Scarred Beautiful (29 page)

He lets out a groan and I take as much of him as I can manage to the back of my throat, while he gently holds my head, guiding me back and forth, and I can tell he’s desperately trying to hold on to his control. When he lets go of me and begins clawing at the sheets I speed up, wanting so much to do this to him, for him.

I use my tongue and lick up and down his cock, sliding him out, teasing the head, and then sliding him back in again while my hand grips him more firmly.

“Baby,” he says breathlessly, “I really want to come in that sweet mouth of yours, but if you don’t want me to, you need to—”

I don’t give him a chance to say anything else. I want this, so I pump him harder and faster until his hips rise off the bed, my name rolling off his tongue in a fierce growl as he lets go in my mouth.

“Sweet Jesus, Fran,” he mutters, wiping the sweat from his forehead and still trying to catch his breath. “Come here.” He pulls me up and I curl into him. He covers us with the sheet and kisses my hair repeatedly, while his hand takes a lazy stroll down my back, soothing me.

“You’re not the only one who has talent,” I taunt, and he tips my head back to plant a tender kiss on my lips that makes my toes curl and my insides unfurl with yearning. Panic flares in my chest and it must register on my face because Matt’s eyes grow wide with concern.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, never letting go of me.

What do I say? Do I tell him that I’m scared? That I want to know what this is we’re doing. I mean, I know what we’re doing right now but pretty soon reality is going to come crashing down on me because I’m going back to New York, back to my life…and he’ll go back to his. I keep telling myself this is nothing but two people spending time together, enjoying each other. But I know for me, it’s becoming more than that. The thought of not seeing him makes it difficult for me to breathe.

“I’m fine,” I lie, clearly unable to voice the crazy thoughts going through my head.

“Are you sure?” he asks tentatively, searching my eyes for an answer.

“Yeah.” I snuggle in closer to his side, draping my arm over his chest and hooking my leg over his.

“Do you want me to order some food? Are you hungry?” He combs through my hair with his fingers and I sigh, my eyes drifting closed. “All those little noises you make drive me crazy, you know,” he whispers, rubbing his erection against my thigh.

“Well, we might need some food for sustenance, I suppose.”

“All right, but in a little bit. I don’t want to move right now. I quite like being your pillow.” He squeezes me tighter as I scrape my nails across his chest, watching his muscles spasm under my fingers. “So did you have a good visit with your mom today?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling against his chest, “It was really nice. It’s been a while since we’ve spent quality time like that and I really miss it.” I grow quiet, my heart full to the brink just thinking about the relief on Mom’s face, the softening of her eyes when I told her I’d forgiven her.

“She blamed herself, you know, for what happened to me. All those years when my dad would come to my room while she was out waitressing, trying to keep our heads above water.” Matt tenses at the mention of my dad and tucks me nearer to him. “It wasn’t her fault, though. At one point, I remember being angry, but she was afraid of him. She’s carried so much guilt with her and I didn’t want her to live like that anymore so I told her that I forgave her, even though I don’t think there was anything to forgive. I knew she needed to hear it.”

“I can only imagine how much that meant to her, to hear that from you,” he says, trailing a finger leisurely up and down my arm, making my skin shiver with the sensation. “I still don’t know how you got through all that, Fran. You really are brave.”

“I don’t know about that. There were so many nights I thought about climbing out of my window and running away, before I smelled cigarette smoke from under my door, before he could use me as his own personal ashtray,” I say acidly, and let out a weakened breath. “But I couldn’t leave my mom with him.”

“Fran, it takes a lot more courage to stay than it does to run,” he says, placing a gentle kiss to my temple.

My tension releases with his kiss, calming me. “The one thing I do know is that after my dad committed suicide almost three years ago, both my mom and I were able to breathe easier. He was determined to find me, to have me in his life, and I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him. A little while later I found out he’d committed suicide…and I was relieved. I know that’s awful.”

He presses his lips to my forehead, determination in his voice. “I know he was your father, baby, but he wasn’t a good man. No one could ever blame you for feeling that way.”

