by Tara Brown
“No, but his dad is nouveau riche. I’m not even joking. And his mom’s family are like the Vanderbilts, land rich and cash poor. So of course his dad being an independently wealthy billionaire was a perfect choice for her. He brought the money and she brought the name. It’s the only way these old money families are surviving. My dad is a billionaire so he’ll be looking to fit me with someone from a good family.”
“Your world is disturbing.”
“It will be your world one day too.”
“Speaking of that, William just called before you. We talked. He’s going to try to be more flexible. I told him that the time constraints we both have can’t get in the way of seeing each other.” She doesn’t sound excited the way she normally does. She sounds beaten down, like her mother’s will is finally too much.
My stomach sinks. “No way.” I don’t have the energy to pretend I believe him.
“Yeah. I told him to pick me up and we could go for a walk in the cold and try to get to a happy place with our insane timetables.”
As if that is the only problem in their relationship . . .
“Sometimes I think it’s sucky that we’re so far away from each other. It would be easier if we were closer.”
I almost throw up but manage to keep my level of disgust to myself, which means I’m silent.
“I should go anyway, he’s going to be here soon. Maybe we could all double date sometime. He and William know each other.”
“Oh, we’re not dating. It’s a thing. It’s nothing serious,” I lie.
“You spent Christmas together.”
“Christmas isn’t real for people like us. It’s just another day. Every day is Christmas when you’re rich.” I feel like the biggest knob in the world saying it, but I can’t bear the thought of double dating with William-shit for brains-Fairfield.
“You’re such a snob.”
“I know. Love you.”
“Love you too.” She ends the call.
I shudder and roll over, switching out the light so I can get some shut-eye before we go out.
When I wake up Nadia is nudging me.
“Why are you nudging me?” I swat at her. “Stop!”
“You have fifteen minutes before he gets here. I texted you half an hour ago. You texted back some nonsense. I assumed you were awake.”
“What?” I don’t understand what she’s saying.
“He’ll be here in fifteen minutes!” She pulls back the covers and switches on the light.
“Who? OH MY GOD! PICK OUT CLOTHES!” I scream as I hop up, swaying slightly as a dizzy spell hits. But I don’t let it stop me. I rush to the bathroom and leap into the shower. It’s the fastest cleaning I’ve ever had.
I jump out and throw on my robe, blow-drying my hair as Nadia does my makeup. When she gets a natural look slathered on, she spritzes my face with makeup sealer and moves onto the hair. She does a twist so she can hide the fact the thick mess is still damp.
I look hot, as in kinda sweaty and red-faced, but it’s better than groggy and half asleep.
She helps me drag on my clothes, careful of my makeup and hair. The outfit is perfect: a short black tutu-style skirt matched with thigh-high lace socks and ankle boots with buckles and a flashy steel toe. On top we have a push-up bra and a thin cable-knit cropped sweater with long sleeves. She loops on a red scarf and hands me a thick wool jacket.
I finish with the last touches as she hurries downstairs to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep waiting. We’re closer to twenty-five minutes than fifteen, but it’s still the fastest I’ve ever gotten dressed.
I spritz with my subtlest perfume and leave the room, phone in pocket next to a credit card. I’m going purse-less. I don’t want to have too much shit in my hands in case he tries to hold them.
When I get downstairs he looks much—MUCH—better. His swelling has come down remarkably and his green eyes are taking on a normal shape again. When he smiles he doesn’t look like a hit man. He just looks like Matt and I’m glad I chose the outfit I did. I want him to touch me.
“Hey!” He gives me that sly grin. “Ready?”
“Just barely. I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until half an hour ago.”
“Me too. But getting ready is only a few seconds for me.” He turns and looks at the door. “I think there’s some paparazzi out front. I passed a couple guys I think I remember.”
“Back door it is. I prefer it anyway.” I say it without thinking until his eyebrows lift as a comical look lands on his face.
“If you insist.”
“Shut it.” I turn and head for the other side of the house.
We sneak out, hurrying to the car he has waiting. His driver gets the door, but I pause and give Matt a look. “Really?”
“What?” he asks but the driver appears as though he might know what’s up. His weathered cheeks flush as his eyes lower.
“Nothing.” I cringe as I climb in.
“What’s wrong?” he asks again as he gets in and the door closes behind him. His eyes meet mine and then widen. “Oh shit.” He glances around the limo. “Oh shit!”
I cross my arms and stare out the window.
“What are you thinking?”
I contemplate lying when our eyes meet but the truth slips out, “How disgusting the backseat of this limo must be and that I was one of a hundred chicks and nothing more.” I know it’s something we’ve already worked out, but I can’t get over the fact he brought this fucking limo.
“I never thought of you as that. You were different—you are.”
“Whatever.” The horrid taste in my mouth won’t go away so we sit in awkward silence as the driver takes us through Manhattan and across the Brooklyn Bridge.
Sitting in silence and feeling disgusting doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not a silent struggler. I’m a runner or a person who puts on a loud show so the other person knows I won’t be forced into submission.
