Matt takes a step forward, then another. He reaches out a hand, resting it against the side of Victoria's neck, his thumb pressing lightly against her windpipe. “Say that again. Look me right in the eyes, and say that again.”
Victoria gulps. She's not sure whether to lean into the touch or away from it. “I would be with someone like you, if I could.”
“That's the freedom you were looking for.”
“Yes. I want to be myself. I can see myself with someone like you, Matt. You're rough, but you're nice, too. And I think I really like you.” Victoria gives him a wane smile. She rests a hand on his wrist, fingers curling around it. “But my mother would never allow it.”
“You're a princess. Just do what you want!”
“I cannot. That's not how this works.”
Matt demands, “Then how does it work?”
“I'm a princess. In time, I will be the Queen of Vertsea. When that time comes, I need to be an example to my people, the perfect child that's grown up into the perfect ruler.” Victoria finds that she cannot meet Matt's eyes. They're too dark, too intense. She stares at the, slightly peeling, patch on the front of his jacket, instead.
This is the conversation that she's always wanted to avoid. Her mother is one thing, but to try to say it to someone else? To try to say it to Matt?
That's far harder than anything else.
The words get stuck in her throat. She tries to spit them out but ends up sniffing instead. “I will be the daughter my mother wants because that's the only choice I have. Just because I'm a princess doesn't mean I can do anything I want, like date you. In fact, it means I cannot do anything at all.”
“That doesn't seem right,” says Matt with a shake of his head. “You wouldn't want to date me.”
“That's what you took from what I said?” Victoria chokes again, but this time it's on her laughter. “All of that and you're hung up on whether I would willingly date you or not?”
“You wouldn't,” says Matt. “You might not want to marry this duke, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't date him, if you had the chance.”
“It does,” insists Victoria. “I would never want to be with someone like the Duke. My father is a good man and a kind man, but he's still the sort of man who was willing to commit himself to a loveless marriage. That's the sort of man the Duke is. The thought of marrying him—of marrying anyone like him—makes me sick.”
Matt's hand shifts around to the back of Victoria's neck. He presses on it until she steps forward, until he can crash their lips together in something resembling an actual, tender kiss. It's soft and sweet, tastes like nicotine and peppermint gum.
Victoria's heart stops for a moment. When it starts back up, it feels like the thing has gone into overdrive. She rests a hand on Matt's hips. Her painted fingers curl lightly against the wet denim of his jeans.
When they part, their eyes meet, and Victoria knows.
“If I could,” she says softly. “I would be with you for real. The child—”
“I know. I fucking know,” says Matt, and then he catches her mouth again, but this time it's more tooth and tongue than anything else. He steps forward, and she steps back in this horrible pattern that's repeated until Victoria's legs bump against the black leather couch and she goes tumbling down.
Matt goes down next to her. His hands on her hips, and then she's up, straddling his hips, hands tangled in his hair. It's wild as she's ever felt, as free as she's ever been. This is the sort of moment she will never forget, even though she knows, in her heart, it will be the last one.
“And I know how much of a little slut you are, too. Come here, doll.” Matt's hands slide over her hips, one going to rest on her ass and the other sliding up between the blades of her shoulders. Teeth sink into the side of Victoria's shoulder, over onto the front of her chest. They cling and nip at her collarbone, only just hidden beneath that slip of pale skin.
She shows off bruises beautifully. It's like a drug for him, watching them bloom over her skin. Before, the last time they were together, it was a rushed and frenzied affair. But now? Matt fully plans on taking his time and ravishing the wonderful woman before him.
Victoria shudders beneath his touch. Her small hands explore his chest, running over the wet fabric. They slip under the edges of his jacket, pushing it back and over his shoulders.
Matt chuckles, and the sound is absolutely sinful. “You're in a rush, aren't you?”
“My mother and father will be home soon,” says Victoria softly. “They cannot catch us. You don't understand what would happen if they do.”
“That's not my problem,” chuckles Matt, but the words are light, and it's clear he doesn't mean them. His hands slip down, grabbing the bottom of her nightgown and pulling it up. He rolls it up, showing off inch after inch of pale skin.
There's no bra. Of course there isn't. Her breasts are large but not unduly so. Her tits are already hard from rubbing against the satin fabric, from the cold air in the hotel room.
He tosses the nightgown onto the floor and then gives one breast an almost vicious squeeze. “We were in a hurry last time. But now? I'm going to make you really beg for it. You're going to regret lying to me.”
“I didn't lie—”
“Shut up. You think pretending to be someone completely different was telling the truth? Taking off like that, before we could even talk in the morning? You're acting like I didn't already get under your skin,” interrupts Matt, voice vicious and sharp. “You lied to me, and now you're going to fix that.”
Victoria's stomach rolls at the words. “Fix that? Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I can do that. I can do that.”
She slides down his body like she's suddenly turned spineless. Her hands explore his still-clothed form, and she glances up at Matt from under heavy lashes. Matt takes a handful of her golden hair, fingers running through it once—twice—three times and then twisting the strands around his fingers so tightly it actually hurts.
“No, I don't think so. That's not what I'm looking for,” says Matt. “Try a little harder.”
“How? If you tell me what you want, I'll do it. I just...”
Matt tugs her hair again. “Figure it out. You know how to put on a show, right?”
“A show?”
“That's what I said. Repeating it's only going to make the chances of being walked in on higher.”
“That's…can you not just tell me?”
“I just did,” says Matt. “Put on a show.”
A show. Victoria rolls the word around in her mind. A show.
And then it clicks, like a light being turned on. Victoria stands up, and Matt lets her. The grip on her hair vanishes, and Victoria replaces it with her own fingers. She runs her hands through her hair, messing it up just like it had been when she got off the motorcycle all those nights ago.
Small palms run down her body, stroking at her own stomach, moving to toy with her own tits. Fingers pinch and pull at the tender flesh, and Victoria bites her bottom lip hard enough that she can taste copper.
Aside from breakfast, the table is empty. Victoria sits down on the edge of it. The wood is cold against the back of her thighs. She spreads her legs, showing off her silver panties. There's a damp patch at the center. She puts on her most coy voice and asks, “Is this what you mean?”
Matt spreads his own legs, displaying the large tent in his jeans. He pops open the button and pulls down the zipper with one hand. A shift of his hips and the denim is pushed down around his knees.
He's not wearing any boxers; he prefers not to.
“Yeah,” says Matt. “That's sort of what I'm talking about.”
Victoria tries to smile. She feels like her whole face has been lit on fire. Her blush spreads across the bridge of her nose and over her cheeks, stretching down her neck and across her shoulders. “I'm not even half as good at this as you make it seem.”
“Trust me,” assures Matt. “Just looking at you is enough to make me hard. I don't think I've ever met someone as beautiful as you.”
The words just make her blush deeper. Slowly, Victoria hooks the waistband of her panties and slides them down. She pushes them off one leg first, then uses her other leg to flick them at Matt. They miss by a good five inches, but she feels like it's the thought that counts.
Victoria's palms slide across her thighs. It's strange, doing this in public. Up until now, she’s only ever touched herself in the privacy of her own room with the lights off and the sheets pulled up over her hips and her breasts, halfway up to her shoulders.
She presses a palm against her crotch, covered with fine trimmed hair. She rubs at her own clit, seeking out the sensitive nub she knows is hidden under the hood. She moves farther down, seeking out that hot, wet hole she loves so much.
One finger gets pushed in and then another. Victoria is lost, not in the sensation, but in the way Matt is watching her. It's a startling, heavy thing, having those eyes on her. It looks, in that moment, like she is Matt's entire world. It feels, in that moment, like there's nothing else she would rather be doing.
“Fuck,” groans Matt, shifting about again. He shoves his boxers down, too, and takes a loose hold of himself with one hand. It's not the first time Victoria's seen him, not by far, but it's still a startling sort of thing.
Bravely, Victoria asks, “Do you want to?”
Matt's only answer is a large, toothy grin.