After Dark (7 page)

And cum. My cum.

I gripped her hair and groaned as her tongue flickered against me.

“All you need … is something … in your ass,” I panted.

Hannah shuddered, convulsing on her toy.

I barely noticed when she dropped the LELO and dampened her finger with arousal. Her hot mouth, its tight vacuum and instinctive constriction, dragged me down. Had she come? Was she coming? I didn’t know.

Hannah wrapped a hand around my dick and let me thrust into her mouth. “Good,” I told her. “Close. Soon. Take it.”

She gripped my ass and her slippery finger pressed against my anus.

That sensation …

No woman had ever dared.

Drunk with pleasure, I grasped the headboard and bucked against her mouth.

“Is th-that … what you want to do?” I hissed.

I bowed over her and arched back.

“Then do it,” I said. Her finger pierced me.
Ah
—it was something strange—an intimate feeling beyond reason.

I poured myself into her mouth.

*   *   *

Pearlescent in her afterglow, Hannah lounged on top of me. Her sweet-smelling hair rolled across my chest. Her nipples, still hard, pressed into my skin. Excited me.

That is the state of desire, I guess. A state of imperfect satisfaction.

I slid my laptop onto the bedside table.

We hadn’t spoken for several minutes. I was savoring my orgasm—a powerful, jagged release—and playing it over in my mind.

“Did you come?” I said, wincing subtly. Usually I could tell.

“God, yes. Way too fast. I don’t know what got into me…”

I grinned. “I think porn got into you.”

“Matt.” She propped herself on my chest and frowned at me. “Did I hurt you?”

I shook my head, my smug expression fading.

Her hand browsed my side, from my thigh to my ribs. She leveled me with her stare. This was Hannah the woman—mature, confident, and patient. A force to be reckoned with.

“What?” I shrugged against the mattress.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

I knew what she wanted to hear. I felt a phantom touch where she’d slid her finger.

“It didn’t hurt,” I said.

“Did it feel good?”

“I came, didn’t I?”

“Stop being silly. Silly boy…” She began to finger-comb my hair. She nuzzled her cheek against mine and whispered in my ear, “You liked it. Tell me.”

A dull throb between my legs reminded me how well I’d liked it.

“You like it when I finger your ass. I imagine it feels the same.”

“I
love
it,” she said.

“And I love you. Don’t make me spell it out.”

“You make me spell everything out.” She twisted one of my nipples—gently. I hissed. Fuck, she was feisty tonight.

“Didn’t know you were into sexual torture.” My breath caught as I snickered. Impossible to play it cool with her curves fitted to my body, her pussy so close to my cock.

“Hm, who knows what else I’m into?” She twisted harder. A twinge of pleasure-pain traveled straight to my dick. I rolled—Hannah squeaked at the sudden motion—and pinned her to the bed. I dragged my fingers over her mouth, her breasts, her cunt.

“All mine,” I whispered. “My fianc
é
e.”

She closed her legs, trapping my erection between her velvet thighs.

“My husband to be,” she murmured. “All…” The muscles in her legs tightened, gripping me harder. “
Mine
.”

I tilted Hannah’s chin and made her look at me.

“I liked it,” I said. “What you did. No one’s ever…”

“No?”

“Just you.” I hesitated, my body aching. “I want to give you something.”

Beneath me, Hannah softened, a sweet smile spreading on her lips.

“All right,” she whispered.

Without climbing off her, I felt around in the bedside drawer until I found what I wanted: a small square box. Maybe because of what it contained—a platinum engagement ring, size six, with a one-carat diamond and two eight-diamond swirls around the band—it felt heavier than I thought it should. The ring was thick and modern in style; I had noticed Hannah admiring it the day we bought her father’s cuff links.

I propped myself on my elbows and opened the box.

“This is the ring—”

“I know,” she said. Her eyes were wide. “You remembered.”

“Mm. Will you wear it?”

Hannah held out her hand. Fucking adorable; she could never speak when she got emotional. She nodded and smiled unsteadily.

I worked the ring onto her finger, over her knuckle, and straightened it. Then I laid her hand across her chest and admired it.

“Perfect,” I said. I searched her face. “Now let me”—she moaned when I moved—“in.”

