The Perfect Woman by Nicole French

Author:Nicole French [French, Nicole]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781950663088
Publisher: Raglan Publishing
Published: 2020-07-29T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Once again, I kissed him back. I’d always kiss him back; I knew that now. Kissing Matthew was as natural to me as breathing. I couldn’t touch him and not respond. Just like I couldn’t be around him and not love him.

Even so, this was different.

Yes, it had been two months since our meeting at the Grace. Close to a month before that, a similar rendezvous. But this—raw, urgent, unstoppable—in the middle of the woods, where no one would find us and at the same time, anyone could. Somehow, it was completely different.

“I can’t,” he said in between kisses as we stumbled through the dirt and into the solid trunk of my favorite old oak. “Goddammit, Nina, I can’t fucking stop.”

“I know. Oh, God, I know.” My words were whimpers in between starving lunges for his lips, his cheeks, any part of him I could find. It really did feel like, in this moment, I needed him to breathe.

“Wanting you. Loving you. Needing you.” His teeth scraped under my jaw like he was trying to consume me. “Do you understand? It’s ruining me.”

I winced, even as my fingers curled into the slightly damp thickets of his hair. Oh, I understood that too. True, I was ruined in too many ways to count long before I met him. But since that fateful night, I’d become utterly shattered. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I was no longer Nina Evelyn Astor de Vries Gardner. In his arms, I was a phantom being, somehow truer than anyone I had ever been, but at the same time, nameless.

I existed simply for this.

His hands slipped past the waistband of my breeches, taking harsh handfuls of flesh as he twisted us around and backed me up against the tree.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he yanked at the buttons and fly. “Get this off. Get everything off.”

“We shouldn’t,” I whispered even as I helped him, pulling hard enough that I feared I might rip the zipper.

“We must,” Matthew argued back with a groan as his hands found bare skin.

He sank to his knees there on the forest floor, bringing my pants with him until they were piled atop my riding boots. His palms slid up and down my thighs while he pressed his lips to the smooth skin of each and inhaled deeply. The cross and the saint hanging from the chain around his neck clinked lightly.

The first time he had ever done this to me, we were high above the city, protected by the penthouse at the Grace. Since then, a few more times—once at his home, twice more at the Grace. But somehow, it was here, that I was truly in awe.

A man like this.

On his knees.

Like a gesture of prayer. A gesture of worship.

For me.

If I hadn’t been positively enraptured by the sight, I wouldn’t have believed it.

And then, as his tongue flickered between my thighs, I didn’t have time to consider beliefs at all. Desire shot through me like an arrow. I fell back against the old oak, mindless of the bark against my back.

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