Lovers' Dance (65 page)

He turned around, dangling a bunch of—keys? I watched silently as he sauntered back and rested them on the counter next to my bowl.

“What are those for?” I asked, gaze jumping between the bunch of keys and his face. The key ring had crystal ballet shoes hanging from it, identical to the one on my car keys.

George chewed quietly, becoming one with the background.

“They’re keys, poppet. You use them to open doors and whatnot.”

“I know what keys do, Matt,”

Matt smiled and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. He was rocking the bed-hair look. Matt splayed the keys open, then started singling them out. “These two are for the front door, poppet. This one here is for the back entrance. This one here is for the side entrance of my Surrey home, and these two, the front door. You probably won’t need those as I always have staff in Surrey. They’ll be able to open—”

“You’re giving me keys?” I asked with wide eyes. A dance studio and keys to his place? This was serious shit. I continued with an incredulous, “But—”

“I’ve got keys to your house,” Matt cut me off. “It’s only fair you have keys to mine. Think of it as part of your birthday present.”

“Oh, okay,” I murmured, not knowing what else to say. I was shocked.

Matt ignored the blatant, uneasy surprise on my face and said, “You want to stay home today? That’s fine with me, poppet.”

“Okay,” I murmured, staring at the bunch of keys. Matt’s hand returned to my lower back and the caresses started.

George put his fork down and edged away. “I shall excuse myself,” he said quietly. Matt nodded in acknowledgement and, before I could say anything, George was striding out of the kitchen.

“Now that we’re both up in the early hours of the morning,” Matt drawled slowly, “What should we do? I have a couple of suggestions, poppet.”

“Watch TV?” I offered. Matt shook his head.

“Tidy this mess up?” was my next suggestion.

Matt gave me a look.

“Talk about our future goals and how to make the world a better place?” I teased.

“We can do that after,” he said in that deep, sexy voice of his. “My suggestion is to go back to bed so I can shag you senseless.”

“It’s been a while, Matt. You’re not going to do anything, um, you know…”

Matt was grinning at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence.

“Strange to me,” I finally said. “Because the last time, things got a bit out of hand.”

Matt was grinning, but now he was reaching for my hand and pulling me away from the centre island. As horny as he made me, the glint in his eyes made me a bit nervous.

“I don’t want George walking in on us if you make me scream. He’s got the hearing of a bat.”

Matt was pulling me out of the kitchen, down the hallway and up the stairs and, finally, into the master bedroom. He locked the door and pointed to the huge bed.

“Get in bed, poppet.”

“I need to brush my teeth,” I said. What was wrong with me? I had been gagging for it for weeks. Now I was nervous? Now? When my sex god was ready to put it down on me. What the hell was that all about? I fled into the ensuite, flicked on the lights and closed the door, breathing heavily.

What if he didn’t want me the way he used to? He’d seen me. The me that was broken and stupid and scared. He couldn’t possibly want me in the same way. Oh, fuck. I blinked fast. Had my status been lowered in his eyes? I told him I wasn’t perfect. I told him to stay away. Now he had seen me, and I was scared he’d finally see I wasn’t good enough.
What if he couldn’t get it up for me?
That would be embarrassing as hell. Nothing quite like realizing your girlfriend was messed up. Oh, why hadn’t he stayed away?

Because I had stupidly invited him over on my birthday, that’s why. I walked over to the double sink and got my toothbrush out, wincing at the state of my hair in the mirror.

Did he think I was weird? I felt fine today. I was over it, over yesterday. He would think I was a weirdo. I put paste on my brush and scrubbed my teeth clean. It was going to be weird. It was going to be awkward. I was going to have my first dose of awkward sex. What was the protocol?

“Poppet?” Matt knocked on the door.

“Coming, Matt,” I replied. But would I be? Coming, that is. What if Matt didn’t climax? What if—

“What’s taking you so long?” he asked as the door handle turned. I rinsed my mouth and put my toothbrush away. The door swung open, and Matt’s piercing gaze settled on my face.

