Three Months Later
SEPTEMBER WAS SLIDING INTO October. The chill in the air along with the gorgeous shades of orange and pink that painted the evening sky made that apparent. My fingers tapped along the steering wheel to the beat of the music as I fought my way through the crowded Manhattan streets. Yes, I was an official licensed driver.
I pulled my Mercedes up to the valet stand at Lorenzo’s and then scooped up my clutch along with Holliday’s gift from the passenger seat. After handing my keys to the valet, I hurried inside to escape the chill. I should have worn a coat, but earlier my grey sweater seemed weather appropriate.
“You’re late,” Matthew said, pushing off the wall with his thick shoulder. Fuck. He was even more handsome than I remembered.
“You’re here,” I replied, combing my fingers through my wind tousled hair.
Matthew covered my hand with his. “You look beautiful.”
His words, thoughtful and simple, hit me with impact. The months, the distance, none of that changed the way my body and my head reacted to seeing him again.
Matthew took my hand dragging me across the lobby and into dark hallway. “I’ve missed you.” His hips pinned me against the wall. “It’s been way too long.”
Matthew hands lifted to my face, and then he kissed me. It was all-consuming, months of want and need poured into the tangle of lips and tongues.
“I’ve missed you,” I breathed. “More than you know.”
Once again, my mouth found his, hot and wet, his tongue stroked against mine. His hands pushed beneath my sweater, inching their way to my breasts.
“You can retire your vibrator because I’m here now.” He kissed down my throat, and over the rise of my chest. “Or we can put both of your Texas longhorns to good use.”
“Matthew,” I breathed his name like a prayer or possibly moaned like a whore. It was hard to tell the difference.
The sound of voices and laughter filtered through the lobby. Breaking our connection, I gazed into Matthew’s heated eyes, and a tiny laugh escaped me seeing the frustration passing over his face.
He cocked a brow. “Oh, you think this is funny?”
I lifted a shoulder. “A little bit.”
“We’ll see how funny it is later when I’m teasing you. When I’m fucking you, and making you beg for my cock.”
“Perhaps, I’ll be the one making you beg, when I’m sucking your cock and you’re groaning for me to suck deeper.” Matthew eyed me, as his hands smoothed my sweater over my stomach.
“Fuck, do we have to go to this birthday bash?” Matthew asked, straightening his tie.
We stepped out of the hallway and into the lobby. I slicked my lips with a bright red color and then fluffed out my hair.
“Yes, we have to go to this party. Holliday is my best friend, and it’s nice to have something happy to celebrate. We’ve waited months, what are a few more hours?”
“Okay, and I really hope this isn’t your middle name—Derek.”
“Nope.” He shook his head. “Incorrect, again, and this game feels so wrong without tequila and Mexican food.”
“I’ve got you for a few more hours and I do not want to be drunk, but if food is what you need I can make you something. I could pop a pizza in the oven.”
Matthew’s fingertips traced lazy circles against my hip. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go to Montana. We can leave in a few hours.”
I wiggled from beneath him and tossed back the blanket. “It’s the middle of the night. We can’t just up and leave. I have a thousand things to do this week alone.”
He pulled me back, pinning me underneath him, trapping me with his legs on either side of my torso. “Look, you told me that you were on a six-week break from the show.” Matthew fisted his shaft, dragging himself over my nipples. “Tinley, you worked hard all summer, now take some time off and come stay with me in Montana.”
Matthew shifted, sliding his dick between my tits. “Is titty-fucking a thing again?” My nipples peaked as his arousal spread over my chest. Traitors.
“I’ll fuck any part of you that you will allow, especially your beautiful tits. They deserve to be worshiped.” He kept stroking, and then guided my hands to my breasts. The feel of him, the impossibly soft skin against my chest was more pleasurable than I’d remembered from previous experiences.
“I can’t just leave on a whim.”
“I can have a jet on the runway tomorrow morning,” he added, palming his cock.
“I don’t know, Matthew,” I sighed, placing my hand on his cock stroking in time with him. “It seems like an impossible request.”
“Just take one thing at a time,” he groaned. “I’ll help you get your house in order. I can toss out what food might expire while you’re gone. I can gather up the garbage. Hell, I’ll even clean if that’s what it takes.”
My eyes darted to his cock. “You make it sound so easy.” He was making a very strong case for me to leave and tempting me with this cock was a dirty trick. I wanted him to dirty me up, splash his cum all over me.
“It is that easy. I know you love making lists. So, make a list and we’ll cross things off together.”
He snapped back, and that’s when I felt the warmth of him spreading across my breasts sliding down my skin. After a moment, he jumped up and walked to the bathroom. He returned with a warm, wet cloth and cleaned up the mess he’d made.
