Beneath a bag of Hannah’s winter clothes I found a large, flat box tied with black ribbon. A little tag on the box read, Matt.
I carried it out of the closet.
“What’s this?” I shook the box.
Hannah darted off the bed and snatched the box. I tightened my hold on the corner, mostly to keep her close. We played tug-of-war for a moment, me grinning and Hannah exasperated, yanking at the box with all her might.
“You’re feisty tonight.” I chuckled.
I twisted the box out of her grip and lifted it, my arm stretched toward the ceiling. I raised a brow. She didn’t even try to reach for it. Too bad … would have been cute.
“It’s a gift. But I don’t want you to have it yet. Give it to me.”
“Pout prettily and I will.” I smiled.
“Matt…” Her voice hardened with warning.
“Let me hold you, then, and I won’t ask about it. And I’ll give it back.”
She glared up at me, but she nodded. I tossed the box onto our bed. Something inside shifted. I dropped my sleeping bag and pulled her into my arms.
She’d changed into tiny, soft shorts and a cami. A burst of honeysuckle scent rose from her hair. I nuzzled my nose into her curls and sighed, my hands roaming.
“Don’t make me sleep in the TV room. I’m lonely for you…” I wedged her shorts between her legs and cupped her ass. She trembled and held my hip with one hand.
If only we could talk, I could fix things. Hannah didn’t want my children. That was a problem. I could fix it. And she was pissed about
Last Light
. I could fix that, too.
“Hannah—”
“Go,” she said.
* * *
I woke to the sound of the condo door closing.
“Bird,” I mumbled. I tried to sit up and flopped over, stuck in my mummy bag. “Ah, for fuck’s sake.”
My shoulders ached. My back was stiff.
I wriggled out of the sleeping bag and prowled into the kitchen.
Somehow, Hannah had slipped off to work without waking me. She must have skipped breakfast. I frowned and contemplated the door.
Were we having a serious fight?
She’d upset me last night; I’d upset her. Then I’d barged into the bedroom for makeup sex (or conversation, at least) and she shut me down … again.
When did we last fuck, anyway?
I wrote a text—
I need sex
—and deleted it. Stupid. “Grow the fuck up,” I grumbled. Still, some fearful little voice piped up in my brain, warning me that marriage was more of this—a creeping siege, a war of attrition. Never before had Hannah locked me out of our bedroom. Now, with a ring on her finger, she’d ordered me out of our bed twice. And I’d rolled over like a well-trained dog. What next?
Tomorrow I could wake up and be that guy who only gets a blow job on his birthday.
I shuddered.
My morning coffee tasted bland. I skipped my run and searched the condo for a note from Hannah, but I found nothing. She’d re-hid the present and made our bed.
I retreated to the office and checked my e-mail.
My mood lifted when I saw a new e-mail from Hannah.
Subject: Camping in the TV room
Sender: Hannah Catalano
Date: Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Time: 6:50 AM
Sweet Matt,
I’m sorry I sent you out of the bedroom last night. I needed alone time … to think. Exhibitionism? I have so many questions. I want to know more. I’m not scared; I’m curious. Do you really have a journal?
I’m also sorry I flew off the handle about
Last Light
. You need to understand that you put me in a terrible position by sending the novel to Pam without warning me. (Yes, I would be amenable to a meeting with her.
I’ll set it up
.)
Chapter 3 is attached. I’d accuse you of hijacking my story, but it’s always been our story, hasn’t it? Let’s make it good. You’re It, Matt.
Love,
The Bossy Bird
P.S. Ready to start house-shopping when you are.
P.P.S. Snuck out of the bedroom to kiss you good night. You were sound asleep.
Attachments (2): UNTITLED.doc
TIGER.JPG
I opened the attached image.
It was a picture of me asleep on the floor of the TV room, my body halfway outside the sleeping bag. My bare arms and back sprawled over the area rug.
Tiger?
I replied to the e-mail before reading her chapter.
Subject: Roar
Sender: Matthew R. Sky, Jr.
Date: Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Time: 8:39 AM
Tiger, huh?
Happy July, baby. You mind if we reenact last year’s Fourth? Fond memories … and I don’t mean the fireworks.
Can’t wait to read your chapter. I’ve missed writing with you.
Matt
P.S. I’ll look into a realtor.
P.P.S. I need sex.
I typed out a third postscript:
Btw no kids isn’t a deal breaker but are you sure?
The cursor blinked steadily, ambivalently. I sneered.
Btw? Deal breaker?
Who the hell was I kidding?
The thought that Hannah didn’t want a family with me cut me to the bone.
I backspaced the last postscript and sent my reply, and then I opened Hannah’s Word document. Chapter 3. Where would she take this? I craved her impressions.
The chapter began with … Hannah’s lunch break?
She’d met a stranger that day … shared her table at the Mediterranean deli.
My jaw clenched.
Hannah described the stranger as
a pretty, petite woman with fawn brown hair … straight, fine hair to her shoulders … a small, fit body.
I didn’t need to read the rest, but I did, anyway. The woman claimed to have a friend who once dated me. She dropped an ominous hint.
Is he really into all that weird stuff?
I finished reading and let the feelings pass over me—anger, paranoia, shades of amusement and admiration. And other feelings. Darker feelings. How many secrets were Hannah and I keeping from each other?
I carried my cell to the balcony and smoked half a cigarette.
Then I dialed a number I knew by heart.
She answered with a breathless little gasp. “Matt!”
“Bethany,” I said.
HANNAH
My goal for the day: not to gnaw off all my nails while waiting to hear from Matt.
Also: Be sort of remotely productive at work.
It was one in the afternoon—Matt could have read my chapter ten times over—and still no word.
Shit
.
I’d set my alarm for five that morning, specifically to hammer out Chapter 3. Matt dropped a bomb in Chapter 2: exhibitionism, and the existence of some therapeutic journal in which he was writing all the stuff I didn’t know about him. So, I’d followed his lead and dropped a bomb of my own: Katie, the strange woman with confusing claims about Matt.
Claims that were starting to seem more plausible …
I scrubbed my face. Was he freaking out? Did he know Katie? Was he angry with me? And what about my Chapter 1 revelation, that I never wanted to do the pregnancy thing? Matt hadn’t responded to that. His e-mails were breezy and funny. Did he miss it?
I sent him a text.
Are you okay? I’m worried. What did you think of the chapter?
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.