After Dark (12 page)

Little Bird:
Matt. Jesus.

Matt:
I want to put it in you. Make you take it. Come in you.

Several minutes passed. I gripped my dick through my slacks and sighed. All that skeevy talk in Mike’s office had done a number on me.

And Hannah … lately, she was more adorable than ever. When she cried over the damn bridal magazines, I wanted to drag her into the nearest bathroom and have my way with her. What gave? I couldn’t keep my hands off her.

At last, my cell buzzed.

Get over here Matt.

I grinned and slid off the couch. “That’s my girl,” I murmured.

I parked a block from the agency, which was desolate that day. The slap of my sandals echoed around the lobby. At the top of the stairs, I tousled my hair and checked my reflection in a glass case.

Golden boy
, I thought spontaneously. What had I ever done to earn that nickname? Behind my pretty face was a consummate jerk.

Hannah leapt from her chair when I breezed into the office.

God damn,
she looked good. She wore her hair in a high, messy bun. Her blouse hung open enough to give me a view of her cleavage. She pushed her glasses up her nose and shot a look at Pam’s office door.

“Matt!” she hissed. “What happened to … the car?”

I lifted a finger to my lips.
Silence
. I locked the door behind me, then locked the door between Pam and Hannah’s offices. My erection strained against my jeans. I slid smoothly into Hannah’s chair and pulled her onto my lap.

Mm—there
.

I exhaled against the back of her neck. I gripped her hips and moved her bottom over my lap, letting her feel my hardness. She shivered.

As I hiked up her skirt, her hands fumbled between us, undoing my fly and freeing my cock. I shifted her thong and she sat, impaling herself. I inhaled swiftly. “Hannah,” I gasped.

She reached back at an ungainly angle and covered my mouth with her palm.
Fuck, yes.
This forced silence would drive me mad.

She bounced on my lap—I bucked to meet her motions—and when she gave a reedy moan, I sealed my hand across her lips. My free hand traveled her body, cupping her breasts through her bra and rubbing her clit.

I began to yank her down onto my cock, forcing a fast tempo.

Pushing her over the edge.

She came moments before I did, her hand braced against the desk, our bodies pinned and shuddering together. Ah, the things I wanted to say to her …

Her hand fell, streaking sweat and saliva over my jaw. I wiped my cheek on my shoulder and whispered in her ear, “You have the tightest pussy I’ve ever fucked, Hannah Catalano.”

We adjusted our clothes hastily.

She perched on the desk opposite me. A beautiful flush gilded her cheeks. Her chest surged with hungry breaths; her eyes glittered with excitement.

“You look very pleased with yourself, Mr. Sky.” She grinned.

“Oh, I am.” I chuckled and stroked her leg.

Absently, I scanned her desk. A magazine lay atop a stack of manuscripts, and when I reached for it, Hannah snatched it.

I recognized the cover immediately.
The Knot
. I laughed.

“Babe, are you playing on the job?”

“No, I…” Her voice hitched and she glared at me. Fucking hell, was she
trying
to be cute, or was my Hannah addiction in overdrive?

Sticky notes protruded from the magazine.

I smiled—encouragingly, I hoped—and tilted my head. “Show me.”

“No, just…” She played with the magazine. “I’m not, like, planning. I…”

“Then start planning.” I cupped her cheek. Her eyes widened.

“The—the wedding?”

“Why not? God knows I’m not going to plan it. Have you got some little-bird ideas?” I hauled her back onto my lap. Her flimsy office chair swayed. She swiveled sideways and plopped the magazine on her thighs.

“You make me feel like a little girl,” she whispered.

I frowned. “I do?”

She touched my lips. “In a good way, Matt.” She squinted at the magazine—a nervous tic of hers—and flipped it open to a page displaying “do-it-yourself string accents and lanterns.” She pointed to a nighttime photo of a large, sprawling oak with dozens of mason jars hanging from its branches, tea lights shining in the glass.

I kissed her shoulder.

“That’s lovely,” I said.

“Yeah?” She searched my expression. “It’s … simple and … intimate.”

“Mm. Great atmosphere.”

