“You’re hot as fuck when you look up at me like that, Seduttrice,” he teases me.
I smile wider. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. With your face all flushed and lit up like it always does when you dance. Magnificent.”
“You’re flattering me. You don’t look half bad from down here either. If only it weren’t for that thing hanging from your nose,” I tease him.
He throws his head back and laughs. “There’s nothing in my nose.”
“How can you be sure? I can see it perfectly from where I stand.” I make a show of looking at his perfectly clean nostrils.
“You don’t look nearly disgusted enough for that, that’s how I know. No, you’re still giving me those eyes. I’m sure you wouldn’t if there was something in my nose.”
I raise a challenging brow at that. How bold for him to assume anything about me. “How am I looking at you, exactly?” I ask.
Now his grin widens as if accepting my challenge. He leans down slightly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear once more as he says, “Like you want me to kiss you.” We’re barely dancing now. He studies me closely. “Like you want me to be a really good friend tonight and take your mind off things,” he adds.
I let my eyes close and imagine it. I’m certainly not opposed. No, I’ve had one-night stands with much lessappealing suspects, and with Mattheo, I don’t doubt he could make me feel good tonight and go back to being the friend I flirt with tomorrow. We’ve been toying the line with our dancing and teasing for months, anyway. Why not indulge tonight?
Soft lips brush against my cheek and the feel of his short stubble has goosebumps awakening on my feverish skin. I open my eyes as he pulls back a little and when our eyes lock, it’s clear we’ve come to the same conclusion.
He cups my cheek with one big palm and brings his lips to mine.
There are no fireworks. No world-changing enlightenment as Mattheo kisses me. Still, my body reacts to the physical contact in a pleasant way. My skin tingles, my lower stomach warms, and at the soft caress of his thumb, my legs become weak.
I’ve been kissed at parties by many but oh so few know how to do it right. They grab my butt and grind against me, anything to take off the edge they’re feeling. They’re unaware of how they make me stop feeling like a person rather than a means to an end. It’s unsatisfying.
Kissing Mattheo isn’t. One of his hands stays on my cheek while his other arm snakes around my back to hold me close. He envelops me and as he does it, he manages to shut out the rest of the party. The rest of the world.
Just with a kiss.
I bring my hands into his hair and angle his face to deepen the moment. I want him closer. Need him to show me more.
Instead, Mattheo pulls away. “Amo, either take it slow or let me take you upstairs. People at Hartford University talk and while I don’t particularly mind, I like the idea of being the only one here that knows how your moans sound.And you seem a moment away from doing just that.” Oh, that infuriating smile. I should’ve kissed it off his face sooner.
“So take me upstairs,” I provide him with the answer. The second floor consists of the VIP lounge, Sebastian’s bedroom, and some other rooms that only a selected few are allowed to use or stay in. Those selected few are Andrew, Mattheo, Lilianne, and me, by default.
Mattheo takes my hand and walks ahead until we reach the stairs. There, I take the lead until we are in the room I mostly stay in. The door shuts and locks behind Mattheo, the automatic low lights embedded in the ceiling turning on to cast an intimate glow over us.
The air around us changes, the playfulness morphing into something deeper. The grin is no longer on Mattheo’s face. Instead, his eyes turn almost feline as he takes measured steps toward me. He cups my face with both of his hands, enveloping my cheeks entirely. “You are sure about this, Amo? We are on the same page?”
“A casual, mutually beneficial one-night stand between friends that have chemistry. I don’t get shit mixed up, Mattheo. Do you?” I challenge him, bringing my hands to his shoulders to caress their breadth with my nails.
Now he’s grinning again, shaking his head like he can’t believe me. “I should have known better than to even ask. I call you Seduttrice for a reason, after all.”
Before he can keep talking, I stand on the tips of my toes and pull him down the rest of the way so I can kiss him again. My shoes elevate me a few inches, but the man still has to lean down to reach my lips. He seems to notice the inconvenience and decides to take matters into his own hands, bringing them to the backs of my thighs and pickingme up easily. I go along with it and lock my legs around his slender hips.
Thank god for years of his swimming practice. His body feels lethal under my touch. He’s solid muscle, but not in a threatening way. Not like a certain man who owns the apartment. No, Mattheo is lean and defined in a delicious way. I’ve been to enough of his tournaments to know exactly what he looks like. Now it’s time to learn how he feels.
I grab the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head. As soon as the fabric’s gone, he tries to bring his lips back to mine but I pull away. “Give me a second. I’ve been dreaming about this,” I tease him. I carefully move my fingers from his shoulder down over his pecks, feeling every dip and grove under my fingertips. He flexes beneath my touch, and I give him a look. “Really?”
He just shrugs cheekily so I resume my mission to get to know his torso. I feel his ribs, go over his shoulders and down his back, down his spine, back to his flanks. My touch is featherlight, so much so that Mattheo shivers when my digits move over the fine trail of hair vanishing into the waistband of his pants.
“You’re driving me crazy. Stop touching me like I’m made of porcelain, Aliena, I’m not going to break,” he says, his voice low. I meet his eyes and smile.
“I know you won’t. Sometimes it’s nice to be handled with care though, no?” I ask. Knowing how I usually get used for hookups, I don’t want to know how a man like Mattheo is treated. He’s one of the most popular, influential students at that preppy university all my friends go to. On top of that, he looks like he does.
He’s a trophy.
