Flying (19 page)

“You like that.”

She laughed breathlessly and leaned in to kiss him. “Yes. I like that.”

She wanted to ask him to put his hands inside her panties, sink his fingers deep inside her, but she didn’t move. Matthew opened his mouth, his tongue delicately stroking hers. His thumb kept up the slow, steady and frustratingly light pressure while the pleasure built up and up inside her until Stella let her head drop to his shoulder. Trembling, she strained toward climax, every muscle tight.

He stopped.

Stella let out a groan but didn’t move. It would take so little to send her over the edge right now, but she felt helpless to even shift her hips and press herself against him. All she could do was concentrate on that flickering flame of desire between her legs.

Slowly, he swiped his thumb across her clit again. His other hand gripped her ass, kneading. Pressing her against him. Then he slid his hand up her back to anchor it in the hair at the base of her skull, fingers tangling, pulling her head back. Matthew kissed her throat, baring his teeth against her skin. Biting gently.

“Oh,” she breathed. And again, “Oh, oh...”

“Come for me,” Matthew said. “I want you to come for me.”

She did. Up, up and over. Sometimes she came hard like falling into an abyss, but this time her orgasm lifted her. Flying. She rode the waves of pleasure in silence but for the tortured gasp of her breathing, and when it was over she collapsed against him.

Matthew stroked his hands down her back, then held her close. They stayed that way for a minute or so. Stella forced her eyes to open, made herself sit up, though she could’ve stayed like that forever.

“Wow,” she said.

Matthew grinned. “Good?”

“Um, yeah.” She wriggled a little, putting a hand between them to cup his hard cock. Every part of her felt loose and sated, but there was more to come. Literally, she hoped.

Matthew’s eyes went heavy-lidded at her caress, but he shifted her off his lap, then urged her onto her knees facing the back of the sofa. He bent over her back, arms along hers, to press her hands to the sofa cushions, curling her fingers to grip. Stella looked over her shoulder at the sound of his zipper going down. In the next minute, Matthew flipped the hem of her dress to her hips and eased down her leggings and her damp panties, then put his hands on her hips and pulled her to the edge of the couch.

“Bend over.”

She did, closing her eyes again, waiting for his touch. At the stroke of his fingers along the seam of her cunt, then inside her, Stella moaned. Matthew found her clit and stroked that too before withdrawing.

“Hold on a second.” He pulled open a drawer in the end table.

She heard the rustle of him opening a condom. Tense, she waited for the press of his cock and wasn’t disappointed. Matthew rubbed himself between her legs, getting himself slick, then pushed slowly inside her. This angle made the friction a little odd until she bent forward more, widening her knees on the couch and tipping her hips to allow him to get inside her even deeper.

“Fuck,” Matthew breathed as he seated himself inside her. “Oh, Stella. Shit. You’re so fucking wet.”

She knew it by the effortless slide of him inside her, but hearing him say it as though she’d presented him with some sort of gift sent shivers of pleasure all through her.

He fucked her like he owned the patent on getting her off. Slow, then harder and faster, short and sharp, followed by leisurely and long. He was teasing the fuck out of her, and she loved it. Every so often he reached around to tweak her clit, sending fresh waves of desire coursing through her, but again, Stella didn’t worry about whether or not she was going to come again. The journey was as delicious as the destination.

He fucked her that way for what seemed like forever. Stella let her face press into the cushions as she pushed back against him. The slap of their bodies turned her on. So did the sound of Matthew’s low moans when she ground herself on his cock, and the smack of his hand on her ass. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to warm her skin. The unexpected pressure of his thumb on her asshole startled her into rocking forward, and that was enough to surprise her into another orgasm.

“Oh, shit, I can feel you coming,” Matthew said. “I’m gonna...”

Stella let out a long, stuttering sigh and rocked her hips to get him deeper into her. Matthew’s hoarse shout put a smile on her face. So did the way he collapsed onto her back for a few moments before getting off her and falling, splayed, on the couch, with one arm flung over his face.

Stella moved, her dress falling over her hips. She wriggled her panties and leggings back up and peeked at him. “Mmmm.”

Matthew cracked open an eye. Without moving, he waved his hand in the general direction of the end table. “Could you...get me...”

Stella laughed and reached for the box of tissues, which she handed him so he could take care of the condom, then took the box and the mass of tissues from him to throw away in the kitchen. There she drew herself a glass of cold water from the tap and drank deep, cataloging all the lovely aches he’d given her. Her knees hurt most of all, but something had pulled a little in her neck and shoulder too. Wincing, she rubbed it.

“You okay?” Matthew said from behind her. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, offering it to her. Stella shook her head.

“Just a little neck spasm.” Stella rubbed at it, watching him crack the top on the beer and swallow a long, thirsty pull. “It’s an old injury but still acts up sometimes.”

