No reply.
I shuffled into Pam’s office, knocking perfunctorily on the frame as I passed.
“Hannah.” She looked up from her computer.
“Matt and I wanted to set up a meeting to discuss Last Light with you. Is there—”
“Oh, he already called about that. We’re—”
“He did?” I glowered. Fucking Matt!
“Well, yes.” Pam returned her attention to the computer. “He wanted a realtor referral. I know several. He mentioned the meeting in passing. We settled on Thursday morning.”
“Great. That’s … all I wanted.” I slouched back to my desk. Awesome. Matt was too something to text or e-mail me, but calm enough to call Pam about a realtor and arrange our meeting. And again, he’d made me look like a dunce in front of her. Ugh.
I forced myself to finish out the workday.
Then I sped back to the condo.
Matt was sitting on the couch, watching a soccer game. He clicked it off as I shut the door, but he didn’t move. I stared at the back of his head.
Why was I suddenly afraid?
“Hey,” I whispered. I crept around the couch.
He took in my work outfit with a glance: a pale pink blouse tucked into a nude peplum skirt and matching peep-toe pumps. “I missed you this morning.”
“Oh … I sorta … snuck out.”
“I noticed.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I had a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure.” He frowned and dragged his fingertips over his knees, contemplating the floor. Then he stood abruptly and disappeared down the hall, returning a minute later with a black spiral notebook. Was it the notebook?
“You asked if I really had a journal,” he said. “For Mike. I do.”
“Oh…” I stared at it.
He stepped closer to me, and closer, until he practically stood on top of me. I felt breathless, that near to him. His particular scent—spicy, clean—his towering height and burning stare … completely unnerved me.
“Here,” he said, offering the notebook.
I plucked at the corner. He didn’t let go. Yikes, this felt familiar. Last night, we’d wrestled with the boxed whip for a good five minutes. I was furious then—he was being pushy—but now? Matt held my gaze, his expression simultaneously hungry and vulnerable.
“Go ahead,” he whispered. He released the notebook and I bumped into the wall, clutching it. “Read it.”
“Now?” I swallowed. “You’re … you’re kind of … intimidating me.”
“Yes.” He pinned my shoulder to the wall and cradled my cheek in his palm, which felt cool. My face must have been on fire. “Read it now, with me, or not at all.”
“Okay. Let me—” I shook my purse off my shoulder. It landed with a loud clunk.
“You’re sweating, little bird.” His dark eyes strafed over me. Oh … God. Something about my unease always got Matt hot and bothered. And what the hell? Something about my unease always got me hot and bothered.
“It’s … hot out.” My chest rose and fell deeply as I struggled to calm my heart.
“Here.” With one hand, he unclasped the top three buttons of my blouse. They sprang open. The cool condo air slipped into my cleavage. Matt’s fingers slipped into my cleavage.
“Matt,” I gasped.
“Read,” he said, “before I change my mind.”
Oh sweet Lord … I fumbled with the journal, my pulse leaping and my mind reeling. First entry: exhibitionism. Matt bit the cup of my bra and I quivered. My eyes skimmed over the page. Desire—hot and damp—gathered between my legs. I want to fuck her with an audience … reveal her like a possession …
Shock and strange pleasure made my thighs clench.
To make our most private act a spectacle … why do I need this?
I flipped the page. Matt forced his hand between my clamped legs and groaned when he touched my thong. It was soaked.
Dear God, I knew Matt was kinky, but I had no idea how deep his depravity ran. I love to see Hannah blush … I want to see her at the end of a leash.
Pain. Pleasure. Shame.
I want to take out my anger on her gorgeous body …
I am constantly aching.
“Constantly … aching,” I panted, arching off the wall. I dropped the journal.
“Yes,” he hissed.
I knew the feeling. When we weren’t fighting, and sometimes when we were, I lived with a chronic yearning for his body. The sight of him in anything—a towel, his running clothes, jeans and a T-shirt—had my stomach doing backflips, no matter how often I saw him. And the sight of him in nothing? I moaned at the thought.
“You’re turning me the fuck on,” he said. He pressed my body back into the wall. His erection pushed against my belly.
