Title: One Last Shot(Pub Fiction 3)
Author: Gillian Jones
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: June 6, 2016
My name is Claire Knox.
People say I’m the female version of a player: a boyslayer, if you’re fluent in urban dictionary speak.
I hate long term relationships. I’ll never commit to sticking around long enough to get attached to the notion of love, marriage, or the proverbial two point five kids.
No sirree Not this girl.
There’s no way I’ll let myself get hurt by losing someone I love ever again.
Been there, felt that.
Consider me damaged goods if you will, but I’m happy.
Or so I thought, until my path crossed his again…
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Holy Jesus sittin’ on his rainbow, does Matt look delicious. He looks so fucking manly, incredibly sexy and completely all consuming like I remember. When he first called out my name, I swear my ovaries perked up like the mothership had arrived to bring us to planet Gonna Get My Rocks Off!
Fuckity fuck fuck. He’s actually here, and I know I’m in trouble. My kryptonite is facing me, his light brown eyes laced with flecks of mahogany. They rake over me, taking in my now wired body inch-by-inch. His gaze is heavy and painstakingly slow, igniting my skin with a warmth I’ve not experienced in a long time. God, I hope he likes what he sees. Wait, no. No, I don’t.
In mere seconds, this man is inciting a frenzy of emotions that prove exactly why I wasn’t ready to see him yet, proving that I needed more time before this reunion, confirming that he can easily annihilate all of my best-laid plans, the ones my brain has worked overtime convincing my heart to make. I need more time to make proper preparations, to ensure my bridge troll is ready for battle, that he is stable enough to keep the drawbridge strategically locked in place, ready to withstand the blunt force that is Matt Bishop.
Most of all, I want more time to practise the apology and then the time to actually apologize—to explain. Time to just tell him I’m sorry. Looking at him, feeling him, I realize I can’t risk more than that or I will be lost again.
Unfortunately, none of what my brain wants is happening right now. He’s here. And from the moment I set eyes on Matt, all I want is him, anyway I can have him.
Moving up from my neck, Matty whispers softly in my ear and my breath hitches: “Tell me, Claire, do you still taste sweet? Like sugar melting on my tongue, leaving that addicting-as-fuck strawberry ice cream taste running down my chin?” He tickles my memory, my throat forgetting how to swallow as he wets his tongue and moves it lightly over my earlobe, awakening the familiar pulse between my legs, the one that always builds with each of this man’s dirty words. “Christ, baby. You were so fucking good, my tongue licking up every single drop of juice that dripped from your hot tight cunt.” The timbre of his voice causes tingles to travel down my spine, the anticipation of where this is all going making my toes curl at the prospect. “I want to kiss you, Claire. Tell me it’s okay to kiss you.”
“Jesus, Matt.” I want to sag against him. His filthy words make my knees weak.
Matt squeezes my hips, pulling me flush to his strong body. Leaning in, he runs his mouth ever so softy along my neck before meeting my eyes again.
I step out of his hold, needing to give myself a bit of distance. But instead, I find myself staring at him, unable to look beyond the man of my past, the one I can’t seem to let go. The same one for whom my heart thumps erratically in my chest, the same one I wish almost daily I’d kept, the same one I don’t know if I can keep.
I can’t believe we’re back here.
Matt’s beyond the man-pretty guy I remembered. His chiseled jaw is highlighted by more than a five o’clock shadow. His lush lips are full, with that pouty bottom one making me want to tug on it because it’s so tauntingly perfect. He’s fucking ripped, too—Adonic, if you will. His plain white-t-shirt strains over his incredible shoulders, his defined chest and toned biceps. The telltale marks of tight abs pull my gaze as I make my slow perusal, visibly eye-fucking the shit out of him. God, I like what I see. A lot.
I want nothing more than to run my tongue along each dip and dive of this man’s body. Matty’s body was made for sin and I’d gladly volunteer as the sinner if it meant I’d get to repent at the shrine that is this man. I let out an almost audible moan as I stand lusting for all the things I want to do to him.
Matt pulls me back in tight, holding me close against him, laughing against my ear. “Like what you see, Claire?”
I’m busted. I’ve got drool stains all over the front of my shirt, no doubt.
Hell, yes. “It’s all right,” I shrug, but can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes my dumb-ass self as I’m caught.
“I think you do. Better yet, I know you fucking do and I know I affect you still, even now.”
“Jesus, Matt. Okay, yes, I guess you’re still kinda hot and maybe you do affect me just a little bit.” I give him an impish grin.
“Thank Christ for small miracles. And for the record, I can smell that it’s more than ‘a little’.”
“Matt!” I shove at his chest, feigning embarrassment. If it were anyone else I might have been, but not with Matt. No, with him I’ve only ever been comfortable, been myself.
Matt takes the remote off the bar, turning up Keith Sweat’s “Nobody”, the sound pumping through the speakers.
“Dance with me.” It’s not a request, but a command. Holy shit. This is happening. Matt Bishop, my Matty, is standing here, holding me tight in his arms after two years. There’s so much I need to say, want to say. But in this moment it’s obvious that words aren’t required, that this is what we both need from each other. Matt’s lips hover over mine.
“Can I kiss you now, Claire?”
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