What Matters More

by Liora Blake

  Pulling on the jeans he’d shucked off onto the floor earlier, he left them unbuttoned and looked around for his t-shirt. He faintly remembered Anya tugging it off him and tossing it behind her, but most of what had happened after that was a blur.

  He gave up after looking under the bed and behind the dresser and then started down the hallway bare-chested and barefooted. The house was theirs alone for the next few days and it was the middle of the night in the suburbs, so it was pretty unlikely that he would run into anyone while he was half-dressed.

  Upstairs, he peered out the front window and didn’t see any lights on at the Greenes’ house. But since Anya was nowhere else to be found, he headed that direction anyway.

  There was no answer when he knocked on the door, so he stepped back from the front stoop and debated what to do next. Anya’s car was in the driveway, which meant she couldn’t have gone far, and frankly, he couldn’t think of a reason she would go running off in the middle of the night in the first place. Any earlier tension between them was long forgotten after JT had buried his face between her legs, eating her out the way he knew she liked him to: him lying prone on the bed as she hovered over his face. After that, he’d practically begged her to ride him, his voice grating over each word like a man pleading for clemency.

  Thankfully, Anya happened to be a merciful woman. As JT recalled the way she’d peered down at him, her tits bouncing as she worked him over—the memory not only woke his cock up, it also helped JT figured out where she’d disappeared to.

  Not wanting to risk being confused with a burglar if one of the neighbors happened to be a nosy insomniac, JT moved quickly toward the back of the house and slipped inside through the unlocked patio door.

  Later, he’d give her a lecture on why she needed to lock the fucking door so creepers couldn’t just walk right in. She would inevitably point out that he was the only one who was skulking around like a creeper, and that was fine, just so long as he also got his real point across.

  Once inside, JT heard music drifting up from the staircase that led to the lower level.

  He couldn’t help but grin. He knew things about this woman. He knew how her mind worked, what made her tick, and what would drag her out of bed in the middle of the night.

  He knew Anya.

  Following the music, he headed downstairs and found Anya in the studio she’d set up there. Her back was to him, brush in hand, as she worked on a large canvas in front of her. She pulled a ribbon of cool blue paint through the center of the canvas, then cocked her head to one side as she loaded her brush with more paint. This time, she used a darker shade of blue, dragging it across the first color in a crisscross pattern. When the two colors blended together, the result was something cloudy and unsettled, like a riotous skyline just before a late summer hailstorm.

  Moody-sounding music played on her laptop, something JT would have normally thought was a little too college radio for his taste. But as he studied Anya, totally immersed in her work, he thought it was the perfect soundtrack. He drank in the sight, the sound, and the stillness—waiting for her to notice him while also hoping she wouldn’t, at least not until he’d looked his fill.

  She loaded her brush again and rose up on her tiptoes to reach the top of the canvas. His eyes drifted up her body, beginning at her calves and moving up her thighs, then right up to the hem of his previously missing t-shirt. Other than a pair of simple cotton panties, which peeked out from below the hem, that was all she was wearing—and if there was some reasonable way to request it, JT would ask she wear just that, all the fucking time.

  With a few precise brushstrokes, she added thin lines of bright red paint across the upper edge of the canvas, then feathered each one out with the tip of her brush, using sharp flicks of her wrist. With those few brushstrokes, everything about the painting changed. He had no idea how she did it, but she gave it . . . life. A soul. A heartbeat.

  “Jesus,” he murmured.

  Anya whipped her head around, letting out a little yelp as she did. When she realized that it was only JT, she blew out a relieved breath and pressed one hand to her chest. The brush she was using happened to be in that same hand and it bumped against his t-shirt, leaving a streak of red paint on the faded blue fabric.

  “You scared me,” she breathed, looking down at the same time. She spotted the paint and cursed softly. “Sorry. I borrowed your shirt but I was trying really hard to keep it clean, I swear.”

  JT grinned. “Don’t worry about it. If I’m lucky, by the time you’re done I’ll own an Anya original. Maybe then I can sell it and retire on the proceeds.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a sound retirement plan. Better keep funding your 401k, just in case,” Anya said wryly. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Orgasms,” he replied. “You said they really do it for your creativity, and since I thought the sex tonight was particularly hot, I followed a hunch that you might be working off all the good boning energy we produced.”

  She snorted and turned her attention back to the canvas.

  “If anyone asks about my creative inspirations, that’s what I’m going to tell them. That I’m fueled by ‘good boning energy.’” She chuckled softly. “You were zonked out when I left and I didn’t want to wake you up just to explain that the muse was calling. I figured you need your beauty sleep. We can’t have you groggy if you happen to get called into work or something. I want you on your toes whenever there are bad guys involved.”

  JT swallowed thickly. Just as it had when they were talking after dinner, knowing that she cared about his welfare hit him hard, right in the center of his chest—but in a good way.

  Hell, even talking to her about Nicole made him feel good. He wanted her to know where he had failed in his marriage, because if Anya was who came next, then she needed to know everything that came before.

  Now he just needed to figure out a way to tell her that. Maybe not tonight, though. Tonight, the only thing he wanted to do was savor this new moment with her.

