’s everything?”

Well, that did it. There was no coming back from that voice, that body, that touch. Sex before Matt had always been a bit utilitarian. Maybe she just hadn’t done it enough, but at best, she’d have simply referred to it as the sex portion of the evening. Satisfying, maybe. Monumental? Never.

Matt was monumental. Matt changed things.

Matt ruined things.

Matt…had been mowing grass with a condom in his pocket. She watched with a hefty mix of amusement and disbelief as he reached for his discarded jeans and withdrew the packet. He tore into it, never breaking eye contact as he rolled it on. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he said, tracing his hands down her inner thighs, parting them, teasing her with his thumbs when he couldn’t go any farther. “For the record, I had other plans.”

“I’m sure your plans will wait, but I do appreciate your honesty.”

“Not what I meant.” He positioned himself at her opening and she jerked her hips, wanting more than anything for him to dive in. “Impatient, are we?”

“Please.”

She hadn’t managed to breathe the whole word before he filled her. She nearly wept with the sweet torture of the pressure, and that was before he ground exquisitely in just the right spot. Pleasure shot through her, numbing her limbs and setting fire to everything else.

“Please don’t close your eyes,” he murmured, still grinding in a rhythm that flung her helplessly out of her mind. And she remembered what he said, that he wanted to see her in that moment. But he’d been toying with her then. This was different. This was real.

Too real.

She met his gaze and was struck by the intimacy of the moment. Of being joined, being his, when he twisted just enough to knock the pleasure into the stratosphere as he rocked his hips, withdrawing only to plunge slowly, deeply between her thighs. He took her hands, lacing their fingers, using the grip to hold her as he set fire to her G-spot and drove her to the point of madness. If she still had limbs, she couldn’t feel them. Everything was wrapped around Matt, the rolling of his body into hers, the grip of his hands, the sweetness of staring into his eyes and seeing her own pleasure reflected there.

“I was wrong,” he said, his lips brushing her skin, the words muffled to her ears by her own fight for air.

“About what?” She was so overwhelmed, so overcome by sensation and emotion that she trembled.

“Your eyes. I thought they’d be bright,” he said, “but they’re not. There’s this heat, this haze. There’s smoke.”

“There’s fire,” she whispered.

“There always has been,” he said, kissing her, grinding his hips, making her see stars that outshone the sun. “Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”

She didn’t need his permission…she just didn’t want it to be over. And now she was thinking about him being behind her in a very sexual way and there was no coming back from that. Everything splintered, her body seizing around him with a power that made her grateful she was so deeply ensconced in his arms.

He held her while she trembled, slowing the rhythm, easing her gently back to earth. But not to anywhere she’d ever been.

And not sure how she’d find her way to anywhere she’d ever been before.

She closed her eyes, just feeling, drifting, wanting it not to end. Everything fit, everything was so right, and she knew no one else would ever hold that spot.

It was a sucky revelation.

Now was probably the time to make a gracious exit. She could burrow under the covers, cue up something on Netflix. But not a romance. She needed a horror movie to come down from this.

Then she glanced toward the window and realized she was living one. Her eyes flew wide. “Oh my God, is that Mrs. Crump watching us?”

Matt glanced toward the window, then back at Lexi. The woman was so close to the window, she had to be in the flowerbed.

They both lost it, their laughter breaking the fragile seriousness of the moment. They just kept digging deeper into this mess, and the seismic waves of an orgasm seemed only to drive home how insanely big this was between them.

She hadn’t realized it before, but God, how she’d needed to laugh. She needed to hear him laugh. She tried to grab for her shirt, but Matt was still on top of her and Mrs. Crump still stood there. Matt muttered something decidedly indecent as he climbed off Lexi, but she noticed he didn’t shy away from giving the old woman a show. Lexi sprinted to the bedroom, leaving Matt behind.

She dove straight for her borrowed dresser to grab a shirt, but she didn’t get the chance. She was still laughing when Matt came up behind her, snatching the shirt from her hands and tossing her playfully to the bed.

Then he followed her down, and they stopped laughing just as quickly as they’d started.

It wasn’t funny anymore.

It was real.