I cupped the undamaged side of his face. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
Wild Matt … he filled me with excitement, even now.
“Baby.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed the skin near his wound. “What happened?”
“Don’t you know? I think you know.”
I slipped my arms around him, and after a moment he returned the hug. He exhaled, then fit my body to his in a way that was classically Matt. Possessively, impatiently. With a touch of irritation. Cupping my ass, bringing my groin against his thigh. Pressing the small of my back, making my spine flex and my belly nuzzle him intimately. He curled my shoulders into his chest. He cradled the back of my neck and pushed his fingers through my hair.
I shivered.
That hand in my hair … could bring pleasure or pain.
“What am I going to do with you?” he said with a sigh.
“I’m sorry.” I clung to his shirt. I desperately wanted to know how Matt had found out—Seth got Chrissy pregnant, the unspoken bombshell—and what happened in New York, and what Seth looked like right now, but those questions could wait.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. “This new honesty thing goes both ways.”
“I was afraid. Look at you. I knew what would happen.”
He gave me a wry look. I winced at the sight of his injury.
“And did you stop it from happening, little bird?”
“No,” I mumbled.
He tilted up my chin. I swallowed and flushed like a guilty child.
“It would have been better to hear it from you.” He held me awhile longer, and I waited for him to tell me how he did hear it, and finally he said, “I’m tired. We’ll talk about it later. I need to—” He frowned, thumbing a smudge of his blood from my brow. He started to unbutton his shirt. I brushed away his hands.
“Let me.”
He glared, but he let me undo his shirt and lead him to the bathroom, where I cleaned the gash on his cheekbone. New blood dampened the washcloth.
“Crazy boy,” I whispered. I kissed his knuckles. They were red.
“Your crazy boy.” His strong hands enfolded mine. We stood like that for I don’t know how long, touching one another tenderly, a counterpoint to violence I could only imagine. If I thought about Seth, my mind flashed over images of a body strewn across the floor. Blood. Stillness. So I didn’t think about him.
My fiancé wasn’t violent by nature … right?
He kissed my ring finger.
“You still want to marry me?” he said, half-smiling and half-serious.
“Always.”
He took a quick shower and I changed into one of his T-shirts, which was voluminous on me. I removed my new pearl earrings but kept on the necklace. I felt pretty with those heavy spheres resting against my throat.
Mrs. Hannah Sky … I lay on our bed and mouthed the words.
Our engagement should be a magical time. Would be a magical time. I refused to let Seth or my sister’s news overshadow our happiness. Now that Matt knew everything, we could handle the situation together.
He strolled into the bedroom, a towel banded around his waist. I licked my lips and sat up. Damn … that body.
“I like your shirt, bird.”
I plucked at his shirt and smiled shyly. Matt’s eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. Serious-discussion time.
“Matt, I—”
He silenced me with a gesture.
He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned. I crawled to him, suddenly hyperaware of my naked body beneath his T-shirt. The way Matt looked at me told me he was aware, too. His gaze lingered on my nipples, which stood stiff against the thin cotton.
“I bought you this,” he said. “We’ll use it now.”
My gaze dropped to his hands. My mouth formed a small, speechless O.
Matt held a metal plug—large, teardrop-shaped—with a sapphire gem in the stopper. He tipped it into my hand. It was heavy and cold. Intimidating, yet pretty.
Okay … he wanted sex. Now. After whatever had happened in the city. And he wanted to put a plug in my ass. I returned the toy to his hands.
“Chrissy is pregnant. Seth is the father.” He spoke calmly. “And you’ve known that, haven’t you, Hannah?”
I nodded, flushing. What the hell was this? Sexy time, or serious-talk time?
“I want to punish you,” he said.
“Punish me?” I spluttered.
“Mm. Bend over my lap.” He patted his thighs. When I hesitated, he cupped the back of my neck and guided me down.
I spread my arms across the sheets and lay there quivering. He brushed the T-shirt off my bottom. I tensed, expecting pain, but he only stroked my skin lovingly.
“Gorgeous,” he murmured.
Something cold and blunt touched my sex—the plug—and he dipped it into me, then drew it out, in again, out again. I groaned.
