by Carr, K
“Madi, baby,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t—forgive me, but I have to—” He was holding himself rigidly on top me, fighting not to lose control. I wanted to see him lose control. I wanted to see that air of aloofness he wore fall away into nothing. I wanted this.
“Please, Matt,” I whispered, letting my hands glide up his back to tangle in his wet hair.
He groaned, began to move inside me, gentle thrusts of his hips that soon became more forceful. We were kissing each other, frantically kissing as he began to move with wild abandon and I writhed beneath him. His thrusts became more erratic, until he groaned deeply and shuddered violently as his flesh filled every bit of me. I felt his spasms inside me. The pulsating jerk of his climax as a burst of liquid heat flooded me, wave after wave. Matt trembled on top of me, his elbows looked like they were going to give way, and he turned over quickly so I lay atop him. He stroked my back, slow up and down motions that brushed over my ass ever so often.
“Oh, poppet,” he breathed, raising his head. “Did I hurt you badly?”
I shook my head, resting my chin on his chest. “Not much.”
“Liar,” he contradicted with a contrite expression. “Next time it will be easier.”
I pressed a kiss on his impressive chest, then another and another. “I think I might be too sore for that anytime soon.”
A rueful chuckle fell from his lips and he hugged me in the warmth of his arms. “I’ll run us a hot bath in a moment. Let’s stay like this for a while.”
I laid my head on his chest, listening to the dull beating of his heart. It was comforting, the constant sound putting me at ease. We must have lain there for fifteen minutes before he moved.
“How do you feel?” he queried, running a finger down my nose.
I thought about it for a second. “Um, not like a virgin anymore.”
Matt chuckled, raising us up into a sitting position. He slipped out of me. The remnants of his climax slowly trickling out my body.
“I’ll go start the bath.” He kissed me, jumped off the bed and walked into the ensuite. Soon after the sound of running water came through the open door. I looked at the bed and almost passed out from embarrassment. There it was, that splotch of blood, the evidence of my virginal state now gone. The cherry had been popped. The maiden deflowered. The…oh, shit, the cum seeping out of me was pooling on the bed. I jumped off the mattress, wincing a bit, then began pulling at the damp sheets.
“What are you doing?”
A tiny shriek left my mouth as I spun around like a thief caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “The sheets are wet.”
“Let me help.” He sauntered over, at ease with his nudity.
“It’s okay.” I declined his offer of assistance, trying to bundle the sheets up as fast as possible. “I’m almost done.”
The stupid pillows were hampering me, and it seemed the edge of the sheet was caught on the far end of the bed. It was a huge bed.
Matt ran a hand over my butt as he passed. “I’ll get the other end.”
“No.” My voice was sharper than I had intended, and he flashed me a frown. “Really, Matt, it’s okay.”
“What’s wrong, poppet?”
I sighed and let the sheets fall from my hands. “That. That’s what’s wrong.”
Matt glanced to where I pointed, the tiniest of smiles quivered over his lips.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. It was expected,” he consoled when seeing the embarrassment on my face. “In fact, there is reference in the Bible and other religious cultures to grooms checking the marital sheets to ensure their new brides had been pure—”
“Deuteronomy,” I mumbled. Aunt Cleo was real big on knowing the Good Word.
Matt raised his eyebrows in surprise as I began gathering up the sheets. “Unjust double standards if you ask me. Move your ass, baby, lemme check no other man has been dipping in my pool even though I was boinking the lady two villages over and no one knows. What? No blood? Oh, we’re gonna stone you. Never mind it wasn’t the best indicator of a woman’s purity.”
Matt was grinning at me. He came back over and tugged the sheets from my hands. “You are the cutest little thing, and I’m going to save these sheets. Maybe hang them above the bed, perhaps with a golden frame—”
“Shut up. You wouldn’t dare.”
“—have a dinner party and use it as a tablecloth,”
“Matt.”
He laughed and gathered up the sheets, tossing them aside in the corner. “The maid will sort it when she comes on Monday.”
