He brushed his lips over mine—light, teasing, like he was testing the limits of what I’d allow. Then he pulled back just enough to meet my eyes again.
“Tell me what I have to do to convince you,” he whispered, like it was a secret only meant for us.
The way he said it wasn’t about clothes or skin or poolside gossip. It was about shedding the weight I kept carrying around—expectations, fear, the version of myself I thought I had to be to survive high school.
Becausehewasn’t the safe option. Not really.
Safe didn’t look at you like they knew exactly where you were most afraid and still wanted to stand there with you. Safe didn’t ask you to be seen.
Mathieu wasn’t safe.
He wasreal.
And maybe that was what scared me most.
The garage, with its familiar smells and the hum of the old fan, suddenly felt too small. I wanted more of him, more of this feeling. I reached up, tangling my fingers in his hair, and pulled him closer. His lips met mine again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss deepened, and I felt myself melting into him, the tension of the day fading away.
Mathieu’s hands found their way to my waist, pulling me onto his lap. I straddled him, feeling the heat of his body through his jeans. His hands roamed over my back, tracing the curve of my spine, sending shivers down my neck. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, matching the rhythm of my own.
When he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Let’s go inside,” I nodded.
We stood up, our hands still entwined, and made our way to his bedroom. The house was quiet, the host family out for the evening. His bedroom was over the garage. It gave him privacy, and a door that locked. Right now, it was dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls.
Once locked behind that door, he slid his hand up to my ponytail and loosened the tie. When my hair fell free, he finger combed it. “You know you are so beautiful to me.”
It wasn’t a question, but I shuddered as his words seemed to caress that part of me that needed the acknowledgment. Needed to feel wanted. I never felt like I was competing with anything when it came to Mathieu. His eyes were dark with desire. Desire formeand that thrill ran through me.
“I wish I had your gift with words,” I murmured. Because I did. Mathieu just always seemed to know the right thing to say. When I slid my hands beneath his shirt, he pulled it up and off.
Then he was lifting my shirt. Between us, we toed off our shoes, stripped each other naked and I shuddered when he dragged me closer for another kiss. The air conditioner, the older unit that kept this room comfortable kicked on and that rush of cold air over my overheated skin made my nipples pebble.
Wrapping an arm around my waist, he lifted me up and carried me over to his bed. Once he set me down, he straightened to look down at me. His eyes roamed over my body and I felt touched everywhere he gazed.
My heart accelerated at the open want on his face. Then he shoved down his boxers. The jut of his cock always surprised me. Even as he dropped down to cover me, I was rising up to meet him. Our mouths fused and Mathieu’s hands were everywhere.
He stroked my skin, cupped my breasts, then teased the nipples with his fingers. When he kissed a path from my mouth to my chest, I sucked in a deeper breath. His breathing wasragged and a thin line of moisture dribbled over my leg as his cock dragged over it.
“Frankie…” The harsh whisper had me clenching, then he cupped my pussy, before he pushed two fingers into me. For the first time, I was more than wet enough. We wouldn’t need the lube. Still, he pumped his fingers as he licked and sucked at my nipples like they were his favorite treat.
Right when I was so close, he dragged his fingers away and I dug my hands into his shoulders. Frustration welled up, but he stole another kiss, then grabbed for a condom from the drawer of his nightstand. Between us, we rolled it on him. I loved how velvety soft the skin of his shaft was, but we always used condoms.
“Ready?” He asked, returning to the cradle of my legs and at my nod, he positioned himself at my entrance. The first push was still a bit of a sting. Not the sharp pain of the first time or the ache of the second. Just the pressure of the stretch, the soreness of not being used to it. Still, I craved this, wanted this… wanted him.
He was almost too slow as he eased himself inside, and when I moaned, he drew back and thrust in again. He caught his rhythm swiftly, increasing his pace and then he moved up to his knees, hands on my hips as he dragged me forward and up.
At this angle, I felt him everywhere as he pulled out and then it almost hurt every time he slammed back inside. The tension was right there, coiling tighter as he rocked his hips to mine. But his pace increased, he was so close.
When he pulled my hand to between my legs, I let his fingers guide me. Right, I needed to rub my clit. Between us, the coiled tension exploded into electric sensation. The first clench of my inner muscles had Mathieu shouting.
His was always so much more intense than my own, but there was still a hazy drift of pleasure that came from being with him.We lay there, wrapped around each other for a long time. I’d have to go home soon, but right now, I wanted to be right where I was.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
BUBBA
The house always looked expensive. It didn’t matter how many times I’d been here—every visit reminded me. The lawn out front was its own kind of smug. Stupid green despite the summer heat and trimmed to perfection. No dandelions. No dry patches. Not a single leaf where it didn’t belong.