“All done,” I said brightly, reaching for the face towel to wipe the moisture off my mouth.

“Come on then,” he ordered, beckoning me over. Slowly I made my way towards him. I should have brushed my hair. Matt turned the lights off in the ensuite and led me towards the bed. It seemed bigger all of a sudden. Like a stage. A huge stage where all your flaws would be under the spotlight for everyone to see.

“Matt.” I turned, and his lips crashed into mine. Passionate, almost desperate, it was. I returned his kiss with matched ardour, wanting to drown myself in the sensations of his mouth moving over mine. Tongues duelling, the air between us exchanged from my gasps to his. Matt tipped us onto the bed, eating at my lips as if I was some delicacy he needed to gorge himself on. It was a struggle to pull my pants down with him lying half on top of me. Matt grabbed the waist of my pants and tugged them down as I wriggled them off my legs. He whipped his pants off, all the while keeping his mouth pressed to mine. He slid his hand over my panty-covered heat and groaned at the back of his throat. I arched my lower body into his touch, opened my legs that much wider. Matt rubbed me through the sheer material of the silk undies and my stomach clenched tightly with desire. He bunched the material together between his fingers, from top to crotch, grazing my quivering flesh in the process and yanked. My eyes—they had slid shut during our kiss-fest—flew open. He yanked harder, and I felt a second of tension biting into my hips before an almost inaudible snap and my torn panties went flying over his shoulder. I thought you could only do that with flimsy thongs, not top of the line silk undies. For the price tag, I would’ve expected a bit more sturdiness from them. My brain stuttered as he took advantage of the free access to my nether regions with his fingers. We were kissing, and I swear I was fast losing my mind from the deluge of sensations. His tongue stroking mine, his finger stroking my intimate flesh, the weight of his chest against mine. And then he got down to business. Matt guided himself into my pulsating flesh, easing in bit by bit, until he was deep enough to—

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” I shouted after wrenching my mouth from his. Matt held himself still, fully sheathed inside me.

“Okay?” he asked, face flushed red and beaded with sweat. He was breathing heavily, as was I.

I nodded and he gripped my legs, pulling them over his hips before beginning to move inside me. A low moan of pleasure fell from my throbbing lips. Matt echoed it seconds later.

“Made for me,” he muttered, eyes locked on my mouth. “You were made for me, poppet. Your body was made for mine.”

“Yes,” I cried out. “Oh, God, yes.” I squeezed my legs tighter around him as he continued with his determined strokes. Matt made love the way he lived life; with complete surety, complete confidence in himself and an animal magnetism that made people love him even though they harboured envious thoughts at his intrinsic brilliance. Matt was the epitome of an alpha male, and said alpha male was about to make me come.

“Matt.” I could feel my body’s response, quivering on that knife’s edge of intense pleasure laced with strangely sweet pain. “Wait—too soon—ahhh —can’t stop it—wait.”

He dropped his head into the crook of my neck. “Come for me, poppet,” he ordered in a gruff voice. “I want to feel you coming around me.”

That was all it took. I orgasmed, wildly thrashing about beneath him as my inner walls spasm violently from release. Matt let out a hoarse shout of pleasure, shuddering over me as he spilled himself deep inside my body. He slumped against me, squishing what little air I had left in my lungs out. But I didn’t care. My arms went around him, stroking his back, running through his hair, smacking his ass.

“Ow,” he mumbled, raising his head from where it nestled against my neck. Locks of his hair were plastered across his forehead, stuck down by sex sweat. Yeah, I called it sex sweat. A totally different kind of sweat in my mind, much sweeter than normal sweat. Sex sweat was good. You never minded it dripping from your limbs.
Hail to the sex sweat.

“What was that for?” he murmured, leaning down to run his tongue over my lips.

“Squishing,” I managed to say. “Me.”

Matt raised up on his arms, peering down at me. I smiled and brushed the hair off his face. He didn’t smile back.

