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I teeter on the edge for too long, but Matthew works me without a break, keeping his promise. My mouth is dropped open, my eyes on him. The fullness of him inside of me refuses to slow. The showerhead rushes against my swollen clit.
A drop of sweat falls off his forehead and onto my face.
It’s so fucking erotic.
Abruptly, my orgasm rushes me off the edge. I’m barely able to understand what is happening as a storm deepens inside of me. My body explodes with pleasure as my walls pulsate around him.
“Matthew!” I scream, my toes curling, my fingers sinking into the arm wrapped around me. The pain in my hand vanishes, and the only thing I can feel are stars bursting inside of my skin.
“There you are, beautiful. I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you.” His rich chuckle snakes over me. My hips buck, grinding over his thick digits. It seems to last forever.
The climax is so strong, I fear I’m moments away from cardiac arrest.
As I come down from my high, Matthew turns off the water. He doesn’t remove the arm I’m clinging to, but he straightens his legs, and I lean back to rest on his chest. My vision is still blurry from the orgasm.
I peel open my lids to find him sitting in the tub with me, his jeans soaking up the suds.
Oh no.
“Your—” I begin, but he gives me a small shake of his head.
“Relax,” he says in a quiet voice. “I just want to feel you close.” He turns me on my side, and I rest my cheek on his chest. The hummingbird rhythm of my heartbeat slows, and I nuzzle closer, melting beneath the possessive weight of his arms.
This doesn’t compare to anything I’ve ever felt.
It's like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold night, or like feeling the sun on my face after a long, dark winter. Complete, like I belong. I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
No matter what the future holds for us, our fake relationship or our pretend marriage, I’ll always treasure the first time I felt like myself, wholly and truly.
Chapter18
Matthew
My mind is occupiedwith Molly. Everything she does, each subtle smile and glance over her shoulder has left me entirely shattered. I’m certain that watching her fall apart in my arms yesterday hasn’t helped. There’s also the fact that I about lost it this morning when we played a romantic version of Scrabble instead of our regularly scheduled activity, and Molly pulled out the wordconcupiscence.
Seriously. What starved man doesn’t want to pin a gorgeous woman with a good vocabulary against their bed?
Not me. I’m the starved man.
But we made it. It’s our last day at On Cloud Nine. Our last activity before we meet with Molly’s parents.
At this time next month, she may be my wife.
A grin stretches across my face.
Lolita had us clear our afternoon to trial another new activity at the resort. Molly’s panting a few stairs ahead of me, and the metal spiral staircase clanks with each step. We’re in a greenhouse a mile from the main property. Dozens of variations of pothos, snake plants, and flowering birds-of-paradise litter the tables below us.
“What exactly are we doing today?” Molly’s wearing a short dress, and every step exposes more of the dimpled flesh on her upper thighs. I want to sink my teeth into her, nibble at the notches in her skin until she’s covered in my bite marks.
Christ.
“Painting.” Lolita parrots the vague response she gave us in the golf cart over here.
Molly shoots me a confused look. Her nose wrinkles adorably.
We step onto the second floor and pass through a door that leads to an expansive art studio. Canvases of all shapes and sizes clutter the walls and floors. The shelves bend underneath the overflow of brushes, paint, and books.
On the southern side, large windows start from the floor and extend to the skylight. The view outside is wondrous. The oranges and reds of the canyons blend into the colors of the sky.