He kissed my lips. “This is happening, beautiful. I need more than one night. You’ve got time off and at least if we’re in the same time zone, same house—I can share a meal with you that doesn’t involve Instagram filters.” He picked up his phone and started tapping at the screen.
“You’re not taking no for an answer?” I asked, drawing my knees to my chest.
“Nope, pack lingerie or better yet, nothing at all.”
“Tinley, wake up, babe, we’re here,” Matthew said, bringing me out of my drowsy sleep. The sound of gravel crunched under the tires of the SUV as he navigated the long driveway. I found myself staring up at an impossibly gorgeous house—a contemporary design with straight simple lines. When I thought of Montana and Big Sky country this modern aesthetic did not come to mind. The grand two-story home was tucked away on the side of a mountain with sweeping views of nature, a far different ethereal beauty than was my ocean front property.
Matthew parked the Range Rover and I climbed out. Sliding my sunglasses off my face, I stood there captivated by the windows and glass walls. It was in a word: breathtaking.
“What do you think?” Matthew asked, grabbing our luggage from the back.
“It’s beautiful. I’d love to see it in the winter with all the snow.” We trekked along a long wooden walkway that led us past a courtyard landscaped with beautiful pine trees to the front door.
“Well, you can,” he said, unlocking the door. “I bought this place in August—it’s all mine.”
“Wow, congratulations. Now, let me inside so that I can see the interior.”
“I’m letting you in, but I’ll give you the tour later, right now all I want to do is christen this place.”
I barely remembered the sound of the front door closing. Matthew had me stripped out of my clothes and riding his cock in front of a roaring fireplace surrounded by a wall of stone and glass. And then once more in the shower, and before I knew it, afternoon sunlight had given way to a dusk sky.
I stood admiring the mountain peaks dipped in faint yellows and oranges. While thinking that an entire three months had passed and nothing had changed between the two of us. Neither one of us had spent time with another person in an intimate capacity.
The sound of pots and pans clanging drew my attention from the postcard view to the kitchen. Everything was sleek and modern. Light filled the space spreading over concrete and natural woods. “What’s going on in here?” I asked, rounding the island.
Matthew smiled, pouring a can of tomato paste into a mixing bowl. “I hope you’re hungry because I’m making Queso Fresco Enchiladas.”
“Well, this is unexpected. Apparently, someone spent some time at the local market since we’ve been apart.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m quite the chef.” Matthew added four garlic cloves. “I never told you this story, but when I was in high school, one of the local diners needed help in the kitchen. I spent an entire summer slinging burgers and making six kinds of dishes with grilled snapper.”
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I mused, taking a seat across from him.
He pointed the chopping knife in my direction. “There was no arugula that I can remember when I was growing up. In college, my roommates begged me to make all the meals. I told them I’d do it if they bought the ingredients, came up with a menu, and they had to clean up.”
“Of course,” I said, resting my elbows on the counter. “That’s a smart the trade off—cleanup is the worst.”
“I ended up helping them plan some of the weekly meals. I made everything from pancakes to pork tacos. When they asked me to make spaghetti or mac and cheese from the box I was like, hell no. That’s just lazy.” Matthew walked into the pantry and returned with an onion. “That summer, I needed cash because I had been looking at buying this 1970’s Ford Mustang, candy apple red—such a sweet ride. I begged Mister Santos to let me put down a down payment so that I could use the summer, and fall if I needed, to scrape together the cash.”
I watched in complete fascination as he chopped and measured the ingredients. “The recipe calls for three chipotle peppers, but I’m going to add two so that it’s not too spicy.” He tossed a towel over his shoulder and opened the fridge. “I nearly forgot about that summer at the diner.”
“It’s such a good memory.”
“You want a beer or a glass of wine?”
“Wine is good, thank you. So, tell me, did you end up getting the car?”
“I did,” he answered, sliding the wine glass in front of me. “And three months later, I totaled the damn thing.”
I shook my head. “Oh no, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, this guy in a large pickup truck hit me from behind at fifty-eight miles per hour while I was stopped waiting to make a left turn.” He popped off the cap to his beer and then tossed it into the trash. “My car went sailing into a telephone pole.”
I gasped. “Were you injured?”
“Not a scratch.”
“Thank goodness.” I felt my heart stutter in my chest. It was an odd sensation. Matthew, he was standing in front of me—smiling, breathing, living— yet a strange pang of pain washed over me.
He tossed back a drink and then went back to the task of prepping the meal. “What job did you have in high school?”
I took a long drink before answering Matthew. “Hmm . . . Soap Opera Actress.”
Matthew laughed. “Touché. I assume that you quit acting to attend college?”
Shit. This was an opportunity to share. Was I ready to open up about this part of my life? Was I ready to share the details of that horrible time?
“First, I need to blend all these ingredients together, but I want this story.”
The answer came quickly, and without surprise—yes.