Hannah practically vibrated with happiness on my lap. This side of her—the feminine “ooh”ing and “aah”ing over bridal magazines—surprised me, but pleasantly. I wanted to make her happier. I would give her anything. A fucking fairy-tale wedding. A cake ten stories tall.

I opened to another tagged page displaying more candlelit nighttime scenes. Jars filled with glass beads and lights, papier-mâché luminaries.

Hannah peeked at me continually.

“An evening ceremony, then,” I said.

She plucked the magazine from me and tossed it onto the desk.

“Oh, I don’t know. Whatever you want. Something … simple.”

“I want what you want.” I slid her off my lap and stood. “You know I love the evening. The night.” I moved to lean against the door. Now I needed a little distance from Hannah. If she kept giving me those coy looks through her long lashes, we’d have to go another round.

She scooted up to her desk.

“Cool,” she said, her eyes downcast. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. She straightened a pile of papers.

“Work.”

“Hm?” Her head shot up.

“I want to watch you work.”

“Um. I can try.”

“Forget I’m here.”

“No chance of that,” she said with a giggle. After some dithering, she began reading from the computer screen and typing. She glanced at a paper, typed some more. Licked her lips. Looked at me. I smiled and shook my head.

With a huff, she refocused on the screen.

I stood very still, and Hannah’s work finally absorbed her. Calm confidence came into her expression. She reclined in her chair as she read, then leaned forward to jot down notes.

The future Mrs. Hannah Sky, working the job she’d refused to give up for me.
Good for her
. I felt clean, happy pride watching her, and Mike’s questions passed back through my mind.

Would you be comfortable if she felt this proprietary about your body?

Would you allow her to humiliate, dominate, and punish you?

I slipped out of the office while Hannah wasn’t looking.

I just might, Mike. I just might.

Chapter 15

HANNAH

I ate lunch at the Mediterranean deli every day that week, but I didn’t see Katie.

Maybe I’d freaked her out, or maybe she’d had second thoughts about tattling on Bethany. Either way, her disappearance—and the questions she’d spawned—unsettled me.

On Friday evening, I swung by the deli after work. The outdoor tables were empty, plastic tablecloths fluttering in a warm wind.

I strolled along the sidewalk¸ humming.

The universe seemed to be telling me to make my peace with Katie’s absence. Plus, I did feel a little guilty listening to potential lies about Matt. I should have told him about Katie, just like I should have told him about Seth and Chrissy. But now Katie was gone, taking her weird claims with her, and I didn’t need to tell Matt anything.

And anything I wanted to know about Matt, I could ask him.
Right?

I tucked my hands into my jean pockets—casual Friday.

Asking Matt questions … easier said than done.

I turned a street corner aimlessly, enjoying the summer evening.

I shot a text to Matt as I walked.

Doing some shopping, might be home a little later than usual.

He replied quickly.

Buy yourself something nice. Isn’t your sister coming over tonight?

We’d decided to have Chrissy over to the condo rather than going to meet her someplace. My parents’ house was out of the question, and almost any public place was out of the question. We had private matters to discuss.

I replied to Matt’s text.

Maybe I’ll buy you something nice. Yes, she’s coming over at 7. Plenty of time. Love you.

I hoped Matt had gone for a run today, or at least sat out on our crappy little balcony for a while. This evening felt too good to miss.

My cheeks heated as I considered the balcony. He deserved something nicer. I made a mental note to re-raise the house-shopping issue.

I passed a narrow hole-in-the-wall shop—
HORSE TACK AND WESTERN SUPPLY
—and stopped in my tracks. I backpedaled a few steps.

A tooled leather saddle stood in the storefront display. Cowboy boots lined the bottom of the case, and against the wall, wound around a peg, hung a whip.

Holy shit
. The whip looked innocuous enough, until I considered Matt wielding it.

No … way. No way.
He couldn’t possibly want to use that on someone, could he?

I stepped into the store, bells announcing my entrance. My eyes adjusted to the low light. The pleasant scent of leather and polish filled my nostrils.

“Can I help you?” said the woman behind the counter.

“I was”—so glad for the semidarkness hiding my blush—“interested in the … whip. The one you’ve got out front.”