“I don’t really want to talk about him anymore, if you don’t mind. Tell me about you. How was the rest of the conference?” I ask, brushing my fingers over his happy trail and loving that something else is happy down there, too.

“What is it you’re asking? You’re making it kind of
hard
for me to think,” he replies, chuckling and rotating his hips in my direction.

I let my fingers tiptoe back up his chest so he can concentrate a little better, although my eyes are drawn to the hard-on he’s sporting under the sheet.

“It was good. You missed my fabulous presentation. Although, I had some difficulty focusing.”

I lean up on my elbow so I can see his face. “Oh yeah, why is that?”

He rolls onto his side so we’re face to face, his deep blue eyes penetrating mine. “I was distracted by the thought of some girl with eyes the most stunning shade of green I’ve ever seen.”

“Some girl, huh? She sounds fascinating,” I reply, as he licks his lips before leaning in to sweep them over mine and I’m so ready to get lost in him all over again. My body instantly responds to the firmness pressing against my thigh, the ache between my legs starting up again.

His cell phone rings on the side table interrupting our moment of bliss. “Don’t get that,” I whisper against his lips, but then I listen to the song and start laughing when I realize it’s “ABC” by The Jackson Five. “Who is that?”

“GAH!” Matt groans in frustration and throws his head back against the pillow. “I have to get it. It’s Ma, I mean, Mrs. Brody, Caleb’s mom.” When he sees the confused look on my face he continues. “She loves The Jackson Five and when we were growing up we always had Sunday morning breakfast together. Whenever we’d walk into their house, there were only two things I’d notice, the smell of warm maple syrup and The Jackson Five playing loudly in the kitchen. She liked to dance while she was cooking.” He shrugs his shoulders with a sheepish smile. “So, it makes me think of her.”

He reaches for the phone and I can’t help but think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard which makes me want to jump his bones right now. He’s so unexpected in such a good way, surprising me at every turn.

“Hey, Ma,” he answers with mischief in his eyes as he stares at my bare breasts until I clock him with a pillow. “No, it’s fine, it’s not too late.” He laughs, almost dropping the phone. “What’s up?”

They talk for a few more minutes and when he finally gets off the phone, he drops it on the bed and tackles me. “We need to get dressed. We’re going over to the Brody’s.”

His erection is pushing into me deliciously and the last thing I want to do is leave this bed, never mind this room.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, my eyelids flapping as his hand grazes the underside of my breast and a moan slips out. “If you want me to get dressed you better stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he teases, circling his nose with mine and grinding against me. His tongue reaches out for me and we find one another, bathing in the warmth of our mouths and the friction of our bodies. He sucks on my bottom lip before he releases me. “Okay, I’ll stop…for now,” he says with a devilish grin, pushing off of me and bending down to pick up his clothes, giving me a great view of his ass. “And, yes, everything’s fine,” he replies, pulling a t-shirt from one of the drawers and sliding it on. “His mom needs some help moving some bookcases and Caleb is over at his brother’s tonight. I’d rather help her tonight because I plan on spending the whole day with
you
tomorrow.”

“Oh!” I shout out, remembering the gift that I bought for him. “I almost forgot. I got you something.”

He spins around in the midst of zipping up his jeans, his blue eyes flooded with excitement. “What is it?”

“Don’t move.” I flop off the bed and haphazardly dress myself, then collect my purse from the floor. Sitting back on the edge of the duvet, I hunt for my surprise and feel myself grinning like an idiot when I find it. I pat the space next to me and he comes to sit down. “It’s just a little something. It made me think of you when I saw it.”

The look on his face is priceless, wide eyes and a dimpled smile like a little boy who’s getting his first present ever. Strangely, my heart soars with delight at being able to make him happy.

“What on earth?” He chuckles, holding up the clown keychain and taking stock of its huge clown shoes, big red nose, and most importantly, the smile on its face.

