“What does this all mean?”
“He said I wouldn’t be the first reporter to fall for a musician,” he says with a roll of the eyes, poking fun at himself. “I asked if he wanted me off the story.”
“You did?”
“I did. And he said I could see it through, but that he’d assign a second editor to fact check everything, and that he’d include a note at the end of the article disclosing our involvement.”
My need for certainty consumes me, so I ask, “Our involvement? Are we involved now?”
He nods. “I hope so. I want to be. I hope you do, too. But even if you don’t, I needed to be upfront about it with my boss. My job is too important to me.”
I nod, as if I can somehow figure out if this conversation is about work, or about more. “Right. Of course.”
He tightens the hold on my wrist. “I want to be with you. I don’t want to keep this at arm’s length any longer. Please tell me you’ve written songs. I will beg you if I have to.”
I place my palm on his chest, as much to touch him as to hold him back until I know what’s next. “Why do you want me to write so badly? Answer me honestly. Tell me the truth,” I say, enunciating each word.
“Because holding out is my new definition of hell.” He slides his hand under mine, laces his fingers through mine, and tugs me closer. “I want you to be able to write again for you. But I’ve decided holding out is absolutely not the answer. In fact, I have a feeling you might find inspiration in not holding out,” he says, while brushing his lips against my neck. “What do you say to that? Want to give it a try? See if it might do the trick in unlocking all sorts of notes and melodies?” He runs his other hand down my neck, across my chest, and then to the top of my breasts. “Let me break down your resistance now.”
Then he kisses me, that same soft, delirious way he kissed me for the first time, and I melt into him. Wanting more. Wanting him. He takes his time kissing me, running his tongue against the soft underside of my bottom lip, then against the top, then slowly, exquisitely pressing his lips to mine, and I moan against his mouth, then break the kiss.
“You think sex can cure my writer’s block?”
He nods several times. “Yes, and I’m willing to be your guinea pig.”
“Let’s see if you can cure it,” I say, and in seconds he’s grabbed his backpack, I reach for my bag, and we let the soundproof studio door fall shut for the night. Owen’s not dumb. When he returns with his monkey juice, he’ll know exactly where we are. Alone together.
Chapter Twenty
Jane
Matthew calls an Uber. I slide in first and then he’s next to me, already touching me as the car peels away. The mercury in my body shoots way up because Matthew’s touching me and we’re not going to stop tonight.
Forget liquid heat. This is molten lava. My hair even feels hot. I might set the cab on fire when I combust in a few seconds.
He brushes his lips against my neck, kissing a trail to my throat as he runs a hand up my thigh, then between my legs. I close my thighs on his hand, and the aching pressure sends me through the roof.
We’re at my apartment a few minutes later, scooting out of the car, muttering thank yous to the driver. He follows me into my building and to the elevator. I yank him against me, and he moves his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks, pressing his body against mine. I’ve already pictured us, I’ve already tasted him, but knowing that this is it, that we’re going there, is almost too much. But I’m ravenous for him, and I will take any and all of it.
He brushes my hair back, moves my crazy curls away from my ear, and speaks in a low voice, “I really want to make you come tonight.”
Just douse me with cold water, please. Because every square inch of my body is pulsing, dizzy, heavy with desire. Matthew pulls back and looks at me, then asks, “Will you let me?”
My God, is that even a question? My lips are slightly parted. I lick them once, then breathe. “God yes.”
The elevator deposits us on the fourth floor and we spill out, still touching each other as I reach for my keys. He’s lifting my hair and tracing the tip of his tongue across the back of my neck as I unlock the door. I want to sigh, I want to moan, I want to scream. I don’t want any of this to stop. Ever.
We drop our bags and coats by the door. We don’t even make it to the bedroom. He pushes me down on the couch and undresses me, pulling my long-sleeve shirt off, then my tank top. He unhooks my bra in seconds flat. He’s kissing my throat, my breasts, my belly, my hips, flicking his tongue against my skin just underneath the waistband of my jeans. There’s no way this is happening; there really is no way this can be happening. I haven’t had this in years. I haven’t been wanted like this in so long. He drops his head lower, so he’s kissing me between my legs while he unbuttons my jeans.