“Sure, hon. We’ve got more of those back here.” She led me to a slice of wall flanked by big western belt buckles and pocketknives. “All our whips are David Morgan. Here’s the model from the front case. You whip-cracking at the fair?”

“Excuse me?”

“The Boulder County Fair. They’re doing a whip-cracking show this year. We’ve been getting a lot of customers looking at whips for that.”

“Oh, no. But…” I edged closer to the whip, touching it tentatively. I shivered. The black plaited cord felt rough and merciless. A snake coiled to strike. “My husband does. He…”

Smelling a potential purchase, the woman launched into a speech about the virtues of the whip, which, I learned, was a six-foot bullwhip—
the perfect length!—
handcrafted, all leather, no stuffing, with replacement fall and cracker included, a bonus pot of leather dressing, and a one-year warranty—a real steal at … seven hundred bucks!

“Whoa,” I mumbled.

By the time the woman stopped talking, she’d removed the whip from the wall and unwound and wound it several times, and finally she laid the looped leather in my hands.

I swallowed and stared at it.

Matt and I were getting to know one another. Finally. Last weekend, he opened up about his parents and his upbringing. Was this whip another piece of the puzzle? Did Matt want things he was afraid to tell me about?

“I’ll take it,” I said.

I paid for the whip with my personal debit card, not our shared account, and the saleswoman packaged it in a flat velvet-lined box. I bought black ribbon from a gift shop across the street and tied it around the box. With a bow. Then I sat in my car gazing at it.

Did I seriously just buy a whip … that might get used on me?

Is this sexy, or totally messed up?

I got back to the condo and scurried to the bedroom before Matt emerged from his office. I shoved the box in our closet. Definitely something to deal with later.

“Bird?” His voice drifted down the hallway.

“In here! Changing!” I wiggled out of my jeans and threw them on top of the box just as he appeared in the doorway.

He grinned wolfishly at me.

“Changing into what? I could recommend something…”

“Pfft. My sister will be here soon.” I tugged on sweats and a tank top. Matt admired me as I sashayed past and bumped my hip against his.

“Tempting the devil,” he mumbled, trailing me out of the closet.
Whew.

He hovered in the kitchen, watching me closely. I smiled and he narrowed his eyes. Yikes, what was he thinking?

“Hungry?” I said.

“Not very. You?” He stepped closer to me.

“Er, no. I had a late lunch. Kind of a big lunch.” I backed into the counter and peered up into his somber green eyes.

“How was shopping?”

I sucked in a breath. “Fine. Didn’t find anything … but it was so nice out.”

He folded his arms and sighed through his nostrils. His lips twitched.
Shit, what was that look on his face?

“Hannah, I’m sorry I withheld your orgasm with no … verbal contract.”

My mouth fell open, my mind racing to grasp his meaning.

“Oh,” I whispered. Right. He meant last weekend, the “punishment” in the hotel room. I’d wanted to discuss that with him, but I never plucked up the courage.

In fact, I’d never asked to see the weird e-mail he got.

I’d willfully forgotten all of it.

“How did you—” He sneered.

“Baby, what is it?” I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“How did you feel about that?”

“Um … confused, I guess.” I stroked his neck. “You’ve never done that before.”

“Mm.”

“What do you mean, ‘verbal contract’?”

He frowned and folded his arms around me. “No idea. It’s something Mike said.”

“Mike?” My stomach somersaulted. “You told him about that?”

“Not exactly. We’ve been—I—”

Three loud knocks interrupted him.
No!
Matt disentangled himself and stalked over to the door.
Fuck,I wanted to talk about this.
I glared at his back as he greeted Chrissy.

For one weird, paranoid moment, I wondered if he timed this—planned this discussion on the cusp of Chrissy’s arrival so that it couldn’t actually become … a discussion.

“Hey, Chrissy.” I hugged my sister. She looked cute in leggings and a purple-to-white ombré tank top. My eyes darted to her stomach, then swerved away. “Come on in.”

We sat in the TV room, Chrissy in an armchair and Matt and I on the couch.

Hm
.
What now?

Matt was giving Chrissy an intense, scrutinizing stare, and Chrissy looked embarrassed for the first time in her life.