Chapter 9

HANNAH

We flew east on Thursday night, my second flight with Matt. I clung to his arm as our plane rose and shuddered in the atmosphere. He stroked my hand and smiled at me.

Oh
 …
that warm smile.

I didn’t fuss about our first-class seats. In fact, I secretly enjoyed the luxury.

Matt looked gorgeous, semi-casual in dress slacks and a pale button-down. I wore black leggings and a loose boat-neck sweatshirt. When we reached cruising altitude, I relaxed enough to peer around the cabin.

Wow, everyone here looked like Matt. The high-end clothes, the easy elegance, the unmistakable air of privilege.

When our flight attendant introduced herself—
Jane, and welcome to the friendly skies
—Matt rattled off a list of requests, his smooth voice and snowy smile dazzling her. “An extra pillow and blanket for her”—he touched my hand—“and wine, please, white if you have it. None for me.” He pressed a twenty into her hand. She dithered, then accepted the bill, and fawned over us for the rest of the flight.

I’d never seen anyone tip a flight attendant, but Matt tipped his way through existence—a twenty for the man who helped with our bags, a twenty after dinner, a fifty for curbside check-in—and we coasted effortlessly across the country.

We could, I realized, coast effortlessly through life. No jobs … nice meals … world travel …
ease.
Why did I buck against it? So many people would kill for that life.

“If we tell her about our engagement”—Matt’s voice snapped me out of my daydream—“she’ll announce it over the PA system.” He questioned me with a glance.

“No! Er, no … thank you.”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“I feel underdressed,” I mumbled.

“Hm?” He studied my outfit as if seeing it for the first time. It wasn’t the first time, though. That morning, when I’d stepped out of our closet wearing skintight black leggings, Matt spent a good ten minutes circling me and admiring my ass.
Hands-on
admiration. “Bird, you look fine.” He rubbed my thigh. “You look comfy.”

He dozed and I drank a second glass of wine. The flight attendant kept them coming.

I looked
comfy
. Right. And Matt looked like he belonged in first class. This was his world, and he’d stepped down from his world to live in a tiny condo with me, surrounded by walls he painted—for me!—in ludicrous colors. Surrounded by cheap knickknacks the likes of which I’d never seen in his former apartment.

No wonder he wanted to buy a mansion for us, a home where he might feel comfortable.

I studied his sleeping profile.

The cabin jostled, a tremor of turbulence. Matt’s brow furrowed and smoothed.

Behind me, a woman purred about her home on Lake Geneva …
Switzerland.

I drained my glass and felt small.

We landed at Newark International a little before midnight and emerged into a haze of humidity. I toddled after Matt, rubbing sleep from my eyes. He’d had nothing to eat or drink during the flight except coffee. He walked too fast, just like Nate, and glowered at everything.

A dark Mercedes—almost black, but with a ruby undertone—waited for us at the curb. Matt signed some paperwork, tipped the delivery driver, and asked if I was hungry … for the third time.

“No,” I said. “I promise.”

He adjusted his seat while I gazed at the car’s interior. LEDs cast lines of soft purple light on leather upholstery. Thick, perfect stitching followed the car’s sexy curves. Yes, this car was the definition of sexy. No wonder Matt had rented it.

“I’ve been thinking of getting one of these,” he said. I jumped. He was staring at me, his dark eyes narrowed. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. For sure. It’s…” My eyes swept the palatial cabin. “Nice.”

“‘Nice’?” His mouth twitched.

“Er, supernice. Beautiful. It smells great.” I shoved my nose against the leather. Matt laughed and touched my cheek.

“Wine puts such a pretty glow on your face.”

That glow brightened, I’m sure.

The Mercedes glided like a yacht into the night. I remember Matt’s hand adjusting the rearview mirror. I remember admiring his hand, his wrist and the creamy cuff of his sleeve, and then sliding awake at the sound of his voice.

“Baby bird,” he said. “We’re at the hotel.”

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. Ugh, all that wine on the plane …

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry. Let me carry you in.”

