Matt’s pleading began when I dialed up the ring. Powerful vibrations trembled down his cock to my tongue, turning my moans into purrs.
“Don’t—don’t,” he hissed, tugging at my hair. “Don’t make me come. I want to come with you—fuck, Hannah, fuck … suck me…”
I savored his desperation, along with his indecision. One moment he was trying to guide my mouth off his sex, the next he was trying to push it deeper. Swearing. Snarling my name. His head thrown back or pitched forward, eyes glued to me.
“Come on,” he rasped. “No, no. Hannah…”
And I won’t lie; it drove me just as wild. The way Matt felt in my mouth and the way he begged for me—it was pure need, raw honesty.
I drew back, licked my lips, and leaned against the slope of the tub. I spread my legs and Matt sank over me, lowering his gorgeous body into the water. Into me. His eyes were stormy.
I felt every inch of his invasion.
The bullet at the top of the ring hit my clit and I gasped, digging my nails into Matt’s back. “Fuck!” I cried.
“Yeah?” Matt’s voice curled with delight. “I know, I know.”
He didn’t move; he simply pinned me against the tub with his cock buried in me and the ring vibrating against my clit. Before long, I was writhing under him.
“Come on,” he coaxed. “I know you can come like this. Come for me.”
My coiled pleasure released in a rush and I groaned. My back bowed. My sex squeezed and milked Matt’s length, and only then did he begin to move.
The bathwater seesawed in the tub. Matt fucked me single-mindedly, oblivious even when a splash extinguished a candle. My *, he kept telling me, was tight, so fucking tight, and he loved to fuck it, he wanted to come in it, and how did I like to feel his cum?
He groaned and pressed his face into my neck as he came. Whatever crossed his features in the throes of bliss, he hid.
Afterward, we bathed one another. Matt was sedate. He lathered shampoo into my hair, smoothed body wash over my skin, and rinsed me clean. We kissed and didn’t speak. We’d created a sanctuary—in the bathtub, in the cabin—and I felt such peace.
Matt blew out the rest of the candles and turned on the light. We dried one another, smiling faintly whenever our eyes met. Then—for the first time, though I don’t know how I missed it last night—I caught sight of the white-pink scar on his calf. I knelt and brushed the towel over it.
“Baby,” I whispered.
I could see where the cat’s teeth punctured his flesh, four large spots with smaller splotches around them. I covered my mouth.
“Let me see your wrist,” I said. “Let me see it.”
“Hannah, stop. It’s nothing.”
“No.” I caught his hand. I scanned his arm until I found a pink bar on the inside of his forearm and another over his wrist. I stared at the scars.
“They don’t hurt. Stop this. We’re happy. Everything is working out.” Matt lifted my chin. The confidence in his voice was absent from his expression. His eyes were haunted. And no wonder …
Matt opened his mouth to say more—and then, from the kitchen, his cell began to ring.
Chapter 22
MATT
Hannah and I hovered over the phone. She looked afraid to touch it, her dark eyes so round. The silence between each ring was dead air. And then it stopped.
Mel, I prayed, don’t leave a message, don’t leave a message … please.
How could I have forgotten to tell Mel not to call this weekend? I bought the new phone on Thursday and sent her the number as soon as I got back to the cabin. Then, in my rush to prepare for Hannah’s visit, I completely forgot about Mel.
And here she was—Melanie, the stranger responsible for Night Owl’s publication—calling me while Hannah listened in horror.
My cell began to ring again. Fuck.
“What the hell?” Hannah whispered. She looked between me and the ringing cell. “Who has this number besides me?”
“No one,” I stammered. “No one, I swear. It’s got to be a wrong number.”
“What if … someone figured this out? I’m answering it.”