“This can’t happen,” he said darkly, but kissed her again, with so much pressure her head was against the tree, her hair matting in the coarse grain of the bark.
“Okay, okay, it won’t happen,” she agreed, all the while pulling on him, drawing him lower. Though he was stronger and bigger, so her dragging on his shirt was more an invitation than anything else. His body followed hers willingly, collapsing onto the grass over hers, the weight of it heavenly, the grass blissfully soft, his body contrastingly hard all over, particularly when he pushed his arousal to her, grinding until she whimpered his name, desperate for him.
“Matthieu…”
“I know.” He stopped moving, pressing his forehead to hers. “I know.” The word was an angry curse and then he rolled off her, onto his own back, his bare chest catching the dappled light cast by the tree overhead. She pushed up onto her elbow, staring at him as her breath burned in her chest, as her eyes tried to focus.
He turned to face her, and his eyes lit fires all through her. “Later.” Two syllables and a promise that flooded her body with heat. Only ‘later’ was also a double-edged sword, for how much could happen between now and then. What if he changed his mind? What if she did? What if common sense and rational thought returned, making it impossible to act on the feelings that were bursting between them.
“I’m not going to regret—,”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I’m not willing to take that risk with you.”
She lifted a single brow. “You’re overcomplicating things.”
“No, this is—overcomplicated. Technically, you work for me, remember.” She pushed up to sitting, the description of their relationship, while technically accurate, not how she’d characterize it. But the fact he did spoke volumes.
Uncertainty lurched inside of her. “I see.” She moved to stand but Matthieu’s hand curved around her wrist, pulling her backwards, so she fell on top of him with a start, their eyes meeting.
“I’m saying all the wrong things.”
She shook her head, then winced. “You’re being honest.”
“I’m being—I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Weren’t you?”
“Okay, fine,” he groaned. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, but I thought I could control it.” He pushed up, claiming her lips once more. “I thought I could control this,” he repeated, into her mouth, like some kind of prayer being delivered to the Greek God of Kissing.
“Does it need to be controlled?”
“Yes.” He pressed a hand into the waistband of her jeans, sliding it down to curve around her rear, pressing her against his impressive arousal, so she whimpered, desire sparking in her bloodstream.
“Stop teasing me,” she implored, but then, just as quickly, “Only, don’t stop.”
He laughed into their kiss, his fingers massaging her buttocks, his hips lifting to drive himself closer to her, while his other hand lifted to her breast, holding it at first, feeling the weight of it in his full palm before he took hold of her nipple with his finger and thumb and began to encircle it, slowly, so need was a torrent in her veins, and then harder, tweaking it until she cried out, the sharp pleasure pain sending arrows through her. Moist heat pooled between her legs, urgency and need overtaking her like a tidal wave.
She wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even sure she was tipsy anymore—at least, not on alcohol—but the champagne had eroded any confidence issues she had and pared things back to the elemental necessity of what they were doing. There were no considerations of experience, wealth, physical appearance, past lovers, there was, instead, only this.
“I have to,” he groaned, pulling at her shirt and lifting it over her head before rolling her onto her back and straddling her, staring down at her, the simple cotton bra she wore doing nothing to disguise her taut nipples from his hungry gaze.
He dropped his head, taking one nipple into his mouth, tasting it through the fabric of the bra, biting it softly, too softly, when she wanted more. More of everything he could offer.
She lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist and holding him where he was, kissing him, silently imploring him, yearning for him. A light breeze rushed past, heavenly against her bare skin, heavenly contrasted with the warmth of his kisses, blissful and delightful. His mouth ran lower, over her flat stomach, and she writhed to the side, pleasure exploding when he pressed a kiss to the button of her jeans before unfastening it parting the denim to reveal her equally utilitarian underpants—a plain white cotton. He drew the little bow at the top into his mouth, pulling on it, expelling a long breath that fanned her pubic bone.
She let out a soft moan, as his teeth pulled the briefs lower, just low enough for his kiss to come close to her most intimate flesh. She cried his name into the ancient, beautiful garden, her fingers dragging through his hair, need exploding through her, and then, he pulled up to standing, his breath rough as he expelled hard and fast in the direction of the ancient tree, his face a combination of slashed features and dark colour.
“I told you, we can’t. Now.”
She blinked, confused, and strangely, tears filled her eyes. She willed them away urgently, turning to look towards the house in the distance.
“Fine,” she muttered, disappointment flooding her.
“I won’t do this to you.”
“I’m a big girl, Matthieu. Surely I get a say in where my boundaries are?”
“That doesn’t negate my obligation to respect you.”