Heat spreads through my body as he takes his time worshiping me. It nearly feels like I’m the one doing the seducing, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

  He’s the one in control, loosening another button on my nightgown so it’s easy to push off my other shoulder. The fabric pools at my feet and I’m standing before him in nothing but a silky pair of underwear and red fuzzy socks.

  Standing before him like this, it feels like there’s so much more of him than there is of me. His hands are bigger than mine. He’s stronger, older, more confident. He bends to kiss my other breast and my hands roam across his back, trying to feel every contour of muscle, every inch of heated skin.

  He wraps his hands around my hips and pushes me toward my small bed. There’s no use trying to keep up with his deft movements. We’re backing up at the same time his hands slide into my panties and cup my ass. He uses his grip to bring me against him and his hard length grinds into me. I can feel him through his pants. I know how patiently he’s waited. For hours—weeks.

  He whispers against the shell of my ear, telling me how badly he wants to feel me wrapped around him.

  His hips roll and my eyes pinch closed. There are still layers of clothes between us, but the sparks are there, warning me. I don’t want to come like this, just from his hips grinding against mine.

  But I will if he continues.

  I beg him to slow down because I’m coming undone too easily, but he doesn’t care. My silk panties brush against overly sensitive skin as he continues his seduction. His hand skims down and he brushes his fingers across me, on top of the fabric. He’s relentless and I’m angry with him, mad that he’s doing this to me when we’re so close to feeling skin on skin, so close to the real thing.

  He kisses me relentlessly and continues teasing me right up until my toes start to curl, until I’ve completely surrendered to the beginnings of an orgasm. I don’t care about anything now that I’m so close. I can feel the tingles start to trickle up my spine and then suddenly he pulls back and deposits me on the bed. The shock of cold air jerks me sharply away from the edge.

  If I was angry before, now I’m on fire. I scramble up and over to him, yanking on his pants at the same time he unzips them and pushes them down. They’re on the floor and his briefs are next. I lose my breath as I finally catch sight of his length. My reaction must be funny because he chuckles and pushes me back onto the bed.

  “Not so angry now?” he teases right before his mouth meets mine.

  A kiss.

  God, it feels like ages since his mouth has been on mine, but it’s only been a few seconds. I’m reminded why we’re here, why I’m spreading my thighs and begging him to continue, to finally let this happen. My anger burns away and there’s nothing but all-consuming need left behind.

  “We need to be quiet,” he warns as his hand drags down my body. His fingers hit the edge of my panties and I dig my nails into his shoulders. He pushes past the top of the fabric and then his palm covers me. We’ve been here before, his fingers sinking into me, but this time it’s infinitely better because his weight is on top of me, his naked heated skin covering mine.

  I offer some inaudible plea and he shakes his head, bending down to kiss me.

  His finger sinks inside me again, burrowing deeper.

  “You nearly got us caught earlier,” he reminds me. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

  Even as he threatens me, his fingers drag back out and then in, stretching me, teasing me.

  My orgasm—the one he stole from me a second ago—comes roaring back to life, and if he’d only just keep…doing…that.

  “I won’t make a peep,” I promise as my gaze finds his. My fingers wrap around the sides of his biceps and I use all of my strength to keep him there on top of me. His eyes are hooded as he stares down at me. I arch my back and my breasts brush against his chest. “Please,” I whisper desperately, and finally, a quiet groan tears through him and he claims my mouth.

  My panties are tugged off and thank God he’s quick with the condom he pulls out of his wallet because I’m dying a slow death as he settles himself back between my thighs and thrusts into me…slowly…slowly…and then all at once. A moan rips through me as I finally orgasm just from that one, hard thrust. Fireworks dance behind my closed eyes and Matt’s mouth crashes against mine. His kiss is painful and biting and he’s angry at me for breaking my promise to stay quiet. He punishes me when he thrusts harder again and again. I wish I could tell him I’m not in control. My body is his, these limbs and mouth and that delicious spot in the center of my thighs are his to do with as he pleases. I wish I could tell him this is no punishment. This is a gift.

