Yeah, right. Who in their right mind would get tired of this?
Fucking. Best. Sex. Ever.
Apparently, she needs a little reminder so I reach out to her, grinning devilishly.
“No!” she yells in frustration, and my hands drop. “No. I need you to leave.”
You’d never know it because I keep my cocky smile on my face, but inside, I start to smolder with fury. She’s fucking ruining what I’ve so carefully built back up this week. I thought she was on board with where we went. I thought she understood my need for a “reset”. She certainly hasn’t complained.
I stare at her for a moment, still keeping that arrogant look on my face, when what I really want to do is yell at her in frustration. Her eyes are dismally sad when she just stares back at me, not backing down.
I’m not backing down either. When I decided to “reset”, I did so because it was what was best for me. It was done to protect me. I don’t have room to look out for both of us.
Pushing my cock back in my pants, I zip myself up while smirking at her. I don’t feel like smirking but I do it anyway, so she knows she doesn’t have a chance for anything more. “You’ll never be able to give this up, Mac. Not for long anyway.”
I don’t look for her reaction, because I know that what I just said probably killed any bit of feelings she had for me. While I pretty much assured myself it would be her reaction when I said those words, I don’t want to see the utter disappointment and pain on her face.
Because damn it… even though I don’t want to, I do still care.
But ultimately… not enough.
Chapter 20
I have got to be the biggest dumbass in the history of the world. The reasons may be too numerous to list, causing a novel the size of which would rival War and Peace.
I’ll just hit the highlights.
Aside from the obvious, that I should have never fucked Mac after I learned her real identity, I would have to say my first screw up was in bringing her flowers. It was a silly and lighthearted gesture on my part that apparently holds a ton of meaning to a woman. While, granted, Mac didn’t simper or make a big deal of the flowers—it was still a mistake. It was a mistake because Mac didn’t simper or make a big deal. That, therefore, gave me a false sense of security with her. I underestimated her girlie side, because she wasn’t blatant about it.
So I figured… I brought her flowers with no major reaction, what could possibly be such a big deal then about flying to Nashville to hold her while her mother died?
Yes, even I know how ludicrous that sounds, but my own ego is so battered right now that I’m through trying to rationalize my actions. It’s just easier to admit I’m a dumbass and try to move on.
Except I can’t move on.
I fucking miss Mac so bad that I’m having trouble sleeping.
Having trouble concentrating.
Not having a hard time jerking off, but that’s only because I have a stockpile of amazingly sexy memories with Mac I can call upon for aid.
But I’m tired of masturbating to the memory of a former lover. How could that ever be satisfying when I’ve had the real Mac?
Probably the biggest reason I’m a dumbass is because I failed to talk to Mac that night at her apartment. Instead, I let that monster-size ego take over, convinced I could fuck Mac into submission. Convinced if I gave her the motherload of all orgasms, that she would forget about her silly ideas of wanting a relationship.
If I had just sat down and listened to her, I would not be sitting here in my office right now, kicking myself in the ass. No, I would have had a reasonable and intelligent conversation with Mac about the fact that I just don’t want anything deeper than what we have. She is a reasonable and intelligent woman. She would have listened and respected my position, just as I respect her position to want more.
I don’t like it, but I respect it.
Big difference.
But no, the biggest screw up was in eating her out versus talking to her. And if I were really a man… one that could meet my problems head on, I could have just been fucking honest with her and said, “Mac… I’ve been hurt badly in the past, and I have these barriers up to protect myself. I just can’t let them down.”
But no… again… Biggest. Dumbass. History. World.
This week has been fucking miserable… staying away from Mac. It’s not just the sex, although that is a large part of it. You remember when I told you things like Hottest. Woman. Ever and Best. Sex. Ever.
Was not kidding about that shit.
But fuck, I miss her wit, her humor, her kindness. I miss the green of her eyes and the softness of her skin.
I miss pouring myself into her and whispering her name like she’s a deity to be worshipped.
None of that matters though, because I am a man. I am stubborn and when I draw my line in the sand, I stick by it.