In my struggle to stay quiet about just how fucked up what he did was, I start to sweat. Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s the warmth in the car. Whatever it is, I pull my scarf off and lay it on the seat next to me, fidgeting with my fingernails to the point that I might rip my gel polish off.
His eyes dart from my hands to my face, nervously. “It was the wrong choice. I should have brought the Bentley,” he mutters.
I glare, about to say the car isn’t the problem.
“Okay, you’re right. It’s not just the car. It’s me. I made the wrong choice.” He reads my mind or my death stare perfectly. “I just wanted you so bad for so long and when I finally got you in my arms and you were single and I was single, I went for it. I needed you right then and there. The car coming was the only thing that saved you from getting fucked in that dirty alley.”
My nose wrinkles.
“I don’t know how else to explain this.” He jumps up and leans over me, lowering the partition between us and the driver. “Charles, who have I talked about nonstop since forever?”
“Please, keep me out of this.” Charles shakes his head.
“No, just tell her. She’s been everything for too long. Embarrassingly long.”
“This entire experience is embarrassing, sir.” He scoffs and closes the partition.
Matt sighs and sits back. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought into this car that I imagined having sex with anywhere else but the car.”
I don’t say anything. Mostly because Linda told me it drives guys nuts when you don’t talk, but also because I don’t know what to say.
“I kissed you so romantically in that black cab and then I ruined it in this car. But it isn’t about the car—it’s just about you. I want you. Even right now, I want to do it in the car again, mostly because I just want to have sex again, but only with you.” He pauses, out of breath and looking a little crazy. “Say something.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He gasps.
“Okay.”
“You wanna fuck too or okay that story makes a
little bit of sense?”
Mulling over everything I want to say, I pause and take a deep breath. I need to breathe out my emotion first. Another Linda gem. “I don’t want to fuck. Not in this car. Ever again. I don’t even want to ride in this car again. I want you to sell or demolish this particular car.” I take another breath because I’m getting feisty. “Your story doesn’t make sense. It’s gross. The fact you had your poor driver take you on more than one trip so you could bang chicks in the back with him in the car is nasty. And I don’t want to hear anything about being young—I poured ale on my boobs—I get young mistakes. Car sex is disgusting when you drive somewhere to do it alone, adding the driver is nasty. It’s something you do with a hooker. It implies you don’t have to take a girl on a date, respect them, take them home to your house and hang with them, suffer through going to their house, eat a meal with them, or even let them clean up. You can actually drop them off, like a whore, and go on your merry way. If that’s how you like to have sex, you have a ballpark worth of issues you need to address. And I’m not slut shaming you; I agree with one-night stands, but there’s a classy way to do it and then there’s this way.”
He cringes. “It sounds bad when you say it like that.”
“It is bad. It’s a mean thing to do and makes me think you have no respect for women. Which is known in hockey. What are they called, those girls? The player girls? It’s a thing. What is it?”
“Puck bunnies.”
“No, that’s the tame version. Carson called them something meaner.” I lift my finger when it hits me. “Puck fucks.”
“PFs. Please just say PFs.”
“That right there is the exact opposite of women’s rights. Like different teams completely. The women who let themselves be puck fucked might as well stop voting.” I glance around. “Especially in the car. Do you drop them off on corners so they can continue working for the night?”
His eyes narrow. “I get it. Your okay was the nice way of saying I didn’t actually want you to answer.”
“You wanted to see behind the curtain. You wanted to get to know me and see what kind of person I am, like you’re so much better than me? As if you’re some fucking high standard of human that I have to prove myself to because I’m a dumb, rich, blonde ditz.” I lean into him, seething anger. “Well, let me tell you something, I am ten times the person you are. I wouldn’t do something like this.” I lower the partition and look at Charles. “Am I right or am I right?”
“For the love of all things holy, leave me out of it.”
“Translation, I’m right.” I pat Charles on the shoulder. “Just swing back to my place, I sort of lost my appetite.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He closes the partition and I go back to staring out the window.
“I’m an idiot. I literally don’t think. Ever. Will an ‘I’m sorry’ even come close to covering this?” He sits back, looking a little defeated. It disappoints me to see him give up so easily. I liked it better when we were screaming at each other, but I’m guessing he truly has no defense for this.
“I don’t want an apology. I want you to see that you’re not so fucking perfect. You’re just as high and mighty as I am. You treat girls like garbage and refuse to date. Oh, like dating you is so special. There’s nothing special about you, you’re just as rich and snobby as I am. You spend all your time looking down your nose at me, like I suck for being my father’s daughter, but you’re still judging me. You think I missed it all these years? I know the look on your face every time you see me out and about.”
“I don’t think I’m better than you.” His nostrils flare. “I like you.”
“You hate that you like me,” I challenge him. He flinches and doesn’t answer. “How can you hate me for being a Ford when you’re you? That’s like me disliking you for not following in your father’s footsteps.”
“You called me blue collar.” He lifts his eyebrows.
“I never said I wasn’t an asshole, I just said you were one too.”
