“The house-hunting is wearing us down. I’m not myself. Neither are you. And I know we’re both growing out of this place.” She rubbed my back. “So, I booked us a room at Four Seasons for tomorrow and Sunday. I thought we could—”
“Four Seasons?” I tensed. “Why there?”
“Because.” She kissed my cheek. “I want to make some good memories there. Memories with you. We’ll pack overnight bags, eat out, see a movie, whatever you want. Say yes…”
“Well…” I turned over the idea and found nothing wrong with it. We
were
worn down. Maybe a night out would help. “Yeah, all right.”
“Awesome. I’m gonna pack.” She hugged me and scampered out of the kitchen.
* * *
On Saturday, Hannah insisted we take a cab to the hotel.
“I don’t want you to have to do anything,” she said. “Not even drive.”
I shrugged and called a cab. I liked driving, but she sounded adamant, and something told me tonight was personally important to Hannah. She’d talked about making “good memories” at Four Seasons. In other words, she wanted to replace the bad memories of Seth.
I was more than happy to oblige.
Hell, I would fuck her so thoroughly that she forgot my damn brother existed. It might be cathartic for both of us.
We checked in at four.
In the elevator, Hannah fiddled with her purse and fluffed her hair. She was quiet—wouldn’t look at me. I smirked and brushed her cheek. Mm, so she wanted it like that? Shy little bird … I’d hold her down, make her watch.
She wore a short, tight dress with a galaxy print, the lovelock necklace I gave her last year, and combat boots. She looked young and playful. Tempting. I squeezed her ass in the hallway and she jumped.
“I’m looking forward to you,” I said quietly.
She stared at the carpet and my heart rate rose. God, she did everything right.
Her hands shook as she slid in the key card. I pressed against her, heedless of anyone else in the hall. Let them see us. Let them know we were about to fuck like animals.
We stumbled into the room.
The door dropped shut.
I breezed past her, tabling my lust for a moment.
She’d booked us a one-bedroom suite with a sweeping view of the city. A cream-colored sofa, chairs, and glass tables filled the adjoining living room. I flicked on a light in the bathroom: full marble with a deep tub.
Hannah hovered.
“It’s perfect.” I tucked a curl behind her ear. “Hungry?”
“Not … really. You?”
“No. I’ll get you a drink. Calm your nerves a little.” I nuzzled her neck. “But not too much. I like you this way.”
I ordered up a bottle of Moscato and poured her a glass. We sat in the living room and I watched her drink, and I wondered what she was wearing under that tight little dress.
Hannah drained her glass with a rapid gulp.
“Look”—she grabbed her handbag—“I did something. I…”
With trembling hands, she pulled several folded papers from her purse and thrust them at me. Frowning, I smoothed the pages on the table.
DATE … July 26, 2014 … PARTIES …
Of course I would recognize a document such as this.
I had many on file, though they were obsolete now.
“Nondisclosure agreement,” I muttered. I noted Shapiro’s letterhead. I flipped through the pages and then returned to the top sheet. “Who the hell is Rachel Mox?”
“A … a stripper. There are two NDAs there. Don’t get angry.” Hannah poured herself another glass of wine and guzzled from it.
“A stripper? Baby…” I half-smiled, my head tilted. “What did you have in mind?”
“Not what you think. Not, like, a threesome or anything. Um, more like”—she withdrew my black notebook from her bag and opened to the first entry—“this.”
HANNAH
Matt stared at his own handwriting with a mixture of shock and bewilderment.
EXHIBITIONISM
Even upside down, the heading was legible. As for the entry itself, I knew most of it by heart:
I want to fuck her with an audience. I want to see her embarrassment. I want to make our most private act a spectacle.
I took another gulp from my wineglass. My arm shook.
“You called Shapiro?” Matt paled. “For these?”
“Y-yes. But look.” I separated the NDAs, one signed by Rachel Mox, the other signed by Nicole Williams. “None of the initial language was specific to—”
“So you didn’t tell him anything about this?” He pointed at the journal.