  “Do you mind if I stay? Watch you work for a little while?”

  Anya cast him a curious look over her shoulder, searching his face for a beat. Then she turned back to her work. “I don’t mind. It’s nice to have company sometimes.”

  Sitting against the wall across from Anya’s improvised studio was a sad-looking futon, riddled with tears in the fabric, evidence that it had once been the property of the Greenes’ cat. JT sat down on it and found a comfortable position, watching Anya work steadily until she finally set her brush down and stepped back from the canvas. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side, releasing a long, weary exhale.

  After a few more stretches, she came over and sat down between JT’s spread legs, relaxing her body into his. JT ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, kneading her knotted-up trap muscles until she groaned quietly.

  JT continued to massage her tight shoulders as he peered at the canvas she had been working on. He cleared his throat quietly.

  “I hope this question doesn’t piss you off, but . . . is that painting you were just working on finished?”

  Anya hummed a little and studied the painting for a few moments.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I got out what I needed to say for tonight, but I think there’s more there. I just don’t know what it is yet. But that could always change.” She nudged her chin toward a row of canvases leaning against the wall. “Some of those felt unfinished, but when I went back to work on them, that changed. You never know, until you know—as cuckoo as that sounds.”

  “When did you paint those others?”

  Anya ticked through descriptions of each, explaining when she’d painted them, what she’d been hoping to create, and what she’d been feeling at the time. JT studied each one as she talked, trying to figure out if he could discern anything unique between them, or perhaps somehow see the emotions she said she’d experienced at the time.

  And fuck him, he could.


  While he would have once only seen a messy riot of paint splashes, now he could see—feel, really—how each one had its own distinctive energy. Anya herself made all the difference in each painting, because she was a part of each one.

  He let out a soft snort and Anya twisted a little to see his face.

  “I think I’m actually starting to get it. You know, art,” he said sheepishly.

  A soft smile curved across Anya’s mouth. In her eyes, there was affection mixed with approval as she told him that she was glad he had come to find her tonight. JT dropped a kiss to her forehead, keeping his thoughts to himself.

  She didn’t need to know—at least, not yet—that he was the one who should be thanking her.

  For finding him.

  19

  Anya

  Anya was having the best dream.

  Either that or she had been magically transported to a fantasy day spa, and they happened to employ a man with strong, warm hands who also possessed a surprisingly intimate knowledge of her body’s pleasure centers.

  And that man was well on his way to earning a very big tip.

  She was sprawled out on her belly with her face half-buried in a pillow, and the bedsheets beneath her smelled faintly of JT’s body wash, which only intensified the pleasurable sensory experience. Anya’s dream massage therapist worked his magical hands up her bare back, kneading gently along each side of her spine with slow rhythmic strokes that made every inch of her tired muscles relax. Once he reached her shoulders, he worked those aching tendons before giving her neck some attention. His hands drifted down her sides, teasing the sensitive skin near her breasts in a way that would be very inappropriate if her fantasy massage therapist didn’t also happen to be a man she liked getting naked with on a routine basis.

  Last night, Anya had continued to paint for another hour after JT had left. It was nearly dawn by the time she’d crawled back into bed, barely taking the time to slip off his t-shirt so she wouldn’t accidentally get any paint on the sheets, which gave the added benefit of being skin-to-skin with him as she’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t even stirred when she’d curled up next to him, laying her head on his chest. With his heartbeat acting as her own personal lullaby, she’d slept soundly until his talented hands roused her.

  Anya’s morning was certainly starting out on a high note, which was a little surprising since she’d only managed to get a few hours of sleep. After all, receiving a sensual wake-up call from the man she couldn’t get enough of was awesome on its own, but the potential for that massage to turn X-rated? Well, that was one of Anya’s very special daydreams. And now JT was making that dirty little fantasy of hers come true.

  He ran his hands over her backside slowly, tracing the backs of her thighs with his fingertips before returning to her ass, giving each cheek a gentle squeeze before starting all over again. By the time he began a third pass, Anya’s body was alight with arousal from head to toe.

  JT tugged the bedcovers fully away and crawled over her, straddling her body where her backside met the tops of her thighs, and the new position added more pressure to each stroke until Anya was relaxed yet wildly turned on, a combination that was new to her. She let out a vaguely embarrassing moan when he leaned forward to work the space between her shoulder blades, and not just because it felt amazing. By shifting his body that way, JT also happened to press the hard length of his morning arousal squarely against the softness of her behind.

  “You gotta stop moaning like that,” JT rumbled. “You said you get sore when you paint for a long time, so I’m trying to take care of your body in a way that doesn’t involve me being inside you. But you’re making it hard.”

  “I noticed,” she said, her grin hidden from his view as she buried her face into the pillows. Then she emphasized her point by lifting her hips until her backside was flush against him.

  JT grabbed her hips with a frustrated grunt, but he didn’t push them down. If anything, he rocked his own hips forward. Anya responded with a whimper, fighting his hold so she could circle her ass against his length. JT used all of his weight to press her into the mattress and that had her imagining what it would be like to have him offering up rough thrusts from that position, her legs barely spread as he worked them both to orgasm.

