by M. Pierce
Chapter 20
MATT
I woke to the smell of coffee.
It’s Saturday. The realization hit me in the gut. My only whole day with Hannah.
I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth, and then I went to find her.
She sat on the kitchen counter with her iPad on her thigh. She wore a black lace baby doll and nothing else. When she saw me, she smiled and slid off the counter.
“Coffee?”
“Hm, maybe.” I nuzzled my nose into her hair. “Maybe you, then coffee.”
Hannah hugged me tight. I pinned her body against mine and ran my fingers over her ass, which her attire did nothing to hide.
“What time is it?” I murmured.
“Nine. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m usually up earlier.” I gazed down the back of Hannah’s body, trying to get a look at her legs.
“I think I wore you out last night. Do you want to write? I can entertain myself.”
“You seriously think I’d do that—with you here?” I drew back.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to mess with your … writing routine.”
I glanced in the direction of my desk. Before Hannah arrived, I’d stowed my notebook in the drawer and unplugged my laptop. I wanted no distractions. I also didn’t want to discuss my new story, because my new story was still our story. A continuation. A continued fixation with Hannah, or a new chapter in my obsession.
“What did you think of Night Owl, anyway?” I set her down on the counter and nudged my hips between her knees. She hooked her legs around my waist. “I mean, apart from the crazy online leak. What do you think of the book itself?”
Hannah frowned.
“Come on,” I said. I stroked her neck. “Let’s see those literary knives. I hope Pam’s rubbing off on you a little.”
“All right.” Hannah licked her lips. “I’ll be Hannah the almost literary agent and not Hannah your lover, is that what you want?”
“Yes, that’s what I want. You know I think of you as an equal.”
A shock of surprise passed over Hannah’s face. I frowned at that.
“Well. Okay. Night Owl.” She drew circles on my chest as she thought. “It’s different, of course, from your other stuff. So different. Even the language, the style.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“It’s much simpler. Not … dumbed down, but faster. No philosophy, no cultural commentary. And the characters…” She laughed shakily.
“Go on,” I said.
“You—Matt, whoever—he feels very authentic. My character…” Hannah’s nose wrinkled. I kissed it. “Okay, my character feels a little 2-D at points. Sort of cliché.”
I laughed and backed out of Hannah’s legs.
“Thank you. Mm, I know. I know you don’t always ring true in that book. It’s hard to get in your head, Hannah.” I flashed a smile at her. I wanted to reassure her, to let her know that I wasn’t upset. Criticism from Hannah I could handle. And, from what I’d seen of her work at the agency, her editorial instincts were spot-on. “You see, I want us to be able to talk like this.”
“Me, too.” She smiled. “I loved it, by the way. For what it was, it worked. It succeeded.”
“Do you want to know how I feel about my books?”
“Of course.” Hannah took my hand. We walked through the cabin hand in hand as if strolling through a park, me in flannel pajama bottoms and Hannah in a bit of lingerie.
“They bore me, Hannah. They bore me before they’re even done. I outgrow them. I become better, and they embarrass me. By the time the world is reading them, by the time the critical acclaim starts rolling in, I’m sick with it. The books in my mind are better. I have something more, something greater in me. Do you understand?”
Hannah nodded and squeezed my hand. When I talked like this, I tried to detect if I was boring her, but I only ever found interest in her expression.
“They never sing,” I went on. I grimaced and tugged at my hair. “The books never really sing. You have to make sense for people. People are scared of anything that doesn’t make sense. But we need a new alphabet, a purer language. I want to get it right. Will I? Will I ever?”
“Oh, Matt.” Hannah sighed over my neck. Her fingers wandered over my bare back and awoke my desire. I pushed against her. “I don’t know what to tell you. Even when a book captures an emotion and I feel it, it’s only for a moment.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Exactly. A moment. I want to hold on to them. Hannah…” I lost the sense of my talk. She understood, and that meant more to me than anything she could have said. I filled my hands with her breasts and nudged my cock against her.
“Come with me, Matt.”
Hannah led me toward the bedroom, then through to the master bathroom.
