Night Owl

CHAPTER 12

Hannah

"YOU HAVE PLANS for the Fourth?" Matt asked as we drove through the city. He'd arrived at my house at noon sharp and stood by his car waiting for me. I got the definite impression that he was avoiding my family—or humanity in general.

He looked edible, as usual.

He wore a light pair of charcoal gray slacks and a pale dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I felt reasonably sure his shoes were Ferragamos, though I wasn't about to ask, and the timepiece on his wrist could have doubled as an anchor.

I, on the other hand, was wearing a tiny yellow sundress from Macy's. Excellent, I probably looked like Matt's niece.

I was carrying my big slouchy purse because Matt had insisted I bring the sex toys. God, I had to find out what this guy did for a living. He dressed like sex, drove the sexiest car I'd ever been in, and bought me the Cadillac of sex toys without blinking.

Besides, it was starting to feel weird to have these repeated intimate encounters with a man who was still so much of a stranger.

"The Fourth?" I said, trying to peel my eyes off his bare forearms. "I don't think so. We can see one of the shows decently well from our deck. I guess we'll do brats and hamburgers, that's all we usually do." I had honestly forgotten about the Fourth of July, along with everything else in the world, thanks to Matt. "What about you?"

"No plans."

"You have any family around here?" I said, watching his face.

Matt kept his eyes on the road. Nothing changed in his expression.

"No, not around here. Two brothers on the east coast."

"Brothers? That's cool. You guys get along? Are they older or younger?"

I wanted to fire a zillion questions at him.

"This place is good," Matt said. We had pulled up near a Mediterranean deli. Conversation over.

After lunch, Matt took my hand and began dragging me along the sidewalks of Denver with trademark impatience.

"Matt," I huffed. "Short legs over here."

"Don't I know it." He winked at me.

We stopped suddenly outside a midsized corner building. Stylish landscaping drew my eyes toward a statue near the stairs. It was a stone wing jutting up from a small fountain.

No. Way.

I looked to the lettering engraved above the doors.

The Granite Wing Agency.

"Matt, what are we—"

He didn't hear me. He'd moved off a few feet and was on his phone. I heard him laugh.

"Yes," he said. Then, "Right, right. I didn't want to deal with your secretary. Oh, moving down in the world?"

After some more banter and a terse laugh, Matt dropped the phone into his pocket. He took my hand and led me into the building.

I was babbling wildly. I don't think Matt was listening, though he smiled down at me from time to time. Was it his smile making my knees weak, or being inside the agency rumored to represent M. Pierce?

And the M. Pierce rumor was only a footnote to the agency's reputation. Pamela Wing and her partner, Laura Granite, represented some of the biggest names in literary fiction. They were notorious for calling talent in the air and cutthroat in their negotiations. Oh, and they ruthlessly poached writers from other agencies, all from their humble Denver hub.


"Matt, what are we doing here?" I demanded.

My voice echoed around the lobby. Matt frowned at me.

"I told you I had some connections in the city."

I felt the color draining from my face.

Connections? Employment connections? Here, now?

"No, no no. I am not dressed for this moment," I said. "Please, let me just—"

I rummaged in my bag. Did I have anything that could lend me a shred of professionalism right now? Or maybe a weapon to dispatch myself? My hand closed around the purple vibrator and I nearly yanked it out for the world to see. Shit! Shit shit shit!

"Relax," Matt murmured.

"Matt, f*ck, how can I—"

I heard heels clicking through the marble lobby and looked up to see a blond woman approaching. She and Matt shook hands briskly.

"Matthew," she said. She glanced at me and I shrank. I was an eyesore next to Matt and this fierce-looking lady, and again I had the distinct impression of being in a tiger enclosure.

I thrust out my hand.

"Hannah Ca—"

"This is Hannah." Matt spoke over me. "Good friend of mine, new to the city. Look Pam, I don't have a world of time and I'm sorry to spring this on you—"

Oh, my god. He said Pam. Pamela. This was Pamela Wing, in the flesh.

"It's so unlike you to spring strange requests on me," Pamela said. She gave Matt an iron smile and he returned it. They seemed so familiar with one another, and yet so restrained. A horrible thought jabbed at me. Were they ex-lovers?

"Long story short, Pam, Hannah's looking for work. I'm not asking you to move mountains or do me any favors. She's a smart girl, though. MA from Kenyon College, business and English major. You can read the rest in her resume." He waved a hand. My god, he was practically talking down to Pamela Wing, a literary agent who ate souls for breakfast. "Do you get what I'm saying? That is, keep her in mind, would you? I wanted you two to meet."

My hand had been hanging limply in the air the whole time.

Pamela finally grasped and shook it. My fingers crumpled in her grip.

"Hi Hannah," she said. "Pam Wing. It's great to meet you. As I was just telling Matt on the phone, my secretary, in her infinite wisdom, recently eloped in Vegas and telephoned informing me of her immediate resignation."

Pam's eyes glittered. I would not want to be that former secretary.

"No promises, but if you're not opposed to secretarial work and shadowing me a bit, and if you're as capable as Matthew suggests, the job is yours. I'm a firm believer in providence. Drop off your resume as soon as you can. We'll be in touch. Matthew." Pam gave Matt a curt nod and breezed out of the building. Her perfume bit at my nostrils.

What the f*ck... had just happened?

I hadn't said a single coherent word in the whole encounter, and I had basically just been offered a job. That, or I had been brushed off in the most diplomatic fashion. I blinked and shifted my purse on my shoulder.

Matt was watching me.

"Don't overthink this," he said softly. "She won't care if you never drop off your resume, but the job will be gone in days. And don't thank me, either. That woman is a shark. You'll be out on your ass if you cross her once. There is no margin of error."