I close my eyes briefly. Every sensation is more vivid and intense than anything I’ve felt in years. It’s the real world times ten. It’s everything amplified. I almost can’t stand it anymore, the way he’s sending me through the roof with every single touch.
I open my eyes to see him pulling off my jeans, unzipping my boots, running a finger along my glass slipper tattoo. My clothes are scattered across the floor and there’s Matthew, kneeling over me. He’s grinning at my panties, white low-rise with a single red rose drawn near the hip bone.
“My God, these are fantastic,” he says, admiring my underwear. No one has admired my panties for years. “It’s like it just keeps getting better.”
I laugh a little.
“I love them so much I almost don’t want to take them off.”
“Take them off. Take them off now.” Screw the roof—I’m halfway on a slingshot to Pluto by now. I’m so tightly wound already. I’m like a jack-in-the-box that someone’s been winding, ready to pop.
He obeys, slowly pulling down one leg, then the other, before he settles between my legs, his shoulders against my thighs. Then his mouth is on me and I am in heaven in an instant with his touch. I am in absolute bliss, and I want to bathe in this moment, to revel in all these sensations that I haven’t experienced in years.
I want to memorize each agonizingly delicious second so I can recall it whenever I need to know the definition of insanely-turned-on-and-inside-out-with-pleasure.
His tongue is soft, and he slides over me, as if he’s drinking me in. He places his palms gently on my thighs, spreading me wider for him. My knees fall open as he tastes me, drawing delicious lines across my wetness and flicking his tongue in a way that makes me feel as if I’m in a dream, a heated, fevered dream where nothing exists but this exquisite ecstasy.
I thread my fingers through his hair, and I think I might die from the intensity of the feelings, and this would be a hell of a way to go. Because soon, I am rocking my hips into his face, and he’s holding the back of my thighs and bringing me even closer to his mouth, and this is the way it should be. This is the very nature of desire and want and attraction. We are it right now, me wanting Matthew, him wanting me.
We haven’t even had time to turn on music. The apartment is silent, and I can hear everything. I hear my breaths, coming faster, as I move into him, my body having a mind of its own. I hear my moans, growing stronger. But there’s something else, too. Something even better than my own pent-up, mad need to be touched. I can hear him, too. I can hear the satisfied sighs he’s making as he works his tongue up and down, and then there, right there, then his moans, too, the sounds of him practically coveting my body. I’m aware of every detail—the tingling of my skin, my face heating up, my hands digging deeper into his soft, dark hair, the low crackle of the radiator, the muted sounds of cars far, far outside my double-pane window, my own quickened breathing.
He wraps his hands around my ass, bringing me even closer, as if he can’t get enough of me, as he licks and tastes and savors the delicious ache between my legs. That’s all it takes for me as I shatter, as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through my body.
It l
asts for ages, or so it feels because I’ve been unlocked, set free from years of not knowing this, not having this, not even coming close.
Now, I do, and it feels like I am flying, and I never ever want to touch the ground.
Soon, I open my eyes, and he moves up to kiss my belly, planting sweet, soft, après-kisses on my body that make me shudder.
“Can we please do that again?” I ask with a woozy smile.
He kisses my breasts, then works his way up to my neck, giving me a very satisfied grin. “I knew I could make you a junkie.”
“I’m making up for lost time.”
“I will happily assist in that project. Do you want me to do that again right now?” There’s a part of him that seems so earnest, so willing, and I can’t quite believe this is real. But yet here he is with me.
I shake my head. “You’ve unleashed me. Now I have to have you inside me.”
“That’s music to my ears.” He taps my forehead once. “And hopefully you’re thinking of songs. Do you need me to do a striptease for you? Will that get you inspired?” He stands up, gyrates his hips like Magic Mike, and I laugh.