He leans forward. “I know I’m an asshole. I am trying not to be. It’s more than I can say for you.” He wrinkles his nose angrily. “No. Scratch that. I don’t mean that. You are trying to be nice and I am saying things in anger.” All the hate slips away when he exhales. “I like you, Sami. I made a mistake. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Millions. The one mistake I will forever hate myself for was not finding you after the cab ride.” His eyes soften again. “I just want this to be more than two rich kids with no real future or freedom. I’m scared to let myself be with you and it’s not fair.”
His admission is hot. Hotter than the fight sex we had.
He’s being vulnerable.
When the car stops and Charles gets the door, Matt grabs my hand, “Wait. Don’t do this. Please.”
Instead of struggling free, I clamp down on his hand and pull him from the car toward my house. A camera flash goes off but I don’t care.
When we get in the building he stops me. “Can we take a walk?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I want you.” When the door opens Nadia looks confused as we storm past her and the butler and head for my room.
Chapter Nineteen
Checkmate
Matt
There are moments, memories, in my mind that battle for the top ten as far as sex goes, but number one will forever be the moment we get back into her room and she leans her back against the door and lifts her skirt revealing her white underwear, muttering, “Why don’t you show me how much better you are at everything in a bedroom and how much you want me?”
The next seconds are a blur.
I drop to my knees in front of her, trailing my thumb up her. She bites her lower lip, her dark-green eyes are lit with excitement as I lean in, inhaling her. Everything that had slowed pauses for a moment when I circle my nose against the thin fabric.
She groans, grinding against me, and from that moment on we speed up.
I lift her into my arms and carry her to the massive bed across the room. I toss her down, running my hands up the side of her thighs and hooking my fingers in her underwear, dragging them down, pulling each boot through the leg hole. Then I spread her legs open wide, to the point her fragrance owns all the air around me.
She smells sweet, like honey.
When I lower my face, brushing soft kisses on her inner thighs and soft lips, she moans, moving like she’s trying to force me to lick the center but I don’t. I torment her longer, running my hands up and down her legs, touching and grazing until she’s writhing.
She lifts her head, her eyes fill with ferocity, and then I bury my mouth into the heat we’ve created.
She cries out, her chest arching and her stomach moving with the rhythm I work her to. I can’t wait to be inside her but the moment she orgasms she’s up, dragging me to my feet and hauling down my pants. She drops to her knees, ripping my boxers down to mine. She backs away from my cock as it bobs in her face. She glances up, raising an eyebrow.
“I ate my Wheaties when I was a kid,” I offer weakly.
She wraps her hand around it, caressing to the base before flicking the tip with her tongue. Heat tingles the head as she leans in more, wrapping her lips around and lowering as best she can. She gets half of me in her and strokes the other half, dragging her spit down until her hand is sliding easily.
My head falls back as my thighs clench and my hands find their way into her hair, tangling in the bun she’s wearing.
We just get to a good place pace-wise when she pulls back, stands up and spins us, pushing me back on the bed.
“I thought you wanted me to show you how much better I am in a bed.” I chuckle, a little surprised by the response, considering the conversation we had.
“Oh, this is your chance. The foreplay isn’t where I want improvement.” She climbs into my lap—tutu, boots, sweater, and everything.
Sitting up, I drag the sweater off, cupping her bra with one hand and holding her in my lap with the other. She reaches up, pulling
her hair from the bun and shaking her head to unleash her mane. The scent of shampoo tickles my nose as she lowers to kiss me. It’s gentle and soft, maybe because of the bruising and cuts.
Her lips taste like gloss and her perfume. Everything about her smells sweet.
She wraps her hands around my head, gripping me. Mid exhale I reach down, toss on the condom and maneuver my cock between her legs, feeling for the right spot. When I hit it she lowers slowly, taking a deep breath consisting mostly of moans.
I reach around, cupping and squeezing her ass cheeks, helping her lift and lower. She starts slowly, taking long strides up and down me. We kiss, we lick, we bite, we fuck.
Her breasts heave and swell with her gasps as she arches her back, rotating her hips and riding me.
I want to come the moment I get inside her, but thank the gods I’m wearing a condom so I won’t look like I have no staying power.
She starts to bob, quickening and biting her lip as she bounces on my balls.
I ignore the agony of holding my balls back from wanting to finish the job, and just watch her. A look of pleasure mixes with torment as she gets close to orgasm. She wants it. The sweat on her brow glistens like sparkles and I believe she is the sort of girl who actually perspires glitter.
Her lush lips purse when she tightens on me, forcing my orgasm with hers. I can’t believe I’m coming so soon but watching her orgasm is amazing. She finishes, slumping on me as she fights for her breath. Her forehead leans against my cheek, pushing on a bruise from my broken nose but I don’t care.
I grip to her, jerking everything I have into the last couple of strokes.
We’re messy and the condom is slipping off, but I don’t move or say a thing. She lifts her face, smirking. “You have a great penis.”
“It’s a fan of yours.”
“Yeah?” She smiles wide.
“Yeah.”
“Wanna play checkers?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“I can’t think of another thing I’d rather do.”
“Okay, let’s get cleaned up and I’ll get the board.” She climbs off and hurries away, leaving me to pinch myself through the surreal moment.