Matt ruffled my hair, a sweet gesture that unfortunately emphasized my feeling of childishness, and strolled toward the exit.

I rushed after him, my flip-flops slapping the floor.

"Who are you?" I said as we headed back to the car. "What do you do? What was that?"

Matt didn't answer until he was comfortably ensconced in his car.

"I'm a businessman." He sighed. "Can we leave it at that?"

"Do I have any choice?"

I didn't know what to feel. I was angry—angry at Matt for ambushing me with that impromptu interview, angry at myself for going mute—and elated at the job prospect, and quietly in awe of the man beside me. Ugh, he was so f*cking infuriating. And he was so f*cking delicious, and mysterious, and impatient.

At the moment, Matt was driving like the grim reaper.

"My place next," he said as he glared ahead.

"That itinerary update would have been nice before you hauled me in front of one of my literary heroes."

"Mm, I take it you believe the gossip about that agency?"

"What, that they represent M. Pierce? I don't know."

Matt smirked.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a fan girl, Hannah. Don't believe every tale you read. I'm sure that hack has some glitzy New York agent licking his boots."

"I'm not a fan girl, unless appreciating the books makes me one. And I happen to think the author is entitled to privacy. What makes you say his boots anyway?"

Matt went quiet for a moment.

"His or her," he said. "Probably her, come to think. So sentimental."

"So sexist!"

Matt flashed one of his sense-melting smiles at me.

God, was I in over my head with this guy?

Matt had a sprawling, high-rise apartment in downtown Denver. I probably should have guessed. The rooms were clean and modern, harshly white, with light hardwood floors and gorgeous area rugs. The fixtures were all of matching brushed metal and the décor was spare but tasteful. I recognized a framed John Singer Sargent print on the wall.

Matt loomed as I padded through the neat, quiet rooms. Each time I smiled at him, I thought I caught a glimmer of anxiety in his expression. Why would he be nervous? Was my opinion really that important to him?

"This place is lovely," I said. "It's amazing. I can't believe it was ever messy."

"Oh, I had a maid come through," he said.

"Laurence!" I squealed when I saw the rabbit's hutch in the living room. The hutch was as swanky as Matt's apartment, made of beautiful varnished wood with little gold knobs.

"Your lady love is back," Matt said to the rabbit.

We watched Laurence hop around his hutch for a while. Matt's hovering was making me uneasy—and strangely aroused. He hadn't touched me yet, but I knew he planned to. I assumed his bedroom was down the hall.

Was something wrong? Tension and desire made my stomach clench.

We drifted into the kitchen, Matt right at my back.

"Nice." I swallowed and brushed my hand over the granite countertop. Even the kitchen was immaculate.

I could feel Matt behind me. I thought I heard him take a soft breath. My skin prickled. God, if he didn't touch me soon—

I exhaled in a rush as Matt brought his chest flush against my back. He pinned me to the edge of the island and cupped my breasts from behind. I moaned.

"Are you ready?" he whispered in my ear.

"Yes," I said immediately, willing volume into my voice.

I had been ready since I woke up that morning. Ready and apprehensive.

"Then bend over the counter."

I did as Matt ordered, though the angle was uncomfortable. The counter dug into my belly and Matt pushed me down against it so that my breasts were squashed.

He was silent as he flipped up my sundress and tucked it around my waist. I thought my exposed ass and pink thong would pull some comment from him, but he remained quiet.

He jerked the string of my thong between my cheeks. A gasp escaped me. F*ck, I was getting nervous.

Matt smoothed a hand into my hair. The thick curls stopped his fingers. He got a handful of hair and yanked, and at once he began to spank my ass hard and fast.

"Matt!" I shrieked. The strands tugging at my tender scalp and the stinging pain on my bottom made me convulse against the counter. Instinctively, I tried to push away from the hard surface, but with Matt's hand in my hair and his strong arm against my back, I couldn't move.

God, I couldn't get away! And god, it was such a turn-on. I remembered Matt's words about teaching me a lesson—about not being gentle.

I had no choice but to take it.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" I cried out in time with each firm slap to my bottom.

"Hannah," Matt finally growled. "Listen to yourself, god. You're perfect."

He slid his hand under my thong and began to finger me forcefully. I was soaked.

My exes had never humiliated me like this, much less been this rough with me, so I could never have known... how much I loved it.

"Ohhh, god," I breathed.

No sooner had Matt begun to finger me than he was spanking me again. One minute I was trying to wriggle closer to his fingers, the next I was trying to squirm away from his ruthless hand. My ass was hot.

"You're my slut," Matt told me over the slapping sounds and my own degrading cries. "You're mine, Hannah. You were bad to suck me off that night when I wanted to f*ck you, and that's why you're getting punished."

He was fingering me again. I twisted and panted. Tears rimmed my eyelids.

"I know you love to suck my dick, Hannah, but I'll put it in your mouth when I want it there. You don't give me pleasure, do you understand? I take it from you."

I lost track of time between the pleasure and pain and Matt's moans and teasing. I was dimly aware of his soft slacks pushing against my leg, and his hard cock. He laughed and told me my ass was glowing. He asked how my breasts felt and whether I'd had enough. He told me my p-ssy was tight and needed f*cking.

It ended abruptly. Matt pulled me into his arms, both of us breathless, and began to kiss me. His hands roved my body, squeezing any ample flesh.

"God," he gasped through the kiss. "Hannah, god. Do you want this? Feel what you're doing to me." He seized my wrist and pressed my hand to his cock. I curled my fingers around it.

Too many times I'd lost my nerve around Matt. I wanted this, whatever the hell it was. I trusted him. And if I didn't answer unequivocally, I knew he wouldn't force me into it.

Into what?

I shoved the anxiety out of my mind.

"Do it," I whispered. "Do it Matt, I'm yours."