“No. Not even a hint, I swear. I called him and said that I was planning a surprise for you, and could he draw up two NDAs preventing the participating parties from spoiling the surprise. That’s it. I kind of said it was like … a big wedding gift.” I cringed.
Matt almost smiled—a twitch of his lips—and then his expression darkened.
“Okay. Ah, I need…” He stood and began to pace between the table and the flat-screen, gesturing. “I need more, Hannah. Give me more.”
If not for my massive anxiety and Matt’s almost about to be rage, I would have admired him. Serious Matt was a thing to behold. His every motion was measured and tense; his gaze sharpened fearfully, as if he could see into the soul of a problem … and tear it out.
“I’ve thought a lot about this,” I stammered, “and I w-wanted to do it. For you. But also for me. I got thinking about how, and where and when, and…” I poured out the story of Mission Exhibition, which had grown from an idle curiosity into a full-fledged plan.
My voice wavered at first, but as I continued talking, it evened and strengthened. I explained how I had visited Dynamite after work—not once, but three times—and observed the girls. I singled out a woman who seemed to relish the work, asked to speak with her privately, and asked for her discretion.
“You trusted her to be discreet?” Matt butted in. “Even that conversation could have been damning. People recognize you, and they know we—”
I held up a finger.
Shush
.
“I had her sign an NDA before we spoke in detail.”
He narrowed his eyes, but he looked impressed. “Go on…”
“Well, it was kind of a leap of faith. I asked if she or anyone she knew was into, uh, alternative lifestyles … or entertainments. I told her about our experience in the back room at Dynamite. She picked up on my meaning quickly.”
He snatched the NDAs off the table and scrutinized them.
“Is this why we’re here? Do I want to know how much money was involved?”
“It’s only why we’re here if you want it to be.” I paused. “Four hundred each. I let her set the price. Shapiro sent the paperwork as PDFs and I added in some specific clauses.”
“And Nicole is…” He sounded exasperated and incredulous. “Is who?”
“A friend of Rachel. She’s a swinger, not a dancer. I don’t know them well, but they took the paperwork seriously and they understand what we want.”
“Which is?” The NDAs fluttered onto the table. Matt drew close to me, his legs touching my knees. Denim against skin. I shivered and gazed up at him.
“Nothing but a silent audience,” I said.
“Finish your wine.”
I blinked and drained the glass. He touched my cheek.
“Where are they now?”
“I got them a room for the night. They understand we might not call. I’ve paid them for their time regardless.”
“You trust these people?”
I nodded.
“Nicole is a paralegal. She told me so and I double-checked online. She’s into this lifestyle; she appreciates the need for privacy. Plus she has something to lose. Rachel … I trust her to understand that she can’t afford the type of lawsuit we would bring if she breached our contract.”
Matt smirked, one golden eyebrow arched.
“How cutthroat, little bird. And so cunning.”
“I’ve learned some things from you and your family.”
His eyes widened, his smirk fell—then he laughed.
“Fair enough. You thought of everything, did you?”
I lifted my chin, a little shock of pride racing through me.
“Yes,” I said. “I did.”
His hand fell, his fingertips leaving cool trails down my cheek. I must have been blushing from my hair to my toes, but I felt calm. The sort of calmness at the center of a storm.
He walked toward the door and stopped.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the carpet.
I was past wondering if I really wanted to try this, or what it meant about me that I was willing to try. Matt had shared his fantasies with me freely. After the night I gave him the whip, his journal lived on our bedside table. It was no longer a secret or an object of shame, but an open invitation to his mind.
I reread it when I was alone. I let it excite me. I let the strangeness and wildness of his desires sink into me; and his self-criticism, I treasured that, too.
What’s wrong with me? I’m ashamed of myself. Confused by myself.
Oh, Matt …
I ached to hold him when I read those words. He was the freest man I knew, but something—maybe regard for me—constrained him.
Tonight, I didn’t need to rethink my decision.
I’d thought about it and planned it for weeks.
I studied his back, my head light with wine, until he turned and said, “Call them.”
* * *
So much for my eye of the storm.
As soon as I heard a knock on the door, my Zen turned to panic.
Was I out of my mind?