“Matt, I—” I danced away. Oh, fuck, I wanted to get back between his hard body and that wall. “I’ll be … be right back. I want to show you something.”
I pried off my pumps and dashed to the bedroom. Be brave. Be bold. Later, I could think about Matt’s kink and how much of it actually appealed to me. Right now—I grabbed the black box from our closet—I wanted, needed him to see my willingness to try new things.
My trust in him …
When I got back to the TV room, Matt had removed his shirt. I almost tripped for staring at him. His loose white lounge pants set off the tawny tone of his skin. His arousal was …
Oh so obvious.
And for once, Matt didn’t laugh when he caught me staring.
He wants me to look, I remembered. I gathered a shaky breath and stared at my leisure as I padded up to him, ignoring my embarrassment. This is my future husband. I’m allowed to admire his … body. And what a body it was …
“This again,” he said, accepting the box. With marked impatience, he whisked off the ribbon and overturned the lid. And there was the whip, coiled in its velvet bed. Matt tilted his head and glanced at me. “You’re pale.”
“And?” I shrugged.
He lifted out the whip, dropping the box. With the coiled leather, he tilted up my chin. My eyes widened; my mouth dried.
“Just an observation, little bird.”
He trailed the cord down my throat. I gulped. He nestled it into my cleavage, stared a moment, and then undid another button, exposing the lacy cups of my bra.
He stroked my swelling breasts with the whip. It felt … unkind, rough.
I shivered.
Matt stepped away suddenly, unfurling the whip and watching it trail across the floor.
“For the life of me,” he said, “I can’t guess why you would … give me this.”
His narrowed eyes landed on me.
Because of fucking Katie! I couldn’t say that now, though. Not yet. It would ruin the moment. And we were having a moment, right? The journal … the whip …
I floundered in silence.
“Unless it’s something you’ve been wanting.” He rewound the whip slowly. I focused on his long fingers, his strong hands, working deftly with the plaited cord. “Come.” He strolled toward the office. After a beat, I followed him, staring at his back … his ass.
Goddamn it, he had me all worked up, and he probably knew it.
“My aunt and uncle owned a stable for several years. They bred Friesian horses. You know the breed?” He stepped into the office and I hovered near the door.
“No.” My voice was small.
“Mm. Doesn’t matter. Aunt Ella had us all learn to ride. I swear, she was determined to raise the last Renaissance men…” He glared at the ceiling, the walls, the floor, a question in his gaze. What the hell was he doing? “There were always whips in the barn. Seth and I used to sneak them out and mess around with them.”
He tested the weight of the whip, snaking it over the floor.
“One of my exes was into this sort of thing,” he added. “Whips, that is. Not horses.”
“Bethany?” I whispered.
“No, she and I didn’t do any of that.” He watched me carefully, his expression guarded. “Not for lack of trying on her part. I made the mistake of telling her how I played with other partners. She nagged me about it, pushed for it constantly. But I didn’t want that with her.”
“Why … why not?” I couldn’t conceal my shock. Bethany was the one pushing for kinky sex? Katie had lied to me, or she was misinformed. My cold panic turned to a burning blush. Fuck. Now I was pushing for kinky sex, giving Matt a whip, all because of some stupid misleading remark from a total stranger. Hannah, you idiot!
And nowhere in that black journal had Matt mentioned whips. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Restraints, yes. Riding crops, yes. Plugs, pain, punishment, shame. But not whips.
“I want it with you,” he said.
My mouth fell open.
Before I could sputter out … something … he nudged me into the hallway.
“Stand out there.” He grinned at me like a boy. “Look at the darts.”
The darts? My spinning mind took its time making sense of Matt’s words. The … dartboard. In his office. I looked at it. Two darts protruded from the board. Matt drew back his arm in a tight, controlled motion—the tail of the whip curled into the air—and a loud popping sound filled the office. I yelped and jumped.
When I opened my eyes, Matt was glaring at me.
“You missed it,” he snapped. He pointed to the floor. One of the darts lay on the hardwood. “Done right, it sounds a lot worse than it feels. Or so I’m told.”