The corner tub there was far larger than our claw-foot at the condo, where we nevertheless tried to bathe together. The results were comical: Hannah on one side of the tub, me on the other, my long limbs cramped, and finally a lot of splashing and swearing when we got mixed up. I chuckled at the memory.
Hannah plugged the drain and ran a bath.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, thinking about the condo.”
She lifted her baby doll. She drew the lace off over her head, and just like that, Hannah stood naked before me. I gaped.
She still stunned me. Still. Hard nipples peaked her round, heavy breasts. Her pussy was bare, the way I liked it.
“God,” I whispered.
I grasped her wrist and yanked her to me, pressing her naked chest against mine. My hunger, always simmering, boiled up. I pulled at her sweet body—harder and harder, closer and closer. Sweet, yes. Soft and sweet. Hannah’s curves provoked me; they were the stuff of my wildest fantasies. “I love your body, Hannah…”
She shifted against me, her luxurious thighs rubbing along mine.
“When I fuck you … I love to watch your breasts tremble.” I bit her neck. She shuddered. “When I hit your ass … I love to watch it quiver. I love your name. I love to moan it. You know I moan your name when I jerk off alone. Hannah … Hannah…”
I slapped her backside—hard. She yelped and I groaned. God, her little sounds of surprise drove me crazy. I hit her ass again with the flat of my hand, and the slap resounded above the rushing bathwater. Hannah moaned.
“Is that right?” I whispered in her ear. “You like that?”
She nodded and clung to me. She sucked at my neck while I spanked her, each meeting of my hand with her bottom making her jump against me. Making her lush body rub along my dick. Exciting me.
I kicked off my pants and we climbed into the tub.
Hannah’s cheeks were apple red, and so was her bottom. I crawled across the tub to her. Her delight was contagious. She pressed herself against the side of the tub and sank until her chin touched the water. Her long curls floated on the surface like fronds.
“My Hannah,” I whispered.
Beneath the water, I parted her legs and touched her sex. I watched her face. She held my stare as I slid one digit into her, then another, and fingered her at a leisurely pace.
“Watch me do it,” I said, nodding at the water.
The color of Hannah’s cheeks deepened. She lowered her eyes and, through the water, watched my fingers slide in and out of her body.
I watched, too, my gaze playing between her face and her cunt.
Soon, I felt the moisture of her body coating my fingers. I smiled.
“You’re getting wet. Even here, underwater. Isn’t that right, lover?”
She swallowed and nodded.
“Say it.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, I’m … getting wet.”
“Mm, turn over. I want to finger your ass.”
I saw what my words did to Hannah—the way they took her by surprise. I felt what they did to her, too. Her body tightened on my finger and she got wetter
still.
Obediently, Hannah turned over and around, kneeling in the tub. She looked over her shoulder as she presented her backside.
“You look good like this, little bird. Stay put.”
I stepped out of the tub and dried my feet. I was at the door when Hannah said, “Bring my present for you.”
Chapter 21
HANNAH
Waiting for Matt in any position turned me on, but waiting for Matt with my ass in the air did a number on me. He was right; I was soaked, bath or no bath. And the longer he took, the wetter I got.
Some minutes passed before Matt reappeared. He smiled wickedly and looked me over, his gaze lingering on my rear.
“Looks good, baby,” he said. “You have a gorgeous ass.”
Matt set his present on the edge of the tub, along with two votive candles and the warming lube he bought me. He lit the candles and flicked off the bathroom light. He closed the door and drew the curtain over the window so that only candlelight lit the room.
“So, I get to open my present this morning?” He settled back in the water.
“Yes.” I was glad for the darkness, which hid my blushing cheeks.
“I’m excited. Very excited, actually.” Matt neared me, touching his hardened cock to the back of my thigh. I shivered in the hot water. “Still wet, Hannah?” He brushed a finger along my slit. “Oh, even more wet.”
He opened the bottle of lube and squirted it along my crack. Matt was always overgenerous with lubricant. I think he liked to make a mess, to watch it run down my body as it did then, trickling from my ass to my sex in a slippery trail. My skin began to tingle.
“Perfect.” He sighed and rubbed the lube against my entrance, the tight muscle twitching in response. “Always so tight, no matter where I put my finger. Move back onto my finger, Hannah, the way you did with my dick last night.”
