The Blush Factor (The Hawthornes of New York 2) - Page 33

I may have to race out the door just to escape the desperate need that is clawing at me.

“How much did you read?” she whispers. “What did you read?”

“You want my fingers inside of you.”

That lures a gasp from her. “Matthew.”

“Honesty, Faith.” I step even closer. “I’m being goddamn honest here.”

She nods.

“You want me to be your first,” I say in a strangled voice. “You want my mouth on your body. You need to feel my teeth on your ass. You want me to fuck you.”

Her eyes widen with wonder. “Oh, God.”

I close the distance between us with steps that are driven by pure animalistic need. I have to be close to her. If she leaves now, I don’t think I’ll see her again, and I want the image of her to be seared in my brain for eternity because I have never fucking wanted anyone this much before.

She straightens her back against my door with her hand still wrapped around the doorknob.

I hover above her, my hands aching to reach out to touch her. “Faith.”

“Matthew.” My name is hoarse as it escapes her. “I didn’t want that.”

She didn’t want what? For me to fuck her raw? To feel my mouth on her cunt while I feast on it for hours?

“What didn’t you want?”

Her long eyelashes flutter as she gazes up at me. “For you to read all of that.”

“But I did,” I counter. “I read it and fucking loved every single word.”

She edges up to her tiptoes. It’s a silent invitation, but I wait for more because she’s driving this train, and I’m only along for the ride.

Her hand leaps to my chest. She rests it there. Her touch is searing a hole straight through to my heart, or maybe it’s a lifeline to my dick because it’s still straining with the need to release.

I lower my head until my lips are almost against hers. “Take what you want, Faith. Take whatever you want from me.”

Her lips part. “Will you kiss me?”

The request is tame and filled with innocence. It’s not what I was expecting and nowhere near what I was hoping for. I want more, but I give her exactly what she needs.

I lower my mouth to hers and kiss Faith in a way that I know she’s never been kissed before.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Matthew

Small sounds of need thread from her throat as I deepen the kiss.

I part her lips with my tongue, searching for more, wanting to taste any part of her.

She softens in my touch. Her hands search my body, trailing over my arms, then my shoulders and neck until they land in my hair.

They tangle there as I drop a hand to her hip.

It’s a test. Call it a tentative exploration of sorts.

If she were anyone else, I’d have a needy hand in the front of her jeans in search of her pussy.

I want to know what it looks like. I crave the taste. I’d give my left arm to feel its velvet warmth clenched around my dick.

Her tongue flutters over mine.

It’s not a brave move. I feel the hesitation in every single movement she makes.

Her hips rock against my door, sending a thrumming beat into the air.

It’s how a slow wholesome fuck sounds when a headboard bangs a steady rhythm against a wall, but I want more.

I want a raw, rough fuck that stirs everyone on this floor because they can hear the cries that fall out of her.

She pulls back from the kiss.

I almost fucking whine like a spoiled rotten child who has just been deprived of the candy he’s been craving.

“Matthew.” My name comes out of her in a breathy tone. “That was something.”

It was magnificent.

I have zero doubt that I can kiss a woman breathless, but this is the first time I’ve experienced that phenomenon myself.

I struggle to catch my breath as I stare down at her.

Her index finger trails a slow path over my bottom lip. “You read my diary.”

I’ll recite an entry or two for her if she wants, beginning with the one where she falls to her knees and tears my jeans open to get her greedy mouth on my cock.

I remember it word-for-word, including the line about how she’d circle the crown of my dick with the steel ball that is implanted in her tongue.

“I did,” I admit because we’re past that secret.

“All of it?”

Cradling her chin in my hand, I shake my head. “No. I read the first few entries and then the last few.”

Her cheeks blush pink to a degree that far surpasses the scale that she used to use. This is a ten out of five at minimum.

I wait for her to say something, but she stares at me expectantly as if she needs me and all my infinite fucked up wisdom to fill in some blanks for her.

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Hawthornes of New York Romance
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