“Um, can’t you put them in the wash now?” The thought of someone seeing these sheets was embarrassing. Matt looked shocked at the suggestion. So shocked I had to say, “You don’t know how to work a washing machine, do you?”
“I am perfectly capable of figuring out the workings of a washing machine, young lady.” He slipped a hand around my waist. “And, frankly, quite insulted over your inference I can’t.”
My hands traced a pattern over his chest. “You don’t know how, I can tell. You’ve probably never used a dishwasher, either.”
Matt gripped me tighter. “Let’s go soak in the tub.” He led me into the ensuite and we kissed like horny teenagers while waiting for the bathtub to fill.
“Mmm.” I sighed in relief when we finally immersed ourselves in the warm water. “This is nice.”
“Yes, it is,” he murmured. Matt’s hands were stroking me under the bubbles, smoothing over my skin lightly in some parts before his touch became insistent and a hardness started growing behind me. “I want you again, poppet.”
“I can tell.” I felt boneless. My body relaxed against his as the water rippled with our movements.
“Are you very sore?” he asked, making no effort to hide the concern in his voice.
“A bit. Hey, why do you call me poppet? Is it in reference to a toy puppet with strings, Matt?”
He was kissing behind my ears. “It’s a term of endearment.”
I wriggled a bit and he nibbled my earlobe, hands holding my hips as he arched his lower body against my ass. I turned over, causing water to slosh over the tub and splash on the tiled floor.
Matt obviously liked me straddling him in his tub. The look on his face said it all.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, cupping my breasts and lowering his head to lick the trickle of water off my nipples. “So bloody perfect.”
<><><>
She was sleeping, sprawled on his bed and making that sound he now quite enjoyed hearing. Matt closed the door with his heel, balancing the tray of breakfast with both hands as he quietly walked over to a table by the windows. He had found the two chairs that went with it in the pantry downstairs. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His dark beauty. His sweet, sensual dark beauty. Last night had been exquisite. His guilt over hurting her disappeared after their lovemaking in the tub. She was so eager, so trusting, so undeniably addictive that he had lost count of how many orgasms they’d both shared. Through it all they had talked, giggling like children under the fresh sheets, touching with a familiarity you would expect from old lovers, not a virgin and a man whore…that had startled Matt. The ease he felt with her, it was so damn easy to talk to her. Lying on her toned stomach looking up into those brown eyes of hers, Matt had felt at peace; everything before felt contrived, hollow, as if he’d been walking through life shrouded in fog. He had told her things about himself very few people knew, and it had felt right. That was the most perplexing part. Why was he so damn comfortable around this beautiful woman he’d spent less than two combined days with?
It was her, the way she looked at him as if everything he said mattered. He was used to people following his orders without question, used to women staring at him in awe as they made designs on how to insinuate themselves further into his life. Everyone wanted something from him. But she looked at him with honest curiosity shining from her eyes, not greed. They were nothing like her. His past lovers suddenly seemed insipid in comparison.
Going about their luxury-filled lives concerned only with satisfying their needs. Madison DuMont was so glaringly different from the women he dated, it shamed him. How could he have been interested in such shallow women?
She was only twenty-six, yet had such conviction in her dreams it filled him with pride. She had talked about her desire for dance to be open to everyone, regardless of race or money. Matt frowned slightly, not wanting to dwell on the issue of race. It made him uncomfortable focusing on the obvious inequalities of society.
His eyes roamed at their leisure over her nudity. So smooth and soft. So bloody hot. He should wake her to eat, but he wanted to watch her sleep for a few minutes more. Another frown graced his face as he remembered his feelings of deception when she had spoken of her family, skirting over her parents’ deaths with a brave smile as she regaled him with stories from her childhood so different from his.
That file was locked away in his desk in the study. He felt the need to destroy it, to hide his dishonesty of acting as if he didn’t already know her background. Damn Nathan. He pushed aside his irritation. If Nathan hadn’t brought the file, Matt wouldn’t have been compelled to see her again. He had to make sure she never found out about it. Yes, he would destroy it as soon as he had the chance.
