Page 55 of Imperfect Match (Imperfect Match 1)
I smile villainously. “Try me.”
Shrieking loudly, she jumps off the couch and slips past me, making me chase her around the apartment, which only adds to the game. I end up catching her in the kitchen, throwing her over my shoulder like a caveman, and carrying her into the bedroom. She squeals and pounds on my back the whole time. “Reid, stop!”
No fucking way.
I toss her on the bed, strip her naked, bind her wrists over her head, and tie them to her wrought iron headboard.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, and I can hear the slight tremor in her voice.
“Everything,” I tell her. “I’m going to start with my hands, like you did. I’m going to touch you in all the right places until you’re soaking wet.”
“Oh, God,” she whispers.
“And then I’m going to use my mouth, like you did. I’m going to torture you with my tongue and my fingers until you’re desperate to come. I want to hear you beg for it.”
She whimpers, a soft, breathy little sound that makes me smile in the dark.
“And then,” I continue, whispering low in her ear, “after I make you come like that, you’re going to beg for my cock inside you. And if you’re a very good girl, and you say everything I want to hear, do all the things I want you to do, I’ll give you what you want.”
She arches and strains beneath me. “Reid, kiss me.”
“I will, sweetheart. But first … tell me what a bad girl you are.” I am fucking loving this—it’s going to take me a little while to recover anyway, so I might as well fill the time with something fun, right?
“I’m … I’m a bad girl,” she whispers.
“That’s right.” I press my lips to hers, stroking her tongue with mine. “A very bad girl.”
The entire night is perfection.
Willow does everything I ask, and hearing those dirty words in her sweet little voice is unreal—it has me hard again in no time. But I do things exactly the way I planned, bringing her close to the edge with my fingers and taking her over with my mouth. She writhes and struggles against the tightly knotted tie, and her frustration at being unable to use her hands is hotter than fuck. It makes her use her body in ways I’ve never imagined—moving in ways that show me what she likes, how she wants it, when to go hard and when to ease up.
In the end, I free her wrists from the headboard so I can have the satisfaction of feeling her clutch and claw at me, pull me in deeper, fist her hands in my hair. I love that she wants me this way. I love the way her skin feels against mine. I love sliding into her tight, hot body and burying myself deep within her. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, because it’s Willow’s skin, Willow’s body, Willow’s voice repeating my name until we’re lost to it, exploding together in perfect harmony.
“I love you,” someone says as we’re catching our breath.
Holy shit. I think it was me.
There’s a pause.
“What?” Willow whispers.
I say it again. “I love you.” It’s not like I haven’t said the words to her before, but this feels different.
“I love you too.” She says it kind of like we always say it, lightly. Affectionately.
“No. I mean I’m in love with you.” I lift my chest off hers and look down at her face, wishing I could see her expression better in the dark.
“Reid … are you serious?”
“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever said those words to anyone before, but I feel it—I’m madly in love with you.”
And then, of course, she starts to cry.
“Um, that’s not really the reaction I was hoping for,” I tell her.
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“I’m sorry,” she says, sniffling, “but it’s just really emotional for me to hear you say that.”