“Sit.” Matthew indicated the kitchen chair, and she obeyed. He set his beer on the table and put his big hands on her neck. “Here?”

“Lower... Yeah. There. Ouch.”

“You’re really tight there.” He worked the muscles gently but firmly, hitting the trigger points in a way that made her want to cry even though it felt good at the same time.

Before she knew it, Stella
was
crying. Small gasping sobs at first that she tried to hold back, but then the tears came along with deeper, breathy groans as she tried to hold them back. It wasn’t only from the pain in her neck and shoulder, though it could be bad enough sometimes to make her cry.

It was... Well, she didn’t quite know what it was, only that as he worked on her tense muscles, the stress and fear of earlier came slamming back into her and the euphoria of the hour they’d spent on his couch had worn away her walls enough that she had no chance of holding back any emotions at all.

“Hey,” Matthew said when he noticed. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just... I feel stupid now. I’m sorry.” Stella swiped at her eyes and pressed her fingers there to hold back the tears still threatening. She’d managed not to burst into braying sobs, but only barely. She breathed, concentrating on pushing away the sudden onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. All of this was so much more than she’d been looking for, and what was she supposed to do with it now that it had found her?

Matthew didn’t say anything else; he just pulled her close, her face to his shirt. He stroked her hair. And that was really all she needed, not words or platitudes, but the unspoken comfort of his touch.

* * *

“I wish you didn’t have to go.” Matthew said this against her neck.

They’d made a tent of his blankets, the light filtering through the windows casting shadows through the sheets. Stella moved her knees slowly against the soft fabric, watching the way the light changed. The tickle of his lips on her skin sent a shiver through her, peaking her nipples, but she didn’t want him to move away.

“I have to, though.”

“I know.” He sighed and nuzzled closer, one hand on her belly. Teasing lower, through her curls. His fingers found her clit for a second, but only that.

Stella rolled to face him, kicking the covers off so they could lie naked and untangled. She touched his face, then kissed him. “This was a great weekend, Matthew. Thank you.”

It had been, even with the awkwardness at the Riverwalk. She kissed him again, lingering a little before pulling away when he started to make it deeper. She laughed, shaking her finger at him as she got up.

“I have to go. I need to shower and get to the airport....”

Matthew groaned and flung himself against the pillows. “Ugh.”

Stella laughed again, her heart beating a little faster at the thought he might really want her to stay. She went to his side of the bed and put a knee on it, looking down at him. “You can call me, you know. Anytime. It’s not like we won’t talk again.”

“What if we don’t? What if you walk out my door and I never see you again?” Matthew sat up, his back against the wall.

He was so fucking beautiful when he was naked. He looked damn good with clothes on too, but clearly so comfortable in his bare skin, he was glorious. He took her breath away, and she had to force herself not to pounce on him again. She couldn’t miss her flight—there wasn’t another until tomorrow.

“You’ll see me again,” Stella said, aiming her tone for breezy and not quite making it.

Matthew gave her a slow smile that kindled fire inside her. “Promise?”

She hesitated. Making promises was the fastest way to end up telling a lie. “Well, I’d certainly like to. And I’m sure we can make it happen, if you want that too. You could come to see me in Pennsylvania. Fly into Philly. I’ll take you out on the town.”

He stared at her a long moment, not answering. Just when it started to feel awkward, he reached for her hand. Pulled her closer. He kissed her, long and sweet and slow, until her head spun and she lost her sense of direction.

“You could come back here,” he murmured against her mouth, “and we could just stay in.”

She laughed as she kissed him. “Well...if you insist.”

“I do,” he said. “I absolutely do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

That was how it began, this thing between them. With a promise she’d been unable to make a couple months ago. Technically, Stella thought as she once more boarded a plane home from Chicago after another whirlwind weekend with Matthew, it had started in a hotel bar, where she’d once more picked up a stranger...only it had been different with him from that first meeting. Different ever since.

A little over two months wasn’t such a long time, especially when she’d only managed three visits in that span of time. But they talked on the phone or video-chatted every day, which was nowhere as fulfilling as seeing him in person, but better than nothing.

Her phone booped in her pocket as she settled into her seat, and she pulled it out, grinning to find a message from him.
Miss you.

They’d both downloaded an app called Kik to use for their messages. It irked her, a little, to have to dance around his ex-wife’s neurosis, but she had to admit there were a few functions of the app that she liked better than texting. One of them was the ability to see at once if he’d read her message, and also if he was replying, both functions regular texting couldn’t provide since Matthew was a heathen who didn’t use an iPhone.

Quickly, Stella entered a series of emoticons. A smile blowing a kiss, a heart, a woman’s face. Then a man’s. It was their code. She glanced at the man taking the aisle seat next to her, who was blatantly looking at what she was doing. Stella sent the message, then turned off her phone in preparation for departure.

