Chapter 14: The Bedroom
The blanket was a soft, heavy weight. The silence was a living thing, humming with the echoes of what they’d just done. Dee listened to the steady thump of Matt’s heart beneath her ear, felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His fingers traced idle, soothing patterns on her bare shoulder.
“So,” he said after a long while, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Germany.”
She smiled against his skin. “Yeah.”
“The architect.”
“Very nice. Very symmetrical.”
He chuckled, the movement jostling her gently. “Fuck him.”
“I did. A few times.” She felt him tense, just a fraction, and she pressed a kiss to his pectoral. “It didn’t take. He wasn’t you.” I’m
His hand stilled on her shoulder, then resumed its tracing. “Good.”
They lapsed back into quiet. The city’s glow painted faint stripes of amber across the ceiling. The fire had died to embers. This was the aftermath, and it was more terrifying, in its way, than the first kiss. This was the blank page after the confession.
His hand slid from her shoulder, down her arm, coming to rest on the curve of her waist. His touch was no longer exploratory, but possessive. A silent reaffirmation. “I can’t believe I waited seven years to do that,” he murmured. “To feel you come apart like that. It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
“We waited,” she corrected softly.
He shifted then, rolling onto his side to face her. The sheet pooled around his hips. In the low light, his eyes were dark pools, his expression unbearably serious. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “It’s different now. Everything.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to fuck this up.” The admission was quiet, stripped bare.
“You won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know you,” she said. “I know you don’t do things by half measures. You either ignore them completely or you give them everything.” She met his gaze. “You’re not ignoring this.”
He swallowed. “No. I’m not.” He leaned in and kissed her, a slow, deep kiss that tasted like promise and a hint of desperation. When he pulled back, his eyes had changed. The vulnerability was still there, but underneath it now was a smoky, focused heat. “I need more,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I need all of it. Right now.”
The raw need in his words ignited her all over again. The pleasant, boneless ache between her legs sharpened into a fresh throb. “Then take it.”
He moved with a startling grace, sitting up and scooping her into his arms in one fluid motion. She gasped, her arms looping around his neck as he stood, carrying her from the sofa toward the lavish four-poster bed that dominated the suite. He laid her down in the center of the cool, dark silk sheets, following her down without breaking the contact of their mouths.
This kiss was devouring. It was all tongue and teeth and hungry noise. The careful patience from before was gone, burned away by the admission and the first shattering release. Now, it was about claiming. About proof.
He broke away, kneeling between her legs, his gaze raking over her body splayed across the silk. “Look at you,” he breathed. “Fucking look at you.” His hands slid up her thighs, pushing them wider apart, exposing her completely to the lamplight and his hungry stare. She was still slick, swollen from his earlier attention. He dragged a thumb through her folds, making her jolt. “Mine,” he said, the word a low growl. It wasn’t a question.
He leaned down, but not to kiss her mouth. He trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her sternum, over her stomach, his hands holding her hips firmly against the mattress. He licked a stripe through her curls, and she cried out, her back arching.
“Matt, please…”
“Please what?” His breath was a hot ghost against her most sensitive skin. “Use your words, Dee. Tell me what you want.”
“I want your mouth. I want your cock. I want everything, goddammit.”
A dark, satisfied smile touched his lips. Then he buried his face between her legs.
It wasn’t gentle. It was ravenous. He ate her out like a man starving, his tongue lashing her clit with a relentless, focused pressure before delving deep inside her. He used his lips, his teeth in careful nips, his whole face. The sounds were obscene—wet, sucking noises, her own ragged moans, his guttural groans of pleasure. He had one hand splayed on her lower belly, pinning her down, while the other gripped her thigh, holding her open. She couldn’t move. She could only take it, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, coiling tight and white-hot in her core.
“You taste so fucking good,” he snarled against her, his words vibrating through her. “Better than I ever dreamed. And I dreamed a lot.”
His confession, filthy and heartfelt, pushed her to the edge. Her hips jerked uncontrollably. “I’m gonna… Matt, I’m gonna…”
“Come,” he ordered, his tongue circling faster. “Come on my face. Do it.”