“Lubricating it,” he explained. “You’re very wet.”
I tried to relax when he slid the plug up my crack and began to apply gentle pressure. I’d taken him there, after all; I could take the plug. But my mind refused to cooperate. I kept picturing the raw gash on his cheek and remembering the things Katie said: Too rough. He’d hit her. Really hardcore stuff. Whips.
The plug popped into my bottom and I gasped. The stopper nestled against my skin. It felt … foreign, full, but pleasant, a cool and heavy pressure.
Matt moaned and kissed the tail of my spine. I felt him hardening beneath his towel.
I am not afraid of my fiancé, I told myself. I love this man. I know this man.
But I didn’t know this new bedroom etiquette—at least, not in the context of punishment. I’d hurt Matt by keeping a secret from him. Now he wanted to hurt me … physically. How did I feel about that?
He slapped my backside, jarring the plug. I jumped.
“Matt!”
“Shhh,” he crooned. “I had to, Hannah.” His touch immediately turned gentle—caresses, a finger inside of me, one on my clit. I sighed and panted, giving myself over to those sensations. Then he spanked me again and I yelped.
He moved me off his lap and left me sprawled on the bed. He stood and stared down at me. “Play with yourself,” he said. “Make sure I can see that plug while you do.”
I fumbled onto my knees, my ass in the air. Matt made an appreciative sound. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his towel drop—a flag of surrender spiraling to the floor.
He can’t resist me.
Feminine pride bloomed inside me and I spread my knees. Let him get a good look at my sex. I began to finger myself, grinding on my hand, and I rubbed my clit in a slow circle.
“Ah, Hannah…” His voice was strained.
I stripped off the T-shirt and glanced over my shoulder.
Matt stroked himself—a sight that made my body clench—and stared wantonly at my backside, at the skin between my legs. There, I felt an acute ache for him. Arousal slid down my fingers. My blood turned to fire.
“Please,” I whispered.
He shook his head.
“Don’t come, Hannah.”
I balked, my hand going still. Don’t come?
“Keep going,” he snapped.
The edge in his voice made me flinch. My fingers resumed their motion, my body trembling. What is it about denial? I suddenly wanted—needed—to come.
Matt pleasured himself at a leisurely pace. Once, he grasped my hips and brought his mouth close to my sex, his breath fanning over the heated skin. I felt incredible tension in his hands. The strength of restraint.
“You’re hard to resist,” he hissed. He climbed onto the bed and flipped me over. Wild for release, I spread my legs invitingly and lifted my body, but he pressed me down. With one hand against my abdomen and the other stroking his length, he came.
He never entered me. He didn’t even moan. His dark, angry eyes raked my body, his cum wet my sex, and then he backed away.
I lay on the bed panting as Matt picked up his towel and ruffled his hair.
He glanced at me. “Don’t. Come.”
I swallowed and sat up. The plug shifted inside me, making me moan.
“Oh, and you can take that out,” he murmured. His gaze loitered on me. I knew how I looked—my lips slightly swollen, skin flushed, wearing nothing but a string of pearls and a plug—and I made one last play.
“Please,” I whispered, lowering my eyes. “Fuck me, Matt…”
“Hannah.” His voice was a growl. He kissed me swiftly, devouring my mouth, then pulled back and stalked out of the room. I whined, reaching after him. Was this my punishment? It was the worst, the best punishment. The most affecting punishment. His absence.
* * *
I fell asleep without Matt—he stayed up late, a soft light emanating from the sitting area—but I woke beside him, his body curled around mine.
Morning sun spilled over his back. I stroked his golden hair.
I’d gone to sleep confused and a little angry—but when Matt’s eyes opened and he smiled at me, I knew we were going to have a better day.
The hell with yesterday. A bump in the road.
I fluttered my lashes against his cheek and pressed the gentlest kiss to his wound.
“Mm, I’m”—he touched the scabbing gash—“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he grumbled.
“Oh, baby, no.”
“Yes. I am.” He climbed onto me and settled down. I stroked his bare sides, reveling in the way his body pressed into mine. Every morning with Matt, I felt the same giddy thrill. Is he really mine? Yes, he is. “Shouldn’t have fucking … gone to see him…”