Underneath It All (The Walsh Series #1) (7 page)

“Didn’t say you had to stop,” he laughed. “Definitely didn’t say that. Just relocating.”

Matthew signaled for a cab, and shepherded me inside when it jerked to a stop at the curb. “Burroughs Wharf,” he called to the driver.

I didn’t know our destination, but being pressed against a hot guy on a Friday night meant I didn’t need an itinerary. Right? This was fine. Normal. Totally normal. There was no way this could end in Matthew killing me in the woods and wearing my skin as a scarf.

Enough with the greatest hits of Commodore Halsted’s Tales of Evil.

Even if Matthew was a serial killer, it would never get that far. I could break his fingers in eleven seconds if needed.

I pulled him to me again, my hand snaking around his neck, just under his starched collar, and our lips met. With his mouth locked on mine, Matthew was different. He wasn’t the Serious Architect with his technical vocabulary and curious, thoughtful expression, and he wasn’t the Serious Guy with his intense gaze and endless undercurrents. No, when he kissed me, he was thorough and insistent and affectionate, and this version of him intrigued me the most.

Matthew dragged his teeth over my bottom lip, and I groaned when the cab stopped. “Of course we found the one cabbie in Boston who knows every shortcut between Beacon Hill and the Waterfront,” he said.

“Burroughs Wharf,” the driver yelled.

Matthew plucked me from the cab and lifted me over the curb as if I were a small sack of potatoes. I looked up after cinching my raincoat’s belt, and stared at the building. This was a super swanky condo building, not a cozy tavern or thumping club. This was where he
lived
. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” he said. “We can have a drink and talk and stare at the ocean and…whatever. Whatever you want.”

I stopped walking, my fingers slipping out of his grip. This wasn’t what I anticipated when I turned the decision-making over to my instincts.

Shameless bar flirting? No big deal. Street corner kissing followed by cab kissing? Slightly bigger deal. Going to a guy’s home little more than twenty-four hours after meeting him? Huge deal.

At least for me.

When did I give him the impression I was ready to go home with him? Was there a switch I flipped between talk of seesaws and soul mates? And he was evidently a manwhore. Only a manwhore would toss me in a cab and assume I wanted to go to his apartment for sex.

Sex
. I did not want that at all. Lots of sex. Good sex. Dirty sex. Hot sex.

Matthew looked like
very
good sex.

Gulp. Okay, so that didn’t sound terrible.

“What’s wrong, Lauren?”

“I should go.” I nodded to myself and hitched my tote bag higher on my shoulder. Too much, too fast. I was already feeling tomorrow’s pangs of regret. Oh, but when Matthew aimed that stare at me, that drop-your-panties-right-now look, I sensed myself drowning in his desire.

“This thing you’re doing,” the manwhore smirked, gesturing up and down my body. “It’s insanely sexy.”

I looked over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. I didn’t do this sort of thing for a reason. “Mr. Walsh. Thank you for everything. I’m going to go.”

Never make eye contact with the manwhore. He’ll turn you into an irrational swoon-puddle concerned only with getting your hands on his rear end.

As I turned away, my narrow heel wedged between the cobblestones and this sack of potatoes hit the ground.

I couldn’t even walk away from the hottest, manwhoriest body I’d ever touched and stand behind my principles without going splat. Apparently the universe wasn’t granting me any graceful exits this evening.

I heard the manwhore swearing under his breath before his arm circled my waist and he lifted me from the ground. “Easy there,” he said.

He ignored thin rivulets of blood trickling down my bare legs and staining his dark gray trousers while I brushed the pebbles from my palms. “This seems to happen a lot, sweetness. Let’s get you upstairs and take care of those scrapes.”

“I’m fine. Just a skinned knee, no big deal. I’m going to get a cab,” I insisted, staring at his shirt’s buttons.

He dipped to meet my eyes, his brows furrowed. The pads of his thumbs brushed across my cheeks, my lips, and down my neck. “What is your deal? Are you with someone?”