“Hi,” the man said.

Businessman. Just her type too. Stella reached in her bag and pulled out her book without giving him more than a polite, distant smile.

Things really had changed.

* * *

At home, things hadn’t changed. Stella walked in the front door to the blare of music coming from the speakers connected to Tristan’s iPod, and a kitchen full of teenage boys in various stages of stink. The fridge hung open with one foraging inside. The sink had been piled high with dirty dishes. The table groaned under the weight of pizza boxes and other trash.

Well, at least none of the cans scattered around and overflowing the recycling bin were of beer, and she couldn’t find any evidence they were shooting heroine into their eyeballs or any place else. And, she noted, there was a distinct and obvious lack of girls.

“Hi, guys,” she said, and was greeted with a chorus of “hey” and “hi, Mrs. Cooper.” She gave Tristan a raised-brow look. “I sure hope you’re going to clean this all up.”

“I didn’t think you’d be home until later,” Tristan said.

“Clearly.” Stella looked around the room again, calculating how long the group must’ve been ruining her kitchen. It didn’t take long, she knew that, but it still looked longer than a few hours, which it should’ve been if Tristan had been with his dad until this morning. “I’m going upstairs to unpack. Tristan, if you have laundry, please bring it down so I can get a load started before tomorrow.”

Behind her, the room erupted again into laughter as she left the kitchen. She wasn’t happy about the idea that maybe Jeff had fallen down on the parenting job again, or that Tristan had been home by himself this weekend. For the most part, his friends were good kids, and she’d rather have them hanging out here than someplace else. Still, it wasn’t a good idea for her empty house to be where they did it.

She thumbed in Jeff’s house number, knowing Cynthia would be the one to answer it. The situation with Matthew and Caroline had made Stella even more careful about how she dealt with her ex-husband and his new wife. “Cynthia. It’s Stella.”

“Oh, hi, Stella!” Cynthia always sounded so chipper. So perky. It was disgusting.

“Hey. Is Jeff around? I need to talk to him about Tristan.”

“Jeff went to Atlantic City for the weekend for a poker tournament. He won’t be home until late tonight.” Cynthia sounded slightly less perky about that.

Stella paused in sifting through her dirty laundry. “Was Tristan with you this weekend?”

“No.” Cynthia sounded hesitant now. “Was he supposed to be?”

“Yes, actually. I was out of town.”

“Oh. Stella, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I guess Jeff didn’t know either. Do you want me to leave him a message?”

“No,” Stella said. “I’ll call his cell phone.”

That set Cynthia off. “Oh, oh...”

“I’ll handle this, Cynthia. Thanks.” Stella disconnected before the other woman could say anything else, and dialed Jeff’s number. Typically, he didn’t answer, but that’s what voice mail was for. “Jeff. Please tell me you did not go to Atlantic City knowing your teenage son was left home alone for the weekend. I’m sure you won’t call me back when you get this, but don’t think we’re not going to talk about it.”

Downstairs, the look on her face scattered those boys like leaves in a brisk autumn wind. She barely had to say a word before they were all making stammering excuses and fleeing, leaving a guilty-faced Tristan to stand in front of her among the detritus of what had clearly been a weekend-long orgy of takeout food and video games and whatever else it was teenage boys did when they were alone. She didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“You have something to tell me?”

“I was going to clean it all up before you got home,” Tristan said.

Stella lifted an eyebrow. “You realize that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Right?”

Tristan stayed silent, which was probably smart. She gestured at the kitchen. “Clean this up. Now.”

Upstairs again, her phone alerted her to a message from Matthew. She thumbed in his number instead of replying via the app. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He sounded wary.

Stella paused. “Bad time?”

“The girls are here. Caroline’s just dropping them off now.”

Well, at least he’d answered her call rather than letting it go to voice mail. “Ah. Sorry I didn’t warn you I was going to call. I just got home and found the house a mess. Tristan was here all weekend with his friends. Apparently his dad blew off his parental responsibilities in favor of a boys’ weekend away.”

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.”

She paused again, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Caroline’s still there, huh?”

“Yes. Yeah. Uh-huh.”

It would’ve been funny, maybe, if Stella weren’t already annoyed. Or if it was, in fact, humorous instead of slightly insulting. She breathed out a low, irritated sigh and caught sight of Tristan trying to sneak past her door unnoticed.

“I’ll talk to you later. Maybe,” she amended. “I’m sure you’ll be so busy with the girls you won’t have time.”

“Hey, that’s... Yeah, okay. Sure. Sounds good.” His voice, so carefully neutral, curled her lip.

“Whatever,” Stella said, and disconnected. Tucking her phone in her pocket, she rapped on Tristan’s door, waiting for him to answer before she opened it. “Hey. We need to talk.”