The command shattered her. She came with a broken scream, her body convulsing, her hands fisting in his hair, holding him right there as she rode out the violent pulses against his mouth. He didn’t let up, drinking her in, until the last tremor subsided and she collapsed, utterly spent, into the sheets.
He crawled up her body, his face glistening. He kissed her, letting her taste herself fully on his tongue. She could feel the hard, urgent length of him pressing against her thigh.
“Condom,” she panted. “Side pocket of my bag. By the door.”
He was off the bed in an instant, a flash of lean, muscular motion. She heard the rasp of a zipper. He returned, a small foil square in his hand. He tore it open with his teeth, his eyes locked on hers the entire time.
He sheathed himself, the movement quick and efficient. Then he was back, looming over her, bracing himself on his arms. The head of his cock nudged against her, slick with her arousal and his own. He paused, his face taut with strain.
“Look at me,” he said, echoing his words from before.
She did. Her eyes were glazed, her lips swollen.
“This is it,” he said, voice raw. “No going back after this.”
“There was no going back after the stoop,” she whispered.
He drove into her in one deep, relentless stroke.
The fullness was breathtaking. He was big, stretching her exquisitely, filling a void she’d carried for years. She gasped, a sharp, punched-out sound. He went still, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Okay?” he gritted out, a vein standing out on his forehead.
“More than okay.” She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. “Move. Please, move.”
He began to thrust, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from her lungs. Each stroke was deliberate, each withdrawal an agony, each return a relief. He was watching her face, studying every flicker of pleasure, every grimace of overwhelming sensation.
“Tell me,” he urged, his breath coming in harsh gusts. “Tell me what you feel.”
“I feel you,” she choked out, her nails scraping down his back. “All of you. So deep. God, Matt, just like that.”
He groaned, burying his face in her neck. His pace increased, the slow, deep rolls becoming harder, more urgent. The bed began to rock, the headboard tapping a gentle rhythm against the wall. The sound of their bodies meeting, skin slapping against slick skin, filled the room, a raw, primal music.
He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, he hit a spot that made her see stars. She cried out, a sharp, wordless sound.
“There?” he rasped. “Is that the spot, baby?”
“Yes! Right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop!”
He hammered into that exact place, over and over, his control fraying. His thrusts became ragged, possessive. The dirty talk spilled from him, low and fervent against her ear. “You take me so perfect. This perfect pussy was made for me. Seven years I could’ve been fucking you like this. Wasting time. Christ, Dee, I’m not gonna last.”
“Don’t last,” she begged, hurtling toward another climax. “Come with me. I’m close, so close…”
He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing firm, rapid circles. It was too much. The deep, relentless pounding inside her and the precise friction outside sent her flying. Her second orgasm ripped through her, a detonation that contorted her body, her internal muscles clamping down on him in rhythmic, milking pulses.
The feeling of her tightening around him broke him. With a raw, guttural shout that was her name, he slammed into her one last time and came, his body shuddering violently, his release pumping into the condom in hot bursts. He collapsed atop her, his weight a crushing, welcome anchor as they both spiraled down, gasping, slick with sweat.
Minutes passed, maybe hours. His softening cock slipped from her, and he rolled to the side, disposing of the condom in a daze before gathering her against him once more. They were a tangled, sticky mess of limbs. The room smelled of sex and sweat and them.
He nuzzled her hair. “So,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“So.”
“That was…”
“Yeah.”
He let out a long, slow breath. “I have a 5 a.m. call time for a fitting.”
She stiffened. The real world, with its schedules and commitments, seeped back into the room like a cold draft.
His arms tightened around her. “I’m not leaving. I’ll go at 4:30. But I’m not leaving this bed until I have to.” He kissed her temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”
And as her eyes grew heavy, listening to his breathing even out, she understood the true peril wasn’t in the wanting, or even in the having. It was in the keeping. It was in the blinding, ordinary morning that was now only a few hours away.