“No!” I laughed at the definitive tone in my voice. I didn’t mean to sound so emphatic, and any minute Matthew was going to realize I wasn’t the kind of girl he wanted to take home. I didn’t do this—I didn’t know
how
—and this entire exchange was stepping far beyond my sphere of expertise. He’d feel it or sense it or taste it, and he’d send me on my way with a pat on my naïve little head. “I mean…no, I’m not seeing anyone right now.”

“Good. Good.” Matthew framed my face with his hands and brought his lips a breath from mine. “I’m going to kiss you again,” he murmured, sliding his fingers along the base of my neck. “And I’d rather you not run away this time.”

I dodged his mouth. “Is this some kind of thorough, manwhorish customer service?”

“Hell no.” He bent his head to my level and found my lips, and it wasn’t a kiss—it was an experience. Kissing involved lips and tongues, but this was teeth and growls, fingers carving notches into my ass and impatient hips bumping against mine for more friction. This was my heart crawling all the way up my throat and pounding there, suffocating me in these breathless seconds.

He groaned when my nails scraped under his collar and over his scalp, and that sound unfurled something tight, something desperate inside me.

“Do you do this a lot?”

Matthew’s hands moved to my shoulders and he edged us apart. “I
never
do this. My sisters are the only women who have seen the inside of my place. Okay? This is about you. You’re hot as fuck, all sexy and bossy. That strict teacher voice? I’ve been hard as a fucking stone since yesterday because of it, plus the fact you’re so insanely fucking hot. I don’t like the implication that this is happening for any reason other than you.”

Lifting my chin, I glimpsed the rise in Matthew’s trousers. It was amazing, really, how everything changed in a blink of an eye. Perhaps it wasn’t that quickly, but it didn’t take long and I was watching from a distance again, willing myself to be brave, be bold.

My boundaries, my hot mess, my control freak, my crazy thoughts, my good girl, even the blood drying on my leg…all gone. Now it was me, bare without all that noise, and I couldn’t stop the brazen smile from pulling at my mouth.

I heard the words and I sensed them vibrating across my lips, but I didn’t believe them as mine. “So that’s what you like, Mr. Walsh?”

He growled and seized my hips, grinding me against his hardening length. His mouth hovered over my ear, and he whispered, “You wouldn’t believe the long list of obscene things I want to do to you.”

My response was ready on my tongue, but I bit my lip, hesitating for a moment. I didn’t know much about sex beyond some college hook-ups and
Sex and the City
reruns. Sure, there were plenty of secret cravings and dirty thoughts, but not much experience to back them up. I didn’t know what I was doing here, and the fear of doing the wrong thing left me doubting my instincts all over again.

“I saw that.” Matthew rolled his hips, pressing himself against me. My lips parted on a gasp, my eyes wide. “Say what you want to say, sweetness. You can’t scare me away.”

I didn’t have to be a sex expert to know that erection was
from
me and
for
me, and it was all the reassurance I needed. “How much longer do I have to wait to hear about this list? I might want to make some additions.”

“Oh, holy fuck, Lauren.”

MATTHEW

T
he first time
I rode the elevator to my loft was when my sister, Shannon, was walking me through the unit. I preferred stairs, but Shannon liked to say her sky-high heels were “for show, not go” and I bowed to her request to take the elevator.

She scouted the property about five years ago. The previous owner was a little old lady who kept a couple litters of cats and every edition of the
Boston Herald
published in the past thirty years. She died in her sleep, but her nieces and nephews didn’t notice for weeks. The place needed a complete overhaul and extensive fumigation but the price was far below market value. The two hundred and seventy degree views of Boston Harbor sold me on the unit at first glance. I bought it, gutted it to the studs, and replaced everything.

My second ride in that elevator was with Lauren. By my estimate, it lasted just under ninety seconds, but I wouldn’t be looking at elevators the same way again.

