Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy #1)

Night Owl (The Night Owl Trilogy #1) Page 33

At last, we stumbled out of the shower. I gripped the edge of the sink and gazed over my shoulder at Matt. Wet curls were plastered to my neck.

I hoped I looked half as good as Matt, who looked like a sea god come to shore. Water coursed down his hard body. His golden treasure trail glistened. Was I under the influence of Valerie's décor?

Matt held my hip and positioned his head against my slit. He started to tremble.

"It's okay," I whispered. "Please, I need it..."

He entered me with slowly deepening strokes. I bit my lip to suppress a groan. If I let go, everyone in the house would hear me.

Frantically, I wiped a patch of fog from the mirror.

Matt stared at our reflection as he bucked into me. His body couldn't disguise its need. His thrusts grew brutal and his eyes burned as he watched.

"Oh... Matt," I gasped, bracing myself against the counter. "God, don't hold back."

Matt was unusually quiet. No dirty talk tumbled from his lips—not even a moan.

He was transfixed by our reflection. I saw him watching my breasts, their heavy fullness bouncing as he slammed into me. Color flamed my cheeks. I remembered the first time, when he yanked up my top and fondled me in plain view of my house. Where was that man?

He looked down at our bodies.

"Tell me," I panted. "What do you see?"

Matt opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Disappointment crashed through me.

He usually needs some time to snap out of it.

I knew I wanted too much too soon, but I was addicted to Matt's dirty mouth. I was addicted to the way he humiliated me in bed.

Spurred by my rising crescendo of pleasure, I rocked back into his thrusts. I found my voice and started to babble.

"Your cock," I stammered. "I feel it, Matt... deep between my legs."

"Hannah..."

My name was a whisper on his lips.

"Tell me, please, talk to me—"

"Mm... my dick," he gasped. I moaned in need and encouragement. "Fuck—take it. I'm watching you take it. Ah, fuck, I'm watching your tight little pussy—"

I let go of my dignity; the rush of passion tore it away.

"Give it to me, Matt, fuck me, come in me—"

"Fuck, Hannah!"

Matt's hands snaked around me. His strong fingers found my clit and rubbed it, tickling the nerves, making my body explode.

We came together and collapsed against the sink.

Afterward, Matt was inert again. I wrapped a towel around him and ruffled his hair with another. I had hoped that sex would knock his head clear all at once, which was ridiculous. Nate was right—Matt needed time. And I could be patient.

I kissed his mouth. He kissed me back halfheartedly.

"Tired," he murmured, shuffling out of the bathroom. I watched after him in dismay. He did look tired, and with good reason. His body had been through a punishing ordeal. Fuck, maybe I shouldn't have coerced him into sex. What was wrong with me? I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. Hannah, grow a brain!

I grabbed an orange and a bottle of water from the fridge and hurried to the bedroom. Matt lay belly down on the quilt. He was wearing a pair of black boxers and the manatee I had given him was nestled into his side.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"I brought you an orange."

Silence.

I set the fruit on the bedside table. His pill bottles were there.

"Have you taken these? I think—" I fiddled with a bottle. "—I think you're supposed to take this twice a day."

Matt held out a hand.

"Um, yeah, okay, so—" So don't fuck up Matt's meds. Oh god. Which was which? Tapering dose... highest dose. After some fumbling, I set a 25 mg capsule in Matt's palm. He washed it down with the bottled water.

"Sorry," he said after a space.

I patted my body dry and climbed naked onto the bed. I stretched out beside him, hugging him and fitting my curves to his skin.

"No apologies," I said.

"It makes me sleepy. Can we talk?"

"Of course we can talk."

"I messed up. With you."

"No apologies," I repeated. "I'm not sorry I met you."

"I tried to stay away. At first, I tried."

"You couldn't have." My chest tightened reflexively at the thought of a life without Matt. I gathered a breath. Time to sound like an idiot. "Can I tell you something?"

"Mm."

"Matt, I—I don't think I could have stayed away from you. Not in this lifetime." I traced my fingertips over his back. "I love you. You know I love you."

"Why?"

It helped that Matt's eyes were fixed on the wall. Those penetrating green eyes... I couldn't have said these things to them.

"I think I've always loved you," I whispered. "I felt something since we met, since we first started writing together. It was like I had loved you without knowing you, and the love was in me, waiting to happen. So you can't apologize, Matt. It's you I love. There's no why about it."

Matt rolled to face me. He met my gaze—finally—with obvious difficulty. We watched one another.

"You and Nate..."

"He's been a perfect gentleman," I said.

"Yeah?" Matt searched my expression drowsily.

God, was he actually worried about this? I sighed and cupped his cheek.

"Matt... I don't want a perfect gentleman."

"What do you want?"

"You."

For the first time in months, I watched Matt's gorgeous face light up with real laughter. It was soft, enervated laughter, but it was laughter. I wanted to cry.

"Not a gentleman," he chuckled, his eyes slipping closed.

"Definitely not a gentleman," I murmured.

