Matt pleasured himself at a leisurely pace. Once, he grasped my hips and brought his mouth close to my sex, his breath fanning over the heated skin. I felt incredible tension in his hands. The strength of restraint.
“You’re hard to resist,” he hissed. He climbed onto the bed and flipped me over. Wild for release, I spread my legs invitingly and lifted my body, but he pressed me down. With one hand against my abdomen and the other stroking his length, he came.
He never entered me. He didn’t even moan. His dark, angry eyes raked my body, his cum wet my sex, and then he backed away.
I lay on the bed panting as Matt picked up his towel and ruffled his hair.
He glanced at me. “Don’t. Come.”
I swallowed and sat up. The plug shifted inside me, making me moan.
“Oh, and you can take that out,” he murmured. His gaze loitered on me. I knew how I looked—my lips slightly swollen, skin flushed, wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a plug—and I made one last play.
“Please,” I whispered, lowering my eyes. “Fuck me, Matt…”
“Hannah.” His voice was a growl. He kissed me swiftly, devouring my mouth, then pulled back and stalked out of the room. I whined, reaching after him. Was this my punishment? It was the worst, the best punishment. The most affecting punishment. His absence.
*
I fell asleep without Matt—he stayed up late, a soft light emanating from the sitting area—but I woke beside him, his body curled around mine.
Morning sun spilled over his back. I stroked his golden hair.
I’d gone to sleep confused and a little angry—but when Matt’s eyes opened and he smiled at me, I knew we were going to have a better day.
The hell with yesterday. A bump in the road.
I fluttered my lashes against his cheek and pressed the gentlest kiss to his wound.
“Mm, I’m”—he touched the scabbing gash—“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he grumbled.
“Oh, baby, no.”
“Yes. I am.” He climbed onto me and settled down. I stroked his bare sides, reveling in the way his body pressed into mine. Every morning with Matt, I felt the same giddy thrill. Is he really mine? Yes, he is. “Shouldn’t have fucking … gone to see him…”
“Why did you?” I whispered.
“Some weird e-mail. I got some weird fucking e-mail from an address I didn’t recognize.” He nuzzled my chest as he spoke. He was feeling good and communicating, so despite the chill I felt—Weird e-mail? From whom?—I played it cool.
“Oh yeah? What did it say?”
“I’ll show you later. Basically it said your sister was pregnant and Seth got her that way. Strange fucking tone, kind of taunting.” He seemed less disturbed than I felt. Then again, he probably got a lot of odd messages. “I should have talked to you about it, but I think I’ve been waiting … for an excuse to hit him. Nate told me Goldengrove was at the Plaza Hotel, and I went there and … we fought. He’s fine. He’s lucky. I could have fucking killed him…”
I kissed the top of Matt’s head and cringed. I really, really didn’t want to talk about Matt’s anger with Seth, because I was to blame.
Seth getting Chrissy pregnant was just the cherry on top of Matt’s towering rage.
“How was the city?” I hedged.
His head came up. He flashed a boyish smile at me. “Same old. You ever been?”
“No.” I curled my toes under the sheets. “You know me, simple Hannah…”
His smile dimmed. “Bird, I didn’t mean that. Not like that. Simple is … good.”
If simple is good, then why do you want us to live in a mansion? I bit my tongue.
“What you are is perfect for me.” He kissed my forehead. “I love you. You’re so intelligent, gorgeous, intuitive. You’re sensitive. You’re—”
I touched his lips, shushing him with a grin.
“That’ll do. You’re out of the doghouse … for now.”
“So easily? And I was ready to kiss ass for the next hour. Literally…”
I blinked and flushed. “Okay, you’re back in the doghouse.”
We clambered out of bed at ten. I felt thoroughly satisfied, and I tabled my concerns about last night. I got room service to bring up Matt’s favorite breakfast (the only actual breakfast he’d eat)—two grapefruit halves doused in sugar and coffee, black.
Our flight back to Denver was uneventful, but as we were taxiing toward DIA, Matt turned to me and said, “Is she going to have it?”
The question stunned me into silence.
“The baby,” he prompted. “Is your sister going to have it?”
“I don’t know. She’s thinking about it.”
“You would be an aunt. Auntie Hannah.” He grinned.
I giggled. “Uncle Matthew.”
We smiled at each other stupidly for a moment, then simultaneously frowned. What the hell? Chrissy’s pregnancy was not a happy situation, and we were not having a baby conversation right now. My overloaded mind couldn’t fit family thoughts.
“Ah, we”—Matt whisked a hand through his hair—“we’ll help her. Financially.”
I hugged his arm. “Sweet night owl.”
He gazed resolutely out the window.
“It seems like the right thing to do. We’ll plan for Seth staying out of the picture. I don’t think he…” Matt hesitated.
The seat belt sign went off with a ring and he hurried to retrieve our carry-ons.
End of discussion, apparently.
On our way to the baggage claim, I dragged Matt into Hudson Booksellers. I have a weakness for airport bookstores.
“Really?” He glowered at the store. “Our bags…”
Matt navigated air travel the same way he drove, with glares all around. If he had his way, we’d march everywhere and never enjoy anything.
“Really.” I smiled sweetly at him.
I drifted about the store, stopping at the Moleskine display and flipping through a pretty, overpriced little journal. It was the sort of small luxury I’d denied myself all my life. I frowned as I moved to return the journal to the shelf. I could buy this now, guiltlessly.