“You like it?” Matt tucked a curl behind my ear. He leaned down and kissed my temple.
“Um. Yeah, I…” His words pinged in my mind. Simple girl. Was this a silly indulgence? He wrote bestselling novels in plain marble notebooks from the grocery store. To him, this probably seemed so … gratuitous. So nouveau riche. “It’s stupid. Never mind.”
I hurried away, hiding in the magazine section.
There, I found myself face-to-face with a gorgeous bride in a lacy gown, standing with her groom in a field. The Knot magazine. I swallowed and plucked it off the rack. God, she looked beautiful. The magazine promised “10 stylish outdoor weddings YOU can do” and “5 simple steps to an intimate evening wedding.”
“Bridal magazines?”
I jumped. Matt loomed at my shoulder, his eyes round.
He was following me around the store like a puppy dog.
“No! No, uh—” I dropped the magazine and bolted out of the store, my face inflamed. Shopping with Matt: epic mistake. I barreled toward the baggage claim, forgot to check the monitors for our claim number, and ended up slumped against a wall, watching lumpen suitcases orbit on the belts.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. First the almost baby conversation, then the bridal magazine. If I wasn’t careful, I would freak Matt right out of our engagement.
I waited for him to find me.
And he found me.
He always does.
He came striding along with our luggage, mine a fat blue duffel, his a sleek silver Tumi case. Now that we were really living together, I noticed our varying tastes. I liked cheap, cute, cluttered. Matt liked expensive, elegant, spare. But he let me decorate our condo like a circus …
Maybe there was hope for our future home.
Mmph, home. No more domestic thoughts today.
“There you are.” He smiled brightly. “You gave me a scare.”
“Sorry.” I looked at my feet.
“You dropped your magazine.” He thrust a Hudson Booksellers bag into my line of vision. “I got you a few others.”
“Huh?” I took the bag—oof, heavy—and flipped through the magazines: Premier Bride, Wedding Style, Town & Country Weddings, Get Married, and, of course, The Knot. Tears glazed my eyes. Oh, Matt …
“And these,” he said, withdrawing a stack of Moleskine notebooks from another bag. He added them to the pile of magazines in my hands.
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I hugged the magazines and journals.
“Bird, why are you crying?”
“I’m just … happy,” I whispered. “So happy.”
He hugged me tight. I pressed my face into his chest and let another tear fall. Did he know what these magazines meant to me? They were Matt’s permission to think about our wedding—to plan and anticipate it. Sweet joy spread through me.
My phone chimed and I plucked it out of my purse.
I stayed in Matt’s arms as I read the text.
It was from Chrissy.
R we getting together this weekend or what?
Shit. I’d forgotten about my plans to check up on Chrissy this weekend. I glanced at Matt, who watched me patiently, and tapped out a quick reply.
Stuff came up, so sorry. Let’s get together Friday night.
I hesitated, and then I added:
& I’m bringing my fiancé.
Chapter 14
MATT
PUNISHMENT
She lied to me—withheld information from me—and I punished her for it. I spanked her. I used her. I denied her orgasm.
I’ve wanted this for a while, and now that I’ve had it, I want more.
When she’s bad, I want to tell her so. I want to take out my anger on her gorgeous body. She doesn’t understand how it provokes me, the sight of her.
I am constantly aching.
Mike’s lips thinned into a line as he read my notebook.
Matt’s Black Book of Aberrant Desires, I’d written inside the cover. Mike didn’t crack a smile at that. I cleared my throat and he glanced at me.
“Yes?”
“Nothing,” I said. I wished I hadn’t let him see the book. By the same turn, it felt good to share those strange desires with someone.
He flipped a page and continued reading. “Your trip was good?”
“Yeah. Uneventful…”
Again, Mike glanced at me.
“How did you cut your face?”
“Hm?” My hand rose halfway to the wound. The fountain. Seth. “I fell.”
He watched me a moment too long and frowned.
“All right. You fell. Maybe you can tell me more about that sometime. For now, let’s talk about this.” He gestured with the notebook. “Desires for control, ownership—physical and emotional possession, I think—and a shame fetish.”
“Don’t fucking put it that way.” I stuck an unlit smoke between my lips.
“Erotic humiliation,” Mike said.
“Whatever.” I glared at the floor. “Fine.”
“No need to get defensive. I’m not horrified, Matthew. Just a discussion. Looking at this”—he handed the notebook back to me—“my immediate question is, how would you feel in Hannah’s position? Would you be comfortable if she felt this proprietary about your body? Would you allow her to humiliate, dominate, and punish you? To expose you to others?”
I smiled slyly at Mike.
“She has tied me to the bed,” I murmured. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mike. My eyes swept the family photo on his desk. I couldn’t picture Mrs. Mike getting that freaky.
“I’m aware. I read Night Owl.”
“The fuck?” I gaped.
“I read everything you publish. You’re my client. It’s part of my job. You know this, Matthew. Holistic mental health.”
I rubbed my face. Good God.
“Look, to answer your question…” My mind traveled back to Hannah. Last week, she’d put her finger in my backside, then made me confess to liking it. And before our brief breakup, she’d asked me to jerk off for her viewing pleasure. On my knees. On the floor. “She, ah … she sometimes … has the upper hand, yeah. I don’t mind.”
“You enjoy it?”
I shrugged.