CHAPTER 29

Matt

HANNAH AND I had an unspoken understanding.

I would live with her in Denver.

"Here it is," she said, smiling at an unassuming corner building.

I paid our cabby and wedged Laurence's cage off the seat. I dragged our suitcases onto the sidewalk.

The condo complex was small and frankly hideous. Flimsy balconies jutted from brown brick. Inside, we had to lug our bags to the second floor.

"I haven't... had much time," Hannah said as she let us in.

What had Hannah been doing for three months? Her condo was a shell. I set Laurence's cage on the floor of the family room. Family room? Living room? With one lamp and a "table" that consisted of plywood and cinder blocks, it was hard to tell.

I wandered through the empty rooms. There was no kitchen table. I found two plates in a cupboard. Another smaller room was entirely empty.

Only Hannah's bedroom showed signs of life: books, a mattress on the floor, a calendar on the wall. I cleared my throat. She was hovering in the doorway, watching me.

"It's..." I scanned the space for a single redeeming quality. "Ah, got nice high ceilings."

Hannah burst into laughter. She hugged me tight and I lifted her off her feet.

"You're here, Hannah," I said into her hair. "This is the only place I want to be."

It was true; I couldn't stomach the thought of my sprawling, modern, lonely apartment. I didn't even want my furniture and appliances. I wanted to start fresh with Hannah.

"I've been stalling on the décor," she admitted. "But now I'll make it really great. I'll cook, too. Fatten you up." She poked my ribs and I smirked.

"Fatten yourself up while you're at it."

"Oh, right." She toed the floor. "Kind of lost my appetite... in the craziness."

"Mm. You cut your hair, too." I fluffed the layered curls at the back of her head. They were heavy with product. Hannah blinked up at me. "I like it, bird. I like it a lot."

She exhaled in relief.

I roamed through the condo some more, feeling like a ghost. I couldn't get hold of my moods. The highs were sharp; the lows were deep. Was it the Librium? I felt totally dislocated. Hannah trailed after me, perhaps feeling equally lost.

"What?" I murmured. She was staring at me again. I knew for a fact I didn't look stare-worthy. My wardrobe, at the very least, needed to be fetched posthaste. I was wearing an old pair of jeans and a blue thermal turtleneck.

"It's just... it's surreal. I mean, M. Pierce is walking through my living room."

"Matt Sky," I corrected her, "your fucked up asshole of a boyfriend."

My words were not intended to make Hannah beam, but I think all she heard was boyfriend. She launched herself into my arms again and I kissed her hard. My heart protested with a fluttering rhythm. God, I was weak. I'd nearly collapsed after the sex in Nate's basement. How humiliating.

"Baby, I—"

Hannah had one leg hooked around my ass and was rocking into my groin.

"Yeah?"

"I... I think I know exactly what this place needs," I said, easing her back.

"What?"

I ran my fingers over the drywall, which was pale and smeared with stains.

"A little color," I said, smiling down at her.

A little color turned out to be an understatement.

Over the next week, when I wasn't sleeping off my meds, Hannah and I painted the condo. I let her choose everything—and buy nothing. She was crazy about bright colors.

We painted the main room turquoise, the kitchen yellow, the bedroom blue, the bathroom pink, and the "office library writing room," as we dubbed it, lettuce green.

Hannah tried damn hard to stop me from buying everything. I countered by threatening to buy anything she looked at, literally.

In an antique shop, I caught her laughing at a clown lamp.

"Really?" I said, raising a brow. "Kind of the stuff of nightmares, but since you won't tell me what you do want..."

"Matt!" She peeled after me as I stalked toward checkout with the lamp. She yanked at my arm. "Okay, okay! Not that, this!"

We covered the scratched hardwood with bright area rugs. We hung Restoration Hardware lamps in every room—Vintage Birdcage chandeliers, the Foucault Iron Orb—and busied surfaces with knickknacks, accent lamps, and candles.

Oh yeah, we got surfaces.

I let Hannah choose a kitchen island from Williams-Sonoma and a handsome circular table and chairs from Ethan Allen... along with a turquoise Quincy bed frame, teal end tables, a claw-foot tub, arch mirrors from West Elm, a deep-buttoned velvet sofa from Couch, and what felt like one of everything from Anthropologie.

Anthropologie seemed to be Hannah's favorite store. We bought dozens of their hand-painted plates, the Rivulets quilt and shams, a vintage dresser, lace curtains, patterned pillows, animal-shaped wall hooks, and new knobs for everything (including Laurence's hutch).

By the time we were done, the condo looked like a gypsy caravan collided with a psychic's tent. Nothing matched. I mean nothing. No two knobs were the same, no two pillows or bookshelves or picture frames.

And Hannah loved it. And I loved seeing her happy.

We wrote THE NEST in letter-shaped coat hooks by the front door.

We laughed a lot while we decorated. We goofed off a lot. I think I was almost happy, except when Hannah had to go to work.

I followed her around as she showered and dressed.

"My sweet shadow," she said, kissing me slowly before slipping out the door.