Page 105
“That’s a terrible way to think.”
“Perhaps. But it’s right, isn’t it? You don’t have to believe in someone else’s religion to see it have a profound effect on them.”
Her eyes narrow, lips pursed, as she considers that argument from the standpoint of a defense attorney. I await her judgement.
“And you really believe you’re incapable of it? Love?”
“No.” I look at her. “I believe I’m incapable of having it without destroying it.”
Something changes in her expression. Neither of us speaks.
Then she crosses the space between us.
Her hand rests against my chest. “Wait.”
I stop. My hands stay where they are, at my sides.
“You can go to your room, Matty. Sleep. Argue with me in the morning.”
“And you’ll let me?”
“Yes.”
She searches my face. I wait, and let her decide how much of the distance she wants to close.
When she kisses me this time, it’s slow. Deliberate. A luxurious shift as her body settles over mine, her thighs on either side of my hips, my hands meeting thick jersey material.
Her lips move so softly they almost feel like a dream; as if I’ve finally imagined myself into insanity lusting after this woman.
I know I should stop. She was right earlier; we can’t keep doing this. But the reckless man in me, the one who deals in blood and weapons and dirt covering secrets, is ready to gamble on this, on her.
Every single logical thought slips out of my brain, and I kiss her back more hungrily, parting her lips with mine.
Delving my tongue between her teeth and lapping at what I want.
Devouring her.
Matilda whimpers into the kiss, trying to press closer to me and making me hiss.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, pulling back and looking for where she’s hurt me.
But it’s the opposite problem…the oversensitive friction of her in my lap against a very, very obvious hard-on.
Her tongue wets her lips again as she notices the problem. A slow drag that I feel like it’s on me, and I can’t hold back any longer.
Wrapping an arm under her ass, I stand and walk us toward the bedroom I’ve claimed. Now I plan on claiming her in any way I can.
Matilda distracts me with more kisses along my jaw and my neck, the juncture where my shoulder is, a bite at the apex making me shiver. I kick the door shut behind me and lay her out on the duvet.
And then I take a moment to just look.
Her hair is, as always, ready to escape from the bun containing it. A facade just like the one she shows the world—tamed on the outside, but wild within. She’s gorgeous with the tank draped over her body, and now it’s obvious that she’s not wearing a bra, her nipples already peaked beneath the soft fabric.
Kneeling with one knee on the bed, I reach up the length of her body and ghost a hand over her breast. Matty sucks in a deep breath, arching herself toward my touch.
“Tell me what you want.”
The request comes out husky, deep, a rumble from somewhere so far inside me that a frisson of anticipation runs through me.