  He hoists himself up onto his hands and uses the leverage to his advantage. With a confident grip, he hikes my bent knee up so my thighs are spread wider for him. One of his hands presses my leg into the mattress and he rolls his hips, grinding into me at an angle I’ve never experienced before.

  My breathing is labored because I have one hand over my mouth. I’m scared I’ll unintentionally cry out again. My other hand is everywhere, fisting his thick hair, dragging down his back. I feel his muscles shift and I indulge myself and grip his hard ass as he thrusts into me again and again.

  His mouth is at my ear and he’s apologizing that he can’t last much longer, that tonight has been too tortuous and drawn out. Then he pulls back up and bites his lip and concentrates on where our bodies are meeting. Sweat collects on his brow and I’m taking snapshots to remember later: the bunched muscles of his abs as he rolls his hips, the tension in his jaw as he tries to stave off his orgasm, the softness in his eyes as his gaze meets mine.

  He brushes my hair off my face and I tilt my chin up in invitation.

  He bends and kisses me languidly, teasingly. My tongue rolls with his and he moves his hand between my thighs. I wish I could say I put in a good effort fighting off that second orgasm, but the truth is that after only a few hours, Matt knows my body too well. His thumb swirls in time with his thrusts and I’m shattered. I can’t take another. “I’ll die,” I tell him.

  He laughs huskily and drops his mouth to my breast, taking the tip into his mouth. It’s his answer, and it’s every bit as confident as him blatantly replying, Oh yes you will. Now come.

  I do, and this time, I manage to stay as quiet as a church mouse, mostly because I’m so preoccupied with watching Matt lose himself. He can’t hold off any longer and I kiss his cheek, begging for him to let go as well. His shoulders bunch and his face falls into the crook of my neck. His hips jerk and it’s nearly painful how deep he is inside me. His fingers intertwine with mine over my head as the waves of pleasure shoot through his body. I’m lost to the sensation of it, the sheer bliss of making a man like Matt come apart at the seams.

  He stays on top of me just like that as our breaths start to even out and the details of real life start to filter back to us. For the first time since we began, I’m made aware of just how tiny my twin bed is. Matt’s nearly falling off. My body is wedged painfully between the wall and him.

  I drag a hand down his spine and he moans but doesn’t move.

  “You’re going to fall,” I warn him with a little laugh.

  He shifts to the left and covers me even more.

  “Matt.”

  “Shh, I’m sleeping,” he teases, hand dragging up and finding my breast.

  “Oh, okay. That doesn’t feel like sleeping to me, sir.”

  He lifts his head and his eyes blink open. He stares down at me for a few seconds and my realizations go as follows: Matt and I just had sex, write-home-about-it sex, and honestly, it felt a lot like we were making love. Yes, that four-letter word creeps into my mind like an uninvited party guest. Ohhh, you just wanted a casual fling? ’Cause I thought it’d be more fun if we tumbled head over heels.

  His brows tug together in thought and he lifts his hand to wipe my cheek with his thumb. Oh dear god. Those are tears he’s wiping.

  When was I crying?!

  “Did I hurt you?” he asks, deeply concerned.

  I shake my head back and forth on my pillow as his finger curves below my chin so he can tilt my face toward him.

  “Are you positive?”

  I nod.

  His mouth curls into a panty-melting smirk. “Was I so good you’ve lost the ability to speak?”

  I try to hide my face behind my hands, but he doesn’t let me.

  “Do you want me to change the subject?”

  “Desperately.”

  “Okay, but if it helps, you look adorable right now.”