“So here’s the deal. I thought it might help start to, you know, help you overcome your….” I snap my fingers and my eyes drift upward in an attempt to recall the word. “I can’t remember the name for it, well, your fear of clowns. Baby steps and all. Plus, he’s not scary.” I point to his mouth with my finger. “See, he’s smiling.”

He cups my cheek and touches his lips to mine. “I love it. Thank you, sunshine.”

My lips turn up in a huge grin when he takes his keys off the table and immediately puts them on the key ring. “He goes great with your Aston Martin, don’t you think?”

“He’s perfect,” he says, when he comes back to sit beside me. The moonlight coming through the window casts a glow on his face and a flicker of vulnerability exists behind his eyes, like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.

My mouth practically drops to the floor of the car when we pull up to Caleb’s house. Well, it’s not really a house. It’s more like a mansion. It doesn’t have a weathered front door, nor does it have overgrown weeds in the front yard or a cracked walkway that you can break your neck on if you’re not careful. This house is pristine in every sense of the word and looks like something out of a movie set. The driveway is lit up brightly on each side by tiny floodlights as is the curved stone sidewalk leading up to the entrance. Even at night, I can see the trees are pruned to perfection and the lawn is manicured. Set back from the street, the front yard alone looks to be an acre’s worth of land, and that’s from what I can see in the dark. The design is a burnt orange Spanish contemporary with windows galore.

“Holy shit, this house is enormous,” I exclaim when he comes around to open my door.

Matt chuckles and takes my hand to help me out. “Yeah, it’s big.” He stops in front of the three car garage. “I just want to let you know that Caleb’s parents are…kind of open about things.”

My eyebrows squish together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he says with a smirk, and now I’m even more curious what he means by that statement.

“Matt.” I tug on his hand and step closer to him, trying to search for his eyes in the midst of the darkness. “That whole ringtone thing with Caleb’s mom, I think that’s really sweet.”

“Sweet, as in sweet like my
brother
,” he laughs out, bringing my words back to haunt me. A lump of regret lodges in my throat at the realization that I might have actually hurt him with that comment.

I cradle his face with my palm, skimming his jaw. “No. Sweet like
you
.”

He settles into my touch. “Do you have any idea how amazing you look right now, standing under the moonlight?” he asks, and I know he asked a question but I don’t give him an answer, not with words anyway. Instead I kiss him, our tongues tangling briefly before we break apart and stroll hand in hand up to the house.

One ring of the bell and Caleb’s mom is at the door. She’s absolutely adorable, all of maybe five-foot-two with welcoming blue eyes and wearing an apron that says “
Sexy Mom Cooking
.” She has an aura of warmth about her and I like her instantly.

She engulfs Matt in a hug and the fact that he dwarfs her in size by almost a foot is incredibly endearing. “Hi, sweetie. Thank you so much for coming,” she says appreciatively, then moves over and surprises me with an embrace as well. When she releases me, she places a hand on my arm. “It’s so great to meet you, Fran. Come in, come in.” She ushers us in and winks at Matt, nodding her head toward the kitchen. “I have pie.”

We walk in further and I immediately notice the understated and lived-in feel of their house, a stark contrast to the exterior. I expected formal sofas and designated sitting rooms, but am pleasantly surprised to find overstuffed couches and comfy chairs in muted yellows and blues. Vibrant green plants add additional bursts of color and mementos sit atop several rustic side tables.

Family pictures spatter two entire walls and as I get closer, my heart is instantly warmed at the sight of Matt’s boyish face in so many of them: fishing, playing baseball, at the beach, and at various celebrations. This is not a house. This is a
home
. I’m hit with a longing, a heaviness in my chest of something that could never be, never was. There were no family dinners for me where everyone was laughing and talking about their day. While my mother was working, my father was too busy passed out on the couch in an alcohol-induced coma, and when she was home, he was demanding she bring him his food in front of the TV. He expected her to cater to his every whim when she wasn’t busting her ass to support us so we didn’t end up on the streets. My dad was worthless in the job department; he was worthless in
all
departments.