“Stay put,” Matt said.
I did, gladly. My limited store of courage had gone into sharing Mission Exhibition with Matt and risking his wrath. This was his rodeo now. I sank into the corner of the couch.
He greeted Rachel and Nicole at the door.
They smelled of floral perfume and looked … surprisingly classy, given the occasion. Nicole wore white linen shorts and a beaded sweater. She’d straightened her thick, black hair. Bronzing powder gleamed on her chocolate skin. Rachel, whom I’d seen previously in stilettoes, a thong, and gold-star pasties, wore a simple black dress and carried a clutch.
“Come,” Matt said. He led them into the bedroom, where he’d arranged two chairs near the foot of the bed. From the living room, I heard his low, calm voice, and their voices. I couldn’t make out what was said, but everyone sounded pleasant, as if we were getting together for tea.
God help me …
You can leave!
The thought obtruded sharply. Yes, I could leave. I could dart out the door while Matt and the women were in the bedroom. He would understand … wouldn’t he?
He strolled into the living room and I sucked in a breath.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Sweet thing.” He took my hand and I stood, fighting the urge to fall against him. If I showed my anxiety, he might call off everything, and I’d worked so hard to accomplish this … for both of us. He pulled me close and stroked my face and hair. “You all right?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?” He chuckled. “Because I think you’re nervous, which would be appropriate.”
“Maybe … a little. Aren’t you?”
He cocked his head and shrugged, as if normal criteria didn’t apply to him.
Fuck,
he was cute. I laughed and leaned against his chest, drawing comfort from him.
“I want this,” he said. “You know how much I want it. I can’t believe you … arranged it, that you’re even willing to try. Am I dreaming?”
“You’re not dreaming.” I kissed his throat.
“Be just like this. Like we’re alone. Ignore them. I’ll take care of you.” He led me into the bedroom. Rachel and Nicole gazed placidly at us, their legs folded, wineglasses in their hands. I was instantly aware of them.
Ignore them.
How?
Matt knew how, apparently. He dimmed the bedside lamp—the only light—to a soft amber glow. I had interfaced so boldly with Rachel and Nicole in the past few weeks, but now I could barely lift my eyes. They became indistinct shapes on the edge of the room.
He tugged me into his arms and kissed me. As if we were alone, his hands went straight for my ass, squeezing and pulling.
My short, elastic dress rode up.
Cool air hit the skin of my bottom, which peeked out. Matt turned us so that my back faced our audience.
Oh God
…
they could see …
The first small tongues of desire licked at me.
He broke the kiss and panted in my ear. His fingers gathered my dress higher, up over my ass. Nothing covered me but the strip of a thong.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
I gasped. I knew they could see and were looking, and that Matt’s growing hardness owed to that knowledge. He parted my cheeks, lifted my ass, slapped it. In front of them. I buried my face against his chest, burning with arousal and embarrassment.
Again, he turned us, leading our dance.
His back to them, my body hidden behind his tall frame.
“Go on.” His husky voice hit my ear. “Do it to me. Show them.”
I froze, my wine-soaked mind churning.
Huh?
I peered up at Matt. He moved my hands to his fly and nodded.
Oh.
A wave of heat rolled over me as I understood.
I held his gaze as I undid his jeans and shimmied them off his hips.
“Boxers, too,” he said calmly.
I licked my lips.
My God.
This moment. It had everything to do with us, and nothing to do with the onlookers. What Matt must have felt when he bared my bottom to them, I felt as I pushed down his boxers. My nails grazed his exposed ass. Pride, not jealousy, lanced through me. He was mine to touch. Mine to undress.
His breath came faster. I squeezed his ass and he groaned.
“You see?” he gasped. He pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it. I knelt, dragging his boxers and jeans down his thighs, my hands devouring him. He kicked away the garments.
Fuck
. Matt said he would take care of me, and he was. He shielded my body with his. He let me reveal him completely.
When I stood, he turned to face our silent audience. I hugged him from behind, my cheek pressed against his back. He inclined his head toward me. Smiled.
“Show them all the little things you do … that drive me mad.”