He made his way over to the bed, sitting next to her and running his fingers over her toned stomach. He couldn’t resist trailing his fingers lower. The memory of being inside her moist tightness sent a tremor through his limbs. Heaven. It was heaven losing himself in her body, feeling her spasm around him as he pushed them into ecstasy could only be described as a heavenly act. Matt stroked her gently, eyes slipping closed in secret delight while his tongue traced his lips slowly. The taste of her…God, he was enthralled with this woman and, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how it had happened so fast.
“Stop fingering me, you old pervert,” she murmured in a sleep-laced voice. Matt snatched his hand away, guilt covering his face as she opened her eyes and squinted at him.
“Good morning, poppet.” He injected as much formality he could in his greeting, never mind the slight dampness on his fingertips that he desperately wanted to taste…
<><><>
I smiled shyly at Matt, pulling the sheet over my body. “Is it?”
“Mmm hmm.” He was smiling back at me. It looked like a smug smile, a sort of cat-got-the-cream smile. I blushed furiously.
“It’s eleven thirty, and I’ve made you breakfast.”
“Really?” I scooted into a sitting position. “Is there bacon?”
Matt’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “Your hair is a mess.”
My hand flew up, trying to rearrange my curls into a less unattractive do. It was hopeless. That shower yesterday had soaked it, with no conditioner, not even a blow dryer, to smooth it back into sleekness. The effects of my Brazilian blow dry were gone. My wild curls were back with a vengeance.
“And have you forgotten what I said?” I teased. “You do not question a black woman about her hair.”
Matt leaned over to kiss me. If it was supposed to be a quick good morning kiss, he had failed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him with unrestrained abandon.
“It’s a lovely mess,” he finally said after we’d stopped smooching. “Now get out of bed and have breakfast with me.”
“Matt, you really are bossy, and why can’t we eat in bed?”
He ignored my chastisement and started tugging me out of his bed. “Because it’s not the right thing to do. You eat at a table, that’s one of its main purposes, not lounging in bed getting food all over the sheets.”
Snob. I jerked my hand free and snuggled back under the sheets. “Well, I’m too tired and too sore to traipse all the way over there.”
Matt’s gaze swung from the bed to the table and chairs over by the large windows. “All the—it’s less than ten feet. Come on, out.”
I resisted, he insisted, and we ended up rolling around in the bed laughing at our childishness.
“Fine.” He finally relented after I’d wrapped my arms around the headboard and refused to budge. “On this occasion I’ll allow it.”
I smiled sweetly at him and blew a kiss. Oh my God. Matt and I had sex. Lots of sex. We had talked until four in the morning, holding hands, making out; and had sex. I snuck little glances at him as he went to bring the tray. He was sexy in those silk bottoms, bare-chested and looking like a Viking god. I smirked as he sent me a mock frown and placed the tray carefully on the bed. He removed the lid and took the delicate tea pot and two matching cups over to the bedside table. I crawled over to the feast. Mmm.
“What’s that?” The crispy bacon between my fingers gestured to the little pill on the tray.
“Morning after pill,” Matt explained, as he sat down and picked up a fork and knife to dive into his sausage. He was onto his second bite when he noticed my open-mouthed stare of horror. Was I the stupidest woman on the planet? How could I have been so careless? Letting him come inside me over and over again.
“Don’t worry, poppet. Take the pill and you’ll be fine. I’m perfectly healthy, by the way. Absolutely no sexual diseases.”
Oh Christ. I was the stupidest woman in the whole solar system. With shaking hands, I dropped the bacon and snatched up the pill, popping it into my mouth and forcefully swallowing without liquids.
“Calm down.” Matt’s cutlery clattered on his plate as he hurried to pour me tea. “You’ll choke. Here drink this.”
I gulped the tea, grimaced over its lack of milk and sugar, then regarded Matt with confusion. “Did you go to the pharmacy? Do they give these tablets to men? That’s most disturbing.”