Tristan sighed, head hanging. “I knew you’d be mad.”

“So why did you do it?” She’d have sat to talk to him, but as usual, every open inch of space in his room was covered with crap she didn’t have the strength to yell at him about. “You know how I feel about you being here alone.”

“I’m gonna be seventeen, Mom! I’m fine! I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not that I worry you can’t take care of yourself, Tristan. I don’t want a house full of boys here while I’m gone and can’t be here in case something happens. And I’m sure that your friends’ parents don’t want them hanging around unsupervised either. I’m a mom. I know this stuff.”

Tristan didn’t say anything, though at least he looked ashamed and not belligerent. It could go either way with him, these days.

With a sigh, Stella leaned against the bedpost. “I want to trust you, but stuff like this is exactly why I can’t.”

“We weren’t doing anything bad,” he said defensively. “All we did was play
Honor Bound 3
and watch movies.”

“When did you find out your dad wasn’t going to be home?”

“Friday afternoon. After you were gone.”

Stella frowned. “He didn’t tell me he’d changed plans.”

“I didn’t want to hang out there with Cynthia. She doesn’t care if my friends come over, but it’s weird, Mom. She makes us sandwiches and is sort of...annoying.”

Stella could completely see that. But that didn’t change anything. “You should’ve texted me right away.”

“Would you have come home?” Tristan tossed the question at her, and Stella fumbled it. “No. I didn’t think so. You’re too busy with your
boyfriend
to bother.”

Stella had not yet started calling Matthew her boyfriend; they hadn’t talked about what they were. But she’d made no secret of him and hearing her teenage son say it in that snide tone didn’t make it sound very good. “That’s not fair.”

“Well. It’s not fair that you’re always running off to spend time with him so that I have to deal with it either!” Tristan shoved at a pile of papers on his desk and sent them fluttering to the floor.

This raised an eyebrow. “I’m hardly always running off to spend time with him, Tristan. I’ve been to Chicago three times in two months.”

“You’re on the phone with him all the time.”

“You talk with your friends all the time,” she pointed out, calmly, she thought, though the idea that her son might’ve heard the content of her conversations didn’t settle too well in her gut.

“That’s different.”

“Because you’re the kid and I’m the mom? I’m not allowed to have friends?” Stella shook her head. “Tristan, that’s not fair. And, look, I’m sorry if you think my attention’s been taken up too much with Matthew. I’m sure it might seem that we spend a lot of time together, but we really get very little—”

“All the time,” he said sullenly. “You’re always on your phone, messaging him.”

Coming from the boy who practically needed to be surgically separated from his phone, this was pretty rich. Stella didn’t laugh, though, too aware of how this argument could spiral out of control. She was tired and angry and annoyed, and coming down off the high of the weekend was hard enough without all this stuff too.

“And that’s my business. Not yours.” Stella looked around the room. “Clean the house up, or I swear to you, Tristan, you won’t like what happens.”

He didn’t answer her, didn’t say a word until she was at the doorway, when he muttered, “Whatever.”

It was exactly what she’d have said, and she had to bite back a snarky reply. Instead, she turned to face him. “When you’re done, we can watch a movie or something, okay? If it’s not too late. I was thinking of ordering Chinese. You can drive with me to pick it up.”

This turned his head. He needed a certain number of hours’ driving experience before he could test for his license, and he wasn’t quite there yet. “Really?”

“Yes.” It felt a little like rewarding him for bad behavior, but she didn’t want to fight with him.

“Great!” He bounced up, and Stella lifted a warning hand.

“Clean up first,” she said.

Tristan nodded. “Got it.”

Back in her room, still trying to get her suitcase unpacked, Stella pulled out a T-shirt that wasn’t hers. Oh, she’d worn it to sleep in, but it was Matthew’s. Sinking onto the bed, she pressed her face into it, breathing in the scent of his cologne that still clung to the fabric.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

She shouldn’t miss him this much so soon. He shouldn’t mean so much to her...but he did. And as she breathed in the smell of him, she thought of him touching her. Kissing her.

“Mom?”

Embarrassed, Stella tucked the shirt into her lap as casually as she could. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Okay? Is the downstairs clean?”

“Yeah.”

“Will I think it’s clean if I check it?” Tristan grinned sheepishly. Stella laughed. “Go back and finish up.”

When he’d gone, she pulled her phone from her pocket, not expecting a notification of a message from Jeff and not surprised there was none. She opened the app and typed in a message to Matthew—the woman’s face, a cloud thought bubble, the man’s face.

Thinking of you.

But although the D alongside the message turned to an R, indicating that he’d read the message, Matthew didn’t answer.

“Ready now?” Tristan asked from the doorway, and Stella put away her phone, determined to give her son the attention he’d claimed he was lacking.