“You don’t think I’m a good stripper, do you?”
“We just need to take your clothes off,” I say, loving that he can make jokes during a time like this.
I sit up and reach for his zipper. “Do you have a condom?”
“What do you take me for? Some kind of man who’s not completely fixated on shagging his woman tonight? Of course, I have a condom.” He plucks one from his wallet, as I shimmy his jeans down his legs. He steps out of them, pulls off his shirt, and takes off his boxer briefs.
He’s ready, completely ready, and I know this shouldn’t surprise me, because it’s a normal reaction. But it’s still a thrilling one to me, and I want to revel in it. In him. In us. My hands are drawn to his body instantly, to his flat belly, his legs, and to his fabulous steely length that I so desperately want inside me.
“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” I say as I touch him, and the laughter and joking is erased, and now we are all need and desire and lust. I watch as he rolls on a condom, and heat spreads through my body at the sight. It’s such an erotic act, seeing his hands on himself and his eyes on me.
Then he lowers himself between my legs, and I tremble with anticipation, wanting him so badly.
“Hi,” he whispers as he starts to enter me.
“Hi,” I say, then he sinks deeper, filling me, and I am ablaze with sensations that are all so intense that I have to close my eyes and just feel.
“This is incredible. You feel amazing,” I say, and I’m buzzing and pulsing with heat, as an electric charge races through my veins, lighting up my body, radiating from my belly all the way to my fingertips.
I grab his ass to guide him deeper, and he groans, then kisses my neck, working his way up to my earlobe, licking me as he whispers, “You are so wet, and I fucking love that so much. You need to know that. You need to know how good you feel to me. How amazing it is to be inside you. To feel you around me.”
I nearly combust. He knows what I need; he knows what I want to hear.
To be wanted.
To be desired.
I spread my legs wider, and he drives deeper. I’m breathing hard already, and soon, very soon, I can feel a tightening in my belly, and then I’m racing away as he moves faster, frenzied inside me, his hands grappling with my hair, his mouth planting kisses on my neck, and I’m running, diving, falling, floating in this rapturous place, as wildfire spreads through my body and I rock with him, coming once again, and I’m not the only one. Because seconds later, he’s there with me, his own breathing halted and fast, as he thrusts one more time deeply inside of me, then collapses on me.
Best. Sex. Ever.
Then I decide there’s no reason to keep that thought to myself. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” I announce.
He smiles against my neck. “I feel the same way.” He brushes his lips against my neck, and I shiver, savoring his sweet, sexy kisses as we lie in each other’s arms. Then he stops to look at me, a twinkle in his eyes. “In fact, I’ll expect a song tomorrow morning on my desk titled just that. Best. Sex. Ever. Also, please dedicate it to me and use my name in the song, and refer to me as Sex God Matthew Harrigan.”
I salute him. “I’m on it. Lyrics are already forming.”
“Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute.” He heads to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When he returns, I’m lying on the couch, absently twirling a strand of my hair, relishing in the afterglow. He lies down next to me and mimics marking off a checkbox. “I have always wanted to shag a celebrity. Now that’s done.”
I swat him with a couch pillow. “And Gal Gadot and Mila Kunis were both resistant to your charms?”
He props himself up on an elbow. “No, I’ve always wanted you.”
“Get out of here,” I say, pushing him back down.
“It’s true. Do you remember the first time we met in person?”
“Wasn’t it that party for Twenty-One Pilots when their last album came out?”
Matthew runs a hand across my hip. “Yes, and you had on this gorgeous dress. It was white, I recall, mid-thigh length, with some sort of funky green pattern.”
“I believe they’re called polka dots.”
“Polka dots. Right.” He leans in to whisper. “I don’t want to appear as if I know anything about fashion.” He lays a soft kiss on my shoulder. “But I’ve wanted you ever since then.”
“Stop it! You’re making fun of me.”