  I bark out a laugh and his gaze shoots to my bedroom door. Oh god, I completely forgot I need to be quiet. I’m really bad at this. I press a finger to my lips to let him know I won’t mess up again. He rolls off me and stands, and presto chango, I’m now treated to a magnificent view of his backside as he walks toward my bedroom door. Wide shoulders, tapered waist, very nice rear end. All in all, I’d give him a 10/10, and I tell him so.

  “Stop staring at my butt and c’mon. I need you to go out first and confirm the coast is clear,” he says quietly, glancing back at me over his shoulder. Something gives him pause and I swipe at my cheeks to make sure I don’t have any residual tears, but I don’t think it’s that. His gaze drags languidly down my body and oooh, right. I’m naked. Men are such simple creatures. When his gaze finally meets mine again, I try to ignore the mischievous glint I see there and instead return to the task at hand.

  I sit up and whisper, “What happens after I check if the coast is clear?”

  “Then we sneak into the bathroom and rinse off,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

  “I meant after that.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Then we’re going to see how easily you can fit two adults onto a bed made for ants.” I must look worried because he adds, “Bailey, I’m not going to sleep on the couch. I’ll set an alarm on my phone and move back out there before your sister wakes up. She’ll never know.”

  He says all this while he strides confidently back toward me. I make a move to get off the bed, but he’s quicker. He bends down and grabs my knees, tugging me so my butt is right on the edge. I think he’s going to help me up, but instead, he pushes me back down with one hand on my chest.

  My heart leaps into my throat. “I thought we were going to the bathroom,” I say, voice faint.

  He’s staring down between my legs, a drugged look in his eyes. “We are…just as soon as I’ve finished.”

  “Matt,” I warn, but it’s no use.

  He smiles and gets down onto his knees. “Maybe try not to wake the entire neighborhood this time.”

  I toss my hands up over my head in defeat. I highly doubt we’ll be getting any sleep tonight.

  Chapter 28

  MATT

  The next morning, Christmas music blares at full volume, a fresh layer of snow coats the ground outside, a steaming pot of coffee waits to be poured, and I’m trying to wrestle a wooden spatula out of Bailey’s hand.

  “Hand it over, Matthew, or so help me.”

  That’s her taunt and I can’t help but laugh. She’s diminutive. I could pluck her up with two fingers and deposit her elsewhere.

  My brow arches, and with one tug I yank the spatula out of her hand and hold it up over my head. She jumps to get it and I move it just a little farther out of her reach. Suddenly, I’m a middle school bully. I’ll stuff her in a locker next.

  “Can’t you just go enjoy your coffee in the living room?” I press a hand to her chest. “Go cocoon yourself and watch the snow falling. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  This is hard for her, me making breakfast. Instead of listening to me, she lingers in the kitchen, asking if I need help with anything. I scramble eggs and fry up some bacon, both of which I had to run down the road to purchase before she and Josie woke up. Her fridge had only four items in it when I checked this morning, and none of them looked fit for human consumption.

  I drop some bread into the toaster and she rushes over, explaining to me how it works.

  “Ohhhh, I see,” I reply, as if enlightened to the art of toast for first time in my life. “You put the bread in the two little slits and push down right here. Got it. I always thought there was more to it.”

  My sarcasm is lost on her. She flies over to the fridge. “Why don’t I make us some fresh-squeezed orange juice?”

  She bends down and roots through the empty drawers, no doubt trying to find the orange I saw earlier. It was growing a Petri dish’s worth of mold. It’s now in the trash.

  “Bailey,” I chide, dropping my hands on her shoulders and directing her into the living room. She attempts to dig her heels in, but my size makes it a futile fight. “When was the last time someone cooked for you?”

  She frowns up at me, having to think hard. “Josie tried to make me pancakes a few months ago, but she set off the smoke alarm and then like a dozen firemen showed up.” She waves her hand. “It was a whole thing.”

  Josie, who’s sitting on the couch eating cereal (which I also bought), smiles proudly. “It was actually pretty cool. One of them let me try on his uniform.”

