Page 71 of The Daddy’s Girl

“You really are trouble,” he mumbles.

Then, without another word or sound, he pulls me against him and covers my mouth with his own. Inside, my body delights with satisfaction. It feels like winning.

He licks the seam of my mouth, and I open for him without hesitation. He dives his tongue in as I do the same to him.

Matis doesn’t kiss like any man I’ve ever kissed before. He kisses without fear or indecision. He kisses to own and hypnotize. When his lips are against mine and his tongue is in my mouth, I don’t even know my own name. But I don’t care. Who needs a name? I need nothing when I have his mouth on mine.

The kiss grows hungry and wild without anything to stifle it. There is no one outside that door. We would have heard them coming. There are no doubts or concerns or second thoughts. We’ve already had those. There is just this kiss and every wonderful thing it could evolve into.

He nibbles delicately on my lip, and I let out a whimper. He freezes, and I expect him to pull away and tell me we can’t do this after all.

Instead, he gently backs me up toward my dresser against the wall. His body feels so good. He’s tall and strong, and the strength in his arms and shoulders makes me feel safe and precious. Time stops as we kiss and kiss and kiss. Our hands explore each other. Our lips trail down each other’s jaw and throat and face. I don’t think I have ever been happier in my life, but there’s a hunger in Matis’s movements. It’s almost as if the more he holds himself back, the hungrier he is to indulge.

Pinning my hips to the hardwood, he holds one hand over my mouth and lets the other drift down the front of my long T-shirt. My body trembles in anticipation.

“You’ll have to be quiet, Trouble.”

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head from his words alone.

“I’ll be quiet,” I whisper against his palm with an obedient nod.

When his hand reaches my hip, I shudder, and he freezes. Still holding a hand over my mouth, he stares into my eyes, and I see the turmoil swimming in his gray irises.

“I can’t do this,” he mumbles.

And yet he makes no move to pull himself away. So with a shake in my hands, I slide my fingers over his and ease them down between my thighs.

When they reach the soaked center of my panties, I tremble and it’s his turn to whimper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

I’m starting to sense a pattern here.

My back arches over the dresser as he slips the fabric to the side and gently runs his finger through the pooling moisture.

“Oh God, what is wrong with me?” he whispers, a rasp to his voice as he drops his head against my shoulder. His other hand falls away from my mouth.

I no longer have to ease his fingers along. He is in control now and runs them through my folds with pressure. Enough to make me yelp quietly into his neck.

“More, please,” I whisper.

“I told you to be quiet. What if your father came in?” he mutters darkly, and I know it tears him up to say those words out loud. My father. His best friend.

It might make him feel bad, but it makes me feel hot and needy. I want him behind closed doors and in secret. I want him to slip his fingers between my legs in all the places we are not supposed to. And technically…we’re not supposed to anywhere.

“I’m going to hell for this,” he growls into my ear as his thick finger slides inside me.

My head hangs back with a silent cry. He moves slow at first, which is good because I’m still trying to figure out how on earth this is happening. How did we get here? Something that felt like such an impossible dream only a few weeks ago is now a reality.

“Does that feel good?” he whispers almost silently against my cheek as he moves his finger at a slow, steady pace.

I nod.

“I’m a monster for this, Trouble. Don’t you understand how terrible I am?”

Lifting my head, I stare into his eyes as I hook my hands around his neck. “Would a monster make me feel this good?”

His face twists in agony as he continues to plunge a finger inside me. “I want to make you come, Trouble. Will you come for me?”