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He pops the champagne bottle open, the sharp sound startling me.
“No.”
“Why are we celebrating?”
He pours champagne into both flutes, gives me one, and clinks the glasses together. “We’re leaving.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, then wash my worries down with the effervescent liquid. I lean on the kitchen countertop.
“Sienna… I’d like you to join me and my mom.”
My heart freezes.
I empty the rest of the flute in one clumsy gulp, my brain working overtime to process this information. The brightness of the champagne amplifies the overwhelming sensation taking over me. My cheeks are warm, but my palms feel clammy. He wants me to flee with him and his mom. To start anew far, far from the mess my father has made. God.
My gaze collides with his, and in the complexity of his brown eyes lies the most cherished promise. A promise of a future.
“Do you mean that?” I ask, still double-checking that I didn’t misunderstand him or that my desire to be with him isn’t playing tricks on my senses.
“Yes.” He erases the distance between us and puts his now empty flute next to mine.
“Yes.” I touch his cheek, my fingers outlining his jawline.
“You won’t ask me where we’re moving to?”
“I’ll go to Mars if you’ll have me,” I say, breathless.
“Mars isn’t a viable option. Bad soil, though you’d look cute in an astronaut suit. Why don’t you guess the country? I can give you clues.”
Thisishappening. We’re going away together. My heart races in my chest, and the affection in his eyes only entices me more. Does it matter where we go? I could go with him anywhere. Then, a sober thought darts at me. Until the whole thing is real, until I’m on a plane or boat or fuck, a horse-drawn carriage, I can’t know. Knowing means getting him in trouble if things get dicey. “No.”
He tilts his head, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t tell me yet. If things go south and I can’t join you, I don’t want to know where you’re going—I don’t want to put you at risk.” He’s sacrificed for me enough. There’s also his mom I need to consider. Alma is the most innocent one in all of this. She deserves safety.
He tilts up my chin. “I’ve been at risk since the moment I entered your dorm room,” he says, a pang of tenderness slipping into his deep voice.
I put my hands on his chest, feeling the sculpted muscles under his shirt. “Yes, but still. I wouldn’t forgive myself if?—”
He catches my lips with his and sweeps the world from under my feet. Swiftly, he thrusts his fingers into my hair, catching a handful and tugging it from side to side as he deepens the kiss. With each tug, a charge of electric lust surges through me, and I grind my body against him, so willing to give him anything he wants.
He pulls my head to whatever angle he wants to explore. Every time we kiss, there’s this contrast of sorts. Our mouths know and recognize each other, yet he kisses me like we have so much more ground to cover. I touch his chest, my palm cupping his heart and loving the maddeningly fast beats.
He pushes me to the island, and the two flutes fall to the ground, the sound of glass shattering against tile not enough to tear us apart. I lower my hand to his pants and touch his cock over the fabric. A jolt of excitement spreads through me, and I need more.
I shove my hand inside his pants, too impatient to undo them, and the moment I find his cock, I buck my hips.
I want him inside me now. I tear my mouth from his, panting. “Matteo, please.”
He crushes his lips on mine again. I stroke his cock, which grows, and with my free hand, open his buttons and zipper. When his pants fall and his cock is free, I can finally touch it the way I want to.
He’s punishing me with this kiss, relentlessly invading my mouth and fucking it with his tongue. I cup his balls, feeling them warm and full. He shudders, his body trembling, and I love making him feel this way. The same way he does for me.
He nips my lower lip, and a zap of awareness travels down my spine. Then he slides his hands to my tits, cupping them, teasing my nipples through the fabric with his thumb and index finger until I’m about to burn.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath.
My lips are warm, tender, and achy when he stops kissing me. I stroke him from root to tip, dead set on showing him how turned on I am.