So I’ve stayed away from Mac this week. I told myself that every day that goes by that I don’t have her, it will be a little easier. I’ll stop missing her so much. I’ll stop worrying about blue balls and only ever having an orgasm by jacking off. Every day I go without her, I’ll appreciate other things in life more, and eventually… I’ll get back on that horse again. Eventually, I’ll have an urge to use One Night Only again.
Eventually.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding. Every day that goes by the longing and desire for her gets worse. It’s like thirst… you never get used to that wretched pain. It becomes more consuming as every minute ticks by.
So I’m in pain and I haven’t seen her all week because she’s staying far, far away from me. It’s to the point now that I have to make up a stupid excuse just to spend some time with her.
I’m not proud, but I am devious.
Standing up from my desk, I grab a file and walk down to Mac’s office. She’s sitting in her chair, leaning back with those sexy, black heels propped on her desk, reading what looks to be some legal research. It makes the black skirt she’s wearing ride just a little higher than her knee, but it’s the most I’ve seen of Mac in several days, so I’ll take it.
When she sees me, she jolts upright in surprise, pulling her feet off her desk. “What are you doing here?”
I give her a lazy smile. “I work here. Actually, I own the place.”
She blushes and then gives me a small smile back, which I’m grateful for. I wasn’t sure if she’d throw the stapler at my head when I walked in.
Stepping in a few steps, I hand the file to her. She takes it, curiosity written all over her face. “What’s this?”
“It’s a case I need you to argue the Motion to Compel,” I tell her simply.
“Okay,” she says a little hesitantly, because this will be her first court appearance. “Not a problem. When is it?”
I glance down at my watch. “In about half an hour.”
I wait for her to erupt. To throw the file at me and call me a douche bag. To tell me to go fuck myself. Any of those reactions would be appropriate. It’s sort of what I’m hoping for, because a heated conversation will probably get us talking about the real elephant in the room. Besides, I’m hoping there will be an opportunity where Mac will be raging at me so hard, I’ll be able to kiss her to shut her up.
None of that happens, though. She just narrows her eyes at me and grits out. “Half an hour?”
Shrugging my shoulders like it’s not a big deal, I say, “Yup. But you shouldn’t worry about it. It’s a slam-dunk motion. No way can you lose it, because the law and the facts are in your favor.”
“Then why is it even being argued?” she asks with confusion.
She should be confused, because I have no idea why either, other than the fact opposing counsel is a lazy son of a bitch and doesn’t like to work.
“The supporting civil procedure rule is in the file, along with appropriate case law. Read it and you’ll be ready.”
She opens the file and starts perusing the contents, so I take a moment just to watch her. The way her
hair is tied up in a loose bun on her head, her delicate ears that I know are extremely sensitive, the way she’s tapping her foot nervously on the floor right now.
She looks up at me with an apprehensive look on her face and before she can even say anything… voice a single fear, I rush in to save her. “Mac… you don’t have to worry. It’s a piece of cake, and I’ll be by your side.”
Blinking hard at me, she closes the file and sets it on her desk. “You’re coming with me?”
“Yes. I’ll be there in case you get in any trouble.”
“Then why don’t you just argue it yourself?” she asks… innocently I might add.
Oh, Mac, Mac, Mac. Don’t you see… don’t you get that this five minutes that I’ve been standing here talking to you have been the best five minutes of my week?
Of course you don’t, because I would never tell you that. It smacks of vulnerability and that is not a word that is ever used in conjunction with Matt Connover.
I don’t answer Mac directly. Instead, I just say, “Be ready to leave in half an hour.”
After I leave her office, I head into the kitchen, have a leisurely cup of coffee, and mull over how to expand on this very fragile, but open door of communication I have with Mac right now. It will have to be subtle… gently reel her in so to speak. If I can get her to let go of her anger and unreasonable expectations, I’m sure we can find a way to go back to the way we were. We could forget about the bond that was built in Nashville and be mutually satisfied with a physical relationship.