“Heavens, no,” he said, amused at the suggestion.
“Where did you get it from?” I asked, even more alarmed. Did he have a stockpile of morning after pills hidden in one of his bathrooms? He was a womanizer. The Internet had implied so. An image of Matt politely handing out these pills to his partners after a night of debauchery popped into my mind. I was one of them?
Matt was looking at me strangely, trying to decipher what was going on in my head.
“Why are you shrieking, poppet? I had my secretary bring it over earlier on. Stop worrying and eat your breakfast.”
I ate my breakfast but didn’t stop worrying. I had sex with a gazillionaire. A white man who said he wasn’t a racist, but weren’t all white people raised with those tendencies? Believing themselves superior to all others. Knowing that they didn’t have to struggle to be seen and heard, to be valued for who they were and not the colour of their skin. Did Matt acknowledge his white privilege? Was he aware of it?
His chewing had slowed down and he was scrutinizing me with an intensity that made it uncomfortable to have my thoughts without fearing my face was giving me away.
“Do you not like the eggs, poppet? You’ve been poking at them for the past five minutes.”
“They’re fine,” I mumbled. What was this? What was I doing here? I had been so caught up in the volatility of our interaction, the important issue of ‘where was this heading’ had been pushed aside. Where could this end? Absolutely nowhere. What the fuck was I doing?
“What are you thinking about?” Matt drawled, reaching over to take the fork out of my hand. He took the tray, placing it on the floor, then turned around to face me.
“Nothing much.” I clutched the sheet to my breasts a bit tighter. Our clothes were lying in a wet pile in the shower. My boots were probably filled with water.
“I find that highly unlikely, poppet. Your beautiful face is full of tension. Come here and tell me what’s bothering you.” He held his arms out. Being in his arms wasn’t a good idea right now. It was obvious my ability to think clearly went out the window where Matthew Bradley was concerned. And he was arrogant, issuing commands instead of requests. I doubted he was aware he was doing it.
Matt folded his arms and waited expectantly, well-defined eyebrows arched slightly. His silky hair was in disarray this morni
ng. It was a good look for him. Oh, no. I had caught the fever. I had swirled and this was all going to end in tears.
“Matt, I—”
“I want you to stay over this weekend.” he said firmly, smiling to take the authoritarian edge off his words.
“I can’t, Matt. In fact, there’ll probably be a bunch of messages on my cell—”
“Spend the weekend with me, poppet.” His voice had dropped to a husky whisper and he was sliding closer to me. Close enough to slip a hand under my curls and grip my nape, which he immediately began to rub. Close enough to brush his lips across my cheek, moving to my ear and murmuring, “We’ll stay in bed and make love every hour on the hour. I’ll cook you dinner and let you eat it right here.” His moist tongue traced my inner ear and a shiver of desire darted from my head to my toes. “We’ll talk like we did last night and maybe watch telly. Stay with me.”
I turned my head, offering my lips, which he claimed with sensual eagerness. Then he made me forget about everything else. Everything but the way he touched me as if I was made of the finest crystal that should only be handled with the utmost care. I stayed
until later that night, when he drove me home dressed in one of his shirts with an additional bag full of wet clothes and boots. I was right. He didn’t know how to work a washing machine. We exchanged numbers and, in his words, ‘snogged like randy teenagers’ in his car before I waved goodbye and locked my front door.
Matthew Bradley was an enigma. I hoped he called me, ’cos I sure as hell wasn’t going to ring him first…
SIX
I WAS LATE. It took two trips from the car to get the shopping inside. In a mad flurry, I started cooking like a black version of Delia Smith on speed. I raced around the house, tidying up as best as possible given the time constraints, then ran upstairs to have a quick shower and put on the slinky blue, backless dress I’d bought last week. Things were hectic at the dance studio. We were working on a new production: The Ice Queen and Princess. Dante’s and my dance interpretation of Snow White. It was supposed to be ready in time for Christmas. We were now mid-August and still working out the kinks.