  That thought was enough to make her moan, struggling to angle her hips up again. JT thwarted her efforts, yanking over one side of her panties, exposing the soft flesh there and offering up a sharp swat of his hand, which made her yelp, but it was merely the sound of a woman asking for more. JT gripped her flesh in his big hands and kneaded roughly, then gave her panties another tug and held them aside so he could slide two fingers between her legs.

  Finding her already slick with arousal, JT groaned and began teasing her with long, slow strokes. Anya moved restlessly about, hoping to open her legs wider, only to have him brace his own legs to keep her still.

  “I’m trying to be good here, Anya, and you’re testing my patience. Rubbing this beautiful ass against me and doing everything you can to open these pretty legs up. You know if I let you do that—if I let you flash that sweet, wet pussy at me—I won’t be able to hold back. And then you’ll just have to take what I want to give you.”

  Anya squirmed, doing the only thing she could to ease the ache between her legs.

  “God, that mouth of yours,” she said. “You’re this good guy, but then when we’re like this, you can be so dirty. I can’t get enough of how good we are together.”

  She let her words sink in—and not just for him, but for her, too. They were good together. So good that she couldn’t imagine walking away from him without wondering if she would ever find anyone like him again.

  JT trailed a line of kisses up her spine, ending with his lips against her ear.

  “I’ll always give you what you need. Always. You know that, right?”

  Anya closed her eyes, grateful that they weren’t facing each other. She did know that, she just wasn’t ready to say so—certainly not aloud. Denying that part was her heart’s only defense mechanism at this point. She held her breath, searching for a way to answer him without wrecking what was left of her safeguards.

  “Prove it,” she whispered.

  She heard his breath catch and for an instant, she wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say. Then he wound her hair around his fist, giving the tangled locks a gentle tug. His mouth still grazed her ear.

  “Turn over, sweetheart.”

  The urgent demand made her heart skip. JT released her hair and stood up, giving her a chance to roll over onto her back and slip off her panties. Grabbing a condom off the nightstand, he ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, working his boxer briefs down with his other hand. After rolling the condom on, JT stroked himself a few times as Anya relished the sight, soaking up the way his steady gaze traced every inch of her naked body. Never before had being naked with a man felt as thrilling as it did with JT. He never failed to show her how much he wanted her, using every greedy look, every dirty word, and every inch of his arousal as proof.

  JT waggled the empty wrapper.

  “Now isn’t the time for it, because my brain shuts off when I’m this close to being inside you—but we should talk about this.” He tossed it to the side. “About not using them. I want to feel you. Just you, with nothing between us.”

  Without thinking, Anya arched her back, pushing her breasts forward. JT smirked, tweaking one of her nipples with his thumb and forefinger.

  “I think you like that idea. Just look at these nipples, your little buds all high and tight. Does that get you wound up, thinking about the way it would feel?”

  All she could manage was a jerky nod. Why the idea of that made her wild, she had no idea. She had never gone unprotected before, because as her history with men had proven, monogamy couldn’t be counted on with her partners.

  But JT was different. If he said he wanted to be monogamous with her, he would be. And while the notion of sex without protection never particularly i
ntrigued her, thinking about that with him fascinated her. The velvet-soft skin of his hard cock sliding across her thighs, her belly, her clit, teasing her until she begged him to enter her . . . that sounded like something she wanted to experience, at least once.

  Her eyes dropped closed, feeling the mattress dip as JT crawled over her, bracing himself using one hand near her head. He said her name, drawing her eyes open again.

  “Look at me, Anya. Please.” When she did, the hunger she saw in his eyes made her head spin. “Ready?”

  His voice quaked, ever so slightly. But it was enough that Anya suddenly questioned everything between them. Because right now, this did not feel like an extended one-night stand. Not with JT’s blue eyes fixed on her, asking her if she was “ready” in a way that sounded like his question was about more than just sex. Instead, it sounded like he was asking if she was ready for him.

  And, no, she wasn’t ready.

  She couldn’t be. Being ready for JT would be too much for her to handle. It would be like hitting the lottery, discovering a unicorn in the back of her Subaru, and having Christie’s sell one of her paintings at auction—all on the same day. In the face of all those blessings, there would be no way to avoid wondering what she’d done to deserve any of it.

  JT said her name again and all she could manage was a nod. This was as close to ready as she would ever be. He pressed inside slowly, seating himself deep with a long groan. Each unhurried thrust after that worked her body steadily higher, the pressure in her core building with every one of JT’s filthy-sweet pleas, endearments, and murmurs.

  When he snaked a hand between them, circling the pad of his thumb where she needed it most, that was all she could take. All he had to do was add a hairsbreadth more pressure to her clit and her orgasm broke—in heady, powerful waves—coming from a place inside her that she hadn’t known existed. JT followed her right over the edge, coming with one last jerky pitch of his hips. Anya wrapped her legs tight around his waist, unwilling to let go even when she could see that his arms were trembling as he tried to keep from collapsing on her. Finally, she loosened her grip and he slowly pulled out, shuddering as he did. JT toppled to the mattress beside her.