I continue to think about my conundrum and when the half hour is up, I walk down to Mac’s office to get her. Our office is only four blocks from the courthouse so while we walk over there, I tell Mac to give me her argument.
She’s nervous, and we’re walking on a busy sidewalk, so she starts a little shaky. But by the time we make it to the courthouse doors, I know she understands the facts of the case plus the law that applies. As long as she doesn’t freeze and just stare blankly at the judge, she’ll win this motion.
We sit in the second row of the courtroom gallery, listening as the clerk calls the docket. Then we wait throughout the boring process of listening to everyone else argue their motions until ours is reached. I think about using the opportunity to fantasize about me putting my hand on Mac’s knee and pushing my way up her leg.
Right under her skirt until I could finger the wet silk of her panties.
Okay… need to stop right now. That will give me a raging hard-on that I don’t wish to share with the rest of the courtroom.
Finally, our case is called and I walk up to counsel table with Mac. When we sit down, she takes the file and opens it, straightening the papers inside in a nervous gesture. I notice that her hands are shaking.
Leaning over, I whisper in her ear with quiet confidence. “You got this, Mac. Piece of cake.”
She turns and looks at me with those beautiful, fern-green eyes, which are anxious. I stare at her hard, so she knows the truth of my words. I watch as the fear lessens and confidence builds up. I nod at her and give her a smile before turning away.
When Judge Stanback says, “Miss Dawson… are you ready to proceed for the plaintiff?” Mac only flinches slightly before standing and saying in a clear voice, “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then you may proceed,” the judge says as he leans back in his chair to listen to her.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mac says while placing her hands on the edge of the table. “This is a Motion to Compel brought by the plaintiff because of the defendant’s failure to produce discovery items we had requested on…”
I tune Mac out. I could tell in the first three words that she had this. Instead, I watch the judge to see what his reaction is to her. He hears hundreds of motions to compel every year. They are boring, fact driven, and he would have every right to tune her out as well. Instead, I find Judge Stanback to be interested in what Mac is saying as evidenced by the way he has pulled his glasses off his face and chews thoughtfully on one of the arms.
My gaze slides over to Mac’s opponent. He’s a lawyer that’s been around the block a time or two, and I’m surprised we’re here arguing this. It’s a simple matter of turning over documents to us—medical records to be exact—that we’re entitled to. This guy hasn’t proven to be lazy in the past, so I do wonder if perhaps there is something damaging in there he’s hiding.
At any rate, he has a bored look on his face because he knows he’s going to lose this motion. Instead, I note with growing anger that he has his eyes pinned to Mac’s breasts while she argues.
Fuckwad.
I turn my gaze away because otherwise, I’m just going to go apeshit in my head since there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Mac finally concludes her argument, “Your Honor, the facts are clear, as well as the case law. Therefore, we ask that you find in favor of the plaintiff and grant our Motion to Compel.”
Mac sits down beside me, and I can practically feel the adrenaline mixed with giddiness pulsing off her. I remember feeling like that myself after my first court appearance. I turn and give her a smile, mouthing the words, “Great job.”
She returns my smile.
God, I miss that smile.
***
Mac and I parted ways in the courthouse, as I had to see another judge in chambers about another case. By the time I got done with that, made it back to the office, and returned a few calls, I realized it was almost time to go home.
I log off my computer and head out, deciding to take a turn by Mac’s office. I have no agenda, no clue what to say, but at the very least, maybe I can get another smile.
Her door is closed but I can see her light is on, so I give a light rap before opening. Mac looks up at me, her eyes at first curious as to her visitor and then once she realizes it’s me, I see a bit of wistfulness there.
Desire.
Hope.
I can’t do anything about the hope, but I think I can address the desire.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she says, but I’m already walking in and closing the door behind me.
I walk right up to her and as I get nearer, her eyes go round with surprise. Reaching down, I skim my fingers along the side of her neck, curling them around her neck. With just a small bit of pressure, I pull her upward and she stands from the chair.
My entire body goes tight with anticipation, lust, and adrenaline. My senses are overwhelmed by her nearness, her scