Force of Forever (All In #0.5)

The fucking tower. A hunk of metal with stairs and lifts and lights. Who cared?

Finally, the structure came into view and Matt breathed a bit easier. He wanted Pia so badly his skin burned. He couldn’t be present with her. Not really. Not with the promise of them together hovering in sight.

“As close as you can get,” he instructed Célia. “Preferably near grass for Pia’s bare feet.”

He released the pressure he’d been circling into her arches.

“Oh, my God, Matt. You’re a saint.”

More of that, please.He liked her breathy and limp from his hands.

Célia expertly navigated through the crowded streets around the tower. It was nearing ten p.m., prime dining time for Paris, and the streets swarmed with people. Lights blazed from storefronts and twinkled in trees. Matt noticed none of that. He only registered dark eyes that cut deeper than they should.

They coasted to a stop at a small playground across from the tower. Grassy and empty, with an incredible view. He threw his driver a grateful smile. She rolled her eyes in return.

Pia had sucked in a breath as her attention moved from him to the sight outside, to the detour she’d insisted on, partly just to drive him wilder.

She climbed out, head tipped back to take in the lighted structure towering above them. He followed. He had forgotten how imposing the tower felt up close. As the landmark sparkled in its ongoing light show, Matt realized he’d forgotten about many of the magical parts of his city. He’d been head down for years, lost in the legacy his family insisted he contribute to. He’d started and sold companies all over the world. He’d lived on planes and in family estate properties more than at home while tweaking the different houses under their brand. It had taken the wide eyes of the woman next to him to remind him that he used to be in love with Paris.

Pia glowed more beautifully than the tower. Matt didn’t give a damn that tasting her, sinking inside her, had been delayed. She was fuckinghappy, and, for some reason, her happiness really mattered to him.

He found himself wishing her bucket list had been longer so he’d have more ways to keep that genuine grin on her face.

She turned to him, beaming, and took his breath away. “Merci, Matt.”

He smiled and pulled her close, loving how readily her arms circled his waist. Theirs was an effortless comfort level he hadn’t expected. “I thought we said using French was a dirty trick.”

“Not if you butcher the accent like I do.”

Matt leaned his forehead against hers. In this moment, he didn’t have to try so hard to be present. Lights danced in the periphery of his vision. Butterflies danced in his belly. What emotion was this that carried a grip strong enough to wrest his future right out of his mind? Matt only cared about now. About her.

“The woman at the museum called you a ‘lovely boy.’”

“Mm.” Not the most flattering description for a man nearing thirty years old and six feet tall.

“She’s right. You’re a good man, Matt. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He brushed his lips against her forehead. “I’m good, bad, and everything in between. I’m whatever you want me to be, Pia.”

She nodded against his chest. “I want all of you,” she confessed. “I want everything.”

He captured her chin so she had to look at him. No fear in her gaze. Just desire and determination. “Finally,” he teased.

Her eye roll rivaled Célia’s. “Like you haven’t been threatening kisses and not following through all—”

They weren’t her lips anymore. They were his.

Pia still tasted slightly of coffee. He drank down the little gasps that puffed against his mouth. He tasted the lips that blended with his own. His fingers traveled across her jaw, claiming more of her.

And Pia claimed right back. It was her tongue that explored his bottom lip, her hands that slipped under his shirt to his skin. Matt gasped as her cold fingertips spread across his back. He broke off, panting. Pia smiled, mouth salacious and swollen, and pulled him back against her. Her tongue plundered first, but he took control. His hands on her face, her neck, weren’t gentle. The blood in his veins traveled south, and he made sure she knew what her body had done to his.

“Your place. Now.”

Aching, Matt raised an eyebrow. He still had enough blood in his brain to tease her. “I don’t know. We might need to take a few laps around the Arc. Share a moonlit stroll along the Seine. Hell, I might need a three-course meal. Someone didn’t feed me earlier.”

Nails dug into his back as she growled. Matt hissed at the pain. He’d never felt harder, or further from home. Pia was right. They needed to leave.

He practically shoved her back into the car. Célia didn’t even ask where to next. She knew, either from witnessing their kiss, or from the tension filling the space. They were utterly silent on the trip from the tower to his apartment in Saint-Germain. Pia chewed on a thumbnail and stared out the window with her slender knee bouncing. Matt had to breathe through his nose and resist the urge to touch her.