Some incoherent word escaped me. I inched back and moaned at the strange, pleasurable sensation of my ass parting for Matt’s finger. No matter how often we played like this, it felt … forbidden, almost shameful to enjoy, and therefore exquisite.
“There you go, Hannah. Nice and slow.” Matt held my hip, guiding my motion until his finger was deep inside me. In our steaming hot bath, I couldn’t tell whether the warming lube was warming at all, but it tickled like a good itch.
“Should I try to guess what my present is?” Matt moved his finger inside me and I groaned. “Maybe a cute little plug for your ass? I’d love that, you know.”
My nails scraped along the bottom of the tub. Matt fingered my backside slowly and I moved to meet the motions. The sweet cinnamon scent of the candles and their wavering light put me under a spell. God … this felt good … and it made me long for more.
“L-let me show you,” I panted. How did Matt manage so much dirty talk during sex? I could barely form a word.
He withdrew his finger and I sank against the edge of the tub. When I got turned around, I found him smiling indulgently at me.
“You…” I grinned. “You look like the cat that caught the canary.”
“Do I? Well, I sort of am.” He dried his hands and untied the ribbon from the present. My heart fluttered. Would he like this, or was I in for the embarrassment of a lifetime?
Beneath the paper, which Matt peeled off quickly, was a black LELO box. I stared at my foot, the wall, anything but Matt.
“LELO? Nice choice, Hannah.”
He lifted the lid and I closed my eyes. Dear Lord, where did I get the balls to give Matt a vibrating waterproof cock ring? I wanted to disappear beneath the water. Urgh … the silence was killing me. I drew up my knees and cracked open one eye.
Matt’s stare burned into me. He’d removed the ring from its holder and set aside the packaging. I couldn’t read his expression. Candlelight glimmered on his damp skin, limned his profile, and flickered in his eyes.
“It’s, uh, waterproof. I ch-charged it … so…” I sank behind my knees.
Matt extended the ring to me. Mute, I accepted it. My fingers drifted over the butter-soft silicone. Wow. This felt like a brilliant idea when I was ordering the toy, but now—
“Put it on me,” Matt said.
He stood smoothly. Water streamed down his naked body and his rigid length jutted from his pelvis. I dropped the ring in the water, swore, and snatched it.
Okay, he wanted it on … I got this, I got this.
“Tell me … tell me if it hurts. I’ll just…” I scooted forward along the tub bottom and wrapped my fingers around Matt’s cock. His lips twitched. My heart was doing acrobatics in my chest. I was excited, nervous, pleased, terrified, turned on—everything.
I leaned forward and kissed the tip of Matt’s cock.
“God … Hannah…”
There wasn’t a note of protest in his voice, just slow-burning desire. He gripped my wet curls. I wrapped my lips around his head, suckling and swirling my tongue. I laid a hand against his thigh to feel the muscles tensing. He loved this.
And sure, every guy I’d dated loved it, but not like Matt. When I looked at Matt while I sucked his dick, I saw the most powerful longing overtaking him, accompanied by a furious, stubborn resistance. He never wanted to show his need. He fought the pleasure as it overcame him, and he surrendered to it with low, long moans. Only in those moments did I have the upper hand, and I relished it as much as I relished submission.
I licked my way down Matt’s shaft before sliding the elastic ring over it. It stretched around his girth as I worked it down to the base. I looked up at him.
“Does it hurt?”
I caught a ghost of a smile on his lips. “No,” he said. “It feels good, Hannah.”
I massaged Matt’s balls lightly and turned on the ring.
He moaned—the sound so sharp that I jumped.
“Fuck,” he snarled. He gripped his shaft.
“Uh, sorry—sorry, let me—”
“N-no, no … it’s fine.” Matt stroked himself a few times and closed his eyes. “Fine…”
“Does it feel good? Bad?” I peered up at him.
“Good,” he breathed.
I pried Matt’s fingers off his dick and tried not to giggle. He was always taking matters into his own hands. “Let me.” I pumped his shaft and licked his head back into my mouth. I relaxed my throat and moved him deeper, moaning as I did.
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 pussy, 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.