He turns serious. “I’m really not. I mean, I have been known to tease from time to time—”
I jump in. “Time to time, Matthew?”
“Fine. Maybe a little bit more often. But the point is, I’m completely serious. I knew you were married and I had a girlfriend then, so I wasn’t going to do anything about it. And obviously, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. I didn’t do anything about it. I didn’t try to have an affair with you. But now I can have you all to myself.”
“Do you like having me?” I ask, because asking is one of the best parts of this phase. I haven’t experienced it for so long, but I was certainly not a virgin before Aidan, not by any stretch of the imagination, and now I’m back in that wondrous place where new lovers find their path to the bedroom endlessly fascinating. They can revisit the moments that were chockful of hints and dissect them, turn them over, revel in them at last.
“Yes,” he says, placing a hand on my hair and brushing it back behind my shoulder. “You were so hot at the Grammys. You know that’s why I asked at the press conference if you were seeing anyone. I asked for me.”
My insides flutter at his words, words I want to cocoon myself in. The idea that he’s liked me for so long is a drug I can’t get enough of. I want another hit, another high. And while there’s a vestigial part of my heart that still doesn’t trust words—I’ve learned the hard way that things are not always what they seem—he’s proven himself in his actions. Not just in the bedroom, but in the fact that he put the story on the line by telling his boss.
“Then I suppose it’s only fair play for me to let you know that I thought you looked pretty hot at the Grammys, too. In fact,” I say, trailing my hands along his arms, enjoying this freedom to touch him all over. “My friend and I call you eminently lickable.”
He raises an eyebrow appreciatively. “I thoroughly approve of that nickname, but only if you completely test it out.”
I start at his neck and trace my way down to his waist. He groans and flips me over. But then he looks distracted. “Crap. I almost forgot about The Doctor.”
I tense, and my heart drops. He’s going to leave. This just started and he’s going to leave so he can sleep alone, especially since he has the fail-safe dog excuse. I bite the inside of my lip, unsure what to do next. But fuck it. I don’t want him to leave. “Is there any way you can stay the night?”
His eyes light up. “I was hoping you�
��d ask. Because I have plans for you. Let me make a phone call.” He stands up and walks over to his backpack for his phone, and I watch him, savoring the fact that there’s a gorgeous naked man in my apartment who wants to spend the night and has plans for me. “I need to call Mrs. Haffenreffer. She lives upstairs, and she’s a total dog person. She walks The Doctor for me during the day,” he explains, and I fall for him a little bit more for taking care of his dog. After a quick phone call, he returns to me. “My dog loves it there. Mrs. Haffenreffer has two corgis, Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth, and The Doctor gets to boss them around because she’s the alpha dog, you know. I fear she may not want to come home.”
“So tell me about these plans for me.”
He holds out his hand and pulls me up from the couch, and we head into my bedroom.
“Sit with me.” He gestures to my bed, and then sits cross-legged in the middle, pulling me close to him, and wrapping my legs around him. “I’m about to let you in on another secret about straight men,” he says, and I laugh instantly, loving his secrets on this subject. “When you finally get the woman you want, you don’t stop at one time. I have plans to spend the whole night worshipping your body.”
“Do tell. What does worshipping my body entail?” I’m loving this, I’m brimming with happiness, and I intend to savor every second of this night. Not only because I’m no longer a sexual cipher, but because he’s the one I want worshipping my body, and that’s partly because of how much fun he is. “Do you want me to let you in on a little secret about women like me?”
“Tell me,” he says, fixing me with a faux-serious stare.
“I have no idea what it means to have my body worshipped.”
“Oh well, my little songstress,” he says shaking his head playfully. “This better make it onto your album because I’m going to show you exactly what it means. Allow me to begin with all the things I love about your body.
“First.” He heaves a sigh, chuckling. “I don’t know where to start. There are so many parts I love.” He shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water. “Let’s start with the way you smell. Like coconut whatever.”
The Break-Up Album Page 15