We were backed into the corner, her leg hooked over my hip and her hands flat against the walls. Heat radiated from between her legs and I leaned into it, groaning as I crouched down and buried my face in her neck. Her height was an obstacle. Even in ass-kicking heels, she barely reached my chin but touching her was worth the challenge.

Lauren’s hands attacked the top buttons of my shirt and she kissed from my collarbone to the shell of my ear, her lips urgent and demanding, and I fucking loved it. My hand ran under her dress and up her thigh, and I savored the reward of her rocking against my palm. She was hot and wet there, and I entertained some panty-ripping scenarios on the ride to the fifth floor.

We stumbled from the elevator, laughing into each other’s mouths, our hands busy stroking, tugging, exploring. I walked backward in the general vicinity of my place, my shoulder eventually connecting with the doorframe. “This is me,” I said against her cheek.

Lauren craned her neck over my shoulder. “This isn’t happening in the hallway, Matthew.”

She was honey in my hands, and so fucking bossy, and it all destroyed any semblance of ordered thought. “Keys. In my pocket.”

Lauren didn’t skip a beat. She went for the wrong pocket, but didn’t retreat when she found it empty. Instead, she scraped her nails up and down my inner thigh while fishing the keys from the other side. Her knuckles grazed my cock, and it didn’t matter that a layer of clothing separated us, her touch was a heated, impatient caress, and I wanted her. I bit down on her lip with a growl, and then she did it again.

Pivoting, I pressed Lauren against the door and fumbled with the keys. Her hand moved down my chest and over my belt, her palm covering me. She squeezed, dragging the pressure from root to tip, and sent me a shameless smile that said she knew exactly what she intended to do with me.

“When you open that door, decide what you want from your long, filthy list.” She pumped twice, and I started begging myself to stay in control. “I want it to include plenty of this.” She gripped me again, hard. “Inside me.”

“I have a pretty good idea what you want, sweetness,” I said, and pushed open the door. “Don’t worry about that.”

Apparently, I did like short girls. Bossy ones, too.

*

A trail of
coats and bags began inside the door and followed us to the sofa parallel to the harborside floor-to-ceiling windows. The loft was dark, the only light coming from boats on the water and the gas fireplace I switched on when we moved through the hall and into the living room.

I had forgotten the simple pleasure of a thick beer buzz and a gorgeous woman in my lap. I untied the scarf around her neck and tossed it to the coffee table. Four small buttons separated me from her breasts, and I was determined to get on a first name basis with those peaches. My eyes stayed on Lauren as the buttons popped free, each one drawing the air closer, heat crawling around us when her dress gaped open. It was the first I saw of her delicate silver necklace, and I traced it to where it disappeared into her bra.

“This is what I was talking about…” My tongue dipped into the hollow between her breasts where she was slightly salty and entirely perfect. “…when I said you are hot as fuck.”

I closed my mouth over her nipple, sucking and pulling through the bra’s mesh fabric, and Lauren’s hips rocked forward.

“Oh my God,” she panted, her head falling back.

My teeth connected with her skin, and I knew it was a little wrong but absolutely fucking right. Her body vibrated, a subtle pulse moving through her muscles and stuttering out in a gasp, and I smiled at the faint mark on her skin.

“Did you just bite me?” she squealed. Her eyes sparkled, a combination of shock and amusement, and it was obvious her head was in this game now. I wasn’t competing with a smartphone or her better judgment against going home with me anymore. She was all mine, and now I knew what it took to shut off her world.

“Yes.” I searched for the mechanisms that would free her from the dress. “Don’t even pretend you didn’t like it.”

Giggling, Lauren slapped my hands away. “What kind of vampire are you? Do you usually go around biting people?”

I unknotted the sash at her waist and returned to the remaining buttons while I considered her question. I definitely didn’t bite the triathlon chick I hung out with this summer. The others were local marathon beasts with benefits. No biting there, although one of them did like slapping me when she came. Most of the time, I didn’t bother taking off their sports bras, and they were fine with that.