  I chuckle and turn back to Bailey. Her eyes say, Please let me help. I shake my head, tip her chin toward me, and am about to give her a chaste kiss when I realize her sister is watching us. Instead, I straighten and gently shove her down onto the couch. “Sit.” She tries to stand. “No. I said sit.” I step back and hold up my hands, retreating hesitantly. “Stay.”

  “You’re talking to me as if I’m a dog,” she says pointedly.

  “If only you were—maybe then you’d actually listen.”

  She narrows her eyes before I return to the kitchen. To Bailey’s credit, she stays put for the entire ten minutes it takes me to finish up the bacon and eggs. I fix our plates, top off our coffee mugs, and then set the table.

  Bailey is inexplicably touched by the gesture. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she says, waving to her food and the bouquet of flowers I picked up at the checkout counter on a whim. I felt foolish carrying them in earlier, like maybe it was a little too much, but then Bailey walked out of her bedroom, wiping sleep from her eyes and dragging her feet. She paused, face frozen, mouth agape, and then she asked very slowly, “Are those for me?”

  A million responses leapt to my mind, none of which seemed appropriate at that moment, so I settled for a simple, “Merry Christmas.”

  I’ve never seen someone fuss so much over a few damn roses. She trimmed them carefully and arranged them in a vase. They sit on the table between us now, and she’s staring at them as she takes a big bite of scrambled eggs.

  Josie opts to finish her cereal in the living room. Apparently, there’s some kind of holiday movie marathon on TV that she doesn’t want to miss.

  “Matt, this is amazing.” Bailey grins.

  “It’s nothing. I make myself breakfast every morning.”

  She levels her gaze on me. “You know what I mean. I really appreciate it.”

  “How will you ever thank me?” I ask, hoping Josie is too enamored by her cheesy movie to catch my innuendo.

  Bailey’s eyes light up. “I can give you your presents!”

  “Presents, as in more than one?”

  She leaps to her feet and hurries out of the room. A second later, a wrapped box is dropped onto my lap. There’s a pink bow right on top.

  “Open it, open it!” she insists.

  I have a weird urge to protest. If I open this now, what will I have to open on Christmas morning? But then I remember I’m an adult, not a ten-year-old boy. Not to mention, I don’t want to kill Bailey’s excitement. I start to unwrap it and I’m so careful with the bow and wrapping paper it’s like I’m going to go home and put it all in a scrapbook. Bailey notices.

  “God, are you meticulous about everything? I should have known a surgeon wouldn’t just tear into a gift with full abandon.”

  “Ha ha,” I mock, flattening the wrapping paper on the table just to mess with her. Then I fold it in two, and again, hotdog style.

  She’s nearly convulsing with impatience.

  There’s tape across the top of the box. I reach my hand toward her and demand, “Scalpel.”

  She feigns pulling out her hair, clearly over my jokes, so I open it quickly, blinking with confusion at what stares up at me.

  Her smile is self-conscious. “It’s a little scoreboard—y’know, for the basketball hoop in your office.”

  I laugh. “Awesome.”

  I pick it up to see how it works and my gaze catches on the second thing Bailey put in the box.

  A picture of me.

  A picture of me with devil horns and a little red tail.

  She rolls her lips together before clarifying, “That is, well…you might have heard, but it’s a picture that was hanging in the staff lounge.”

  “What a thoughtful gift,” I reply dryly.

  “It’s not really a gift.” She tilts her head in thought. “I guess me taking it down is sort of a gift, but I think the fact that I, er…was the one to put it up in the first place kind of negates that. Don’t you think?” My eyes catch hers and she offers a helpless smile. “It was before I worked for you. Kirt was crying, really making a scene, so I did it to make him laugh.”

  “You drew the devil horns?”

  She grimaces. “Guilty. Please don’t hate me.”

  If I’m honest, it’s actually extremely funny that Bailey was the culprit behind the photo. I mean, talk about a twist of fate.