“I’m going to clean up,” he said. “Unless you want to go first.”

I shook my head, immediately noticing the change in him. Matt gave me a brief kiss—I wouldn’t call it a kiss—a light brushing of lips. He eased himself off me, eyes closing for a second at the sensation of pulling out my still quivering flesh, before getting up and heading for the ensuite.

I laid there, blinking up at the ceiling and thinking: What the fuck? We always cuddled afterwards. He never had an issue with after-sex sticky messiness. I mean he had even gone down on me after sex a few times, which was a shock to my system. The first time he tried that, I had yelled in surprise and accidentally kicked him in the stomach. It freaked me out. He had laughed at me when I said it was gross, saying in his no-nonsense voice, “It’s my come inside you, poppet. What’s the issue?’ But he relented when he saw my face and used the sheets to get me relatively clean before diving in. He called it double standards, seeing as I didn’t have a problem doing it to him right after.

This hadn’t been awkward sex. This was awkward-after-sex. I wasn’t prepared for this.

“All yours, Madi,” Matt said, strolling back in. I sat up and got off the bed, doing that fast mincing walk with legs pressed close together, the ‘prevent the jizz from dripping on the floor’ walk. Normally Matt would laugh when I did that; there was no laughter.

That was all the confirmation I needed. My status had been dropped. I had been relegated to the crazy girlfriend box. Not quite bunny boiler, but one episode shy of it.

Behind the closed door of the ensuite, I sat on the toilet chewing my lips and fighting the tears.
What did I expect?
Not acting right in front of him. Of course, he would be different with me. But I was fine now. I was living again. Functioning again.

I chewed my lips as the minutes ticked by, and I remembered someone once telling me you could get haemorrhoids from sitting too long on the toilet. Damn, didn’t want to add that to my list of problems. I cleaned off, flushed, washed my hands, then paced quietly. I was fine.

“Madison?” Muffled from the other side of the door.

I stared at the wooden barrier between us. “Yes?”

“Are you okay in there? Was it too rough? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m fine,” I replied.

“Why are you still in there? I want to talk to you.”

Oh, shit. He wanted to talk. He was supposed to be shagging me senseless. I still had my freaking senses.

“I’ll be a minute, Matt,” I called, then went over to the cabinet and pulled out my hairbrush. Might as well look neat for the talk. As I brushed my hair, I pondered my new status. I could work with a crazy girlfriend title, a person can improve upwards from that. All I would have to do was resume my normal day-to-day life, and Matt would see it was the same old me.

Bunny boiler though. Once you got labelled with that title you were more likely to end up with a restraining order against you. I liked my clean criminal record.

It seemed I was taking longer than a minute because Matt knocked sharply on the door.

“What’s taking you so long?” he groused loudly.

“Just a minute, Matt,” I replied.

“You said that five minutes ago.” His tone was frustrated.

I put back my hairbrush, patted my cheeks, took off my sweaty t-shirt, then grabbed one of the robes hanging on the hooks. With shoulders back, I walked towards the door, ready to face him.

“Here I am,” I smiled brightly at his serious face as I finished tying the robe’s belt around my waist.

Matt took my hand and moved us over to the bed. He had put his pants back on. There was definitely no shagging me senseless in the cards. He sat me down, but didn’t sit himself, instead choosing to pace in front of me.

“What’s this about?” I asked casually.

“You,” he said in a flat voice.

“Me?” Did I sound nervous? “What about me, Matt. I’m fi—”

“Don’t.” He cut me off curtly. “Don’t tell me you’re fine. You’re not fine, and I can’t stomach hearing you say it again. You’re. Not. Fine.”

“But—”

“Stop right there. I’m going to do the talking and you can—no—will listen to every word I say. Agreed?”

I nodded. The expression on his face was the one I feared the most. The ‘I’ve had it up to here’ look.

“Right,” he muttered, then promptly fell silent. I opened my mouth to point out the fact he was going to do the talking, but was in fact not talking, when his gaze landed on my face.