I wanted to put up a fight, but Matt’s arms felt so good, so secure, and he smelled like soap and clean leather. I laid my head against his chest and watched the world through barely open eyes. I saw light splashed on white stone, a great glass conservatory that looked like a greenhouse, and inside, warm wood paneling and ornate area rugs.

The elevator tolled. We rode up and Matt carried me to our room. His strides were smooth. How long had it been since someone had taken care of me like this? I felt like a child—in the best possible way.

And this was the man who wanted to marry me, to care for me for the rest of his life.

The man I wanted to take care of for the rest of my life.

He laid me on the bed and drew a thin quilt over me, and then he settled behind me, fully clothed. His chest to my back. His groin against my bottom. One long leg draped over mine and a hand cupping my breast.

“I love you, Hannah.” His words whispered through my hair. “I love you so much … I love you…”

*   *   *

I woke with a headache.

The sheets were cool, the AC thrumming.

No Matt.

Two Tylenol and a glass of water stood on the bedside table. I smiled and swallowed the pills. Sweet night owl.

Again, a giddy surge of delight bubbled in my chest. Matt … taking care of me. Who knew he could be so tender?

I tiptoed to the doorway and peered into the sitting area.

He sat in a deep red armchair, leaning over his lap and scribbling in a notebook. A look of consternation crossed his face. He tousled his hair, hesitated, and continued writing. And fuck, he looked hot in nothing but low lounge pants.

I savored the vision of sunlight in his golden hair and on his toned, bare torso.

Until he saw me.

His eyes flickered to mine and he snapped the notebook shut.

“Bird, you’re up.”

“Yeah.” I smiled hesitantly. What was that expression on his face? Alarm?

“I didn’t hear you. How do you feel?” He came to me and half-hugged me, kissing the top of my head.

“Little headache. Thanks for the Tylenol. How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. Watched you sleep for a while.”

I ran my fingers through his hair—he smiled—and flattened my palms on his chest. Sometimes, touching Matt made me feel so shy—especially when he watched me.

I swallowed and trailed my fingers down his abs.

Okay … okay. Too early to get him turned on.

My hands swerved away from his waist. I tapped the notebook he held.

“Working on
Last Light
?”

He yanked the book from my touch.

“Yeah.
Last Light
.” He turned to the desk and slipped the notebook into his laptop case, zipped the case, and clicked a tiny padlock through the zippers. I frowned and jiggled the lock. He ruffled my hair. “Old habits, little bird.”

We drank coffee together at the kitchenette. Matt said it was
our day
and he scooted his chair close to mine.

In the shower, he pressed me against the tiles and slid into me. His cock was rigid, insistent. “I’ve wanted you all morning,” he hissed. “I got hard just watching you sleep.”

Tender Matt was gone, demanding Matt taking his place.

I moaned long and low as he enjoyed me. He asked me how I liked it, and how much harder I thought I could take it, and then he gave it to me. When I was on the cusp of release, he pinched my clit and twisted. I came in a shaking rush.

He refused to give me our itinerary that day. Each time I asked, he flashed a smile at me. “Places. We’re going places.”

He plugged in his iPhone and let me pick music. I played “From Finner” and patted my thigh to the beat.
Far from home … so happy.

Matt barely looked at the GPS as he drove.

He skirted the interstate highways, choosing winding country roads instead. We cruised through one small town after another. I lowered the window and smelled sweet grass and summer, and he held my hand.

What I’d seen of New Jersey—Newark and the area around Trenton where Nate lived—looked nothing like this. “So many trees,” I said. “It’s beautiful here.”

“Isn’t it? A well-kept secret, this state.”

Something stole over Matt as he drove. He released my hand and gripped the wheel. The levity faded from his expression. He grew quiet.

I monitored his mood without comment. Were we going to see his aunt and uncle? Doubtful, with Matt in a T-shirt and jeans. Maybe a cousin? Some unsavory relative?

We entered another town.

A roadside plaque read,
WELCOME TO HUNTERDON COUNTY
.

“This is Flemington,” he said. He stared ahead, eyes dark, arms braced. We swung around a circle and passed a large white barn with a gray roof, and a sign:
DVOOR BROS. STOCK FARM, DAIRY COWS, HORSES
.

He slowed the car almost to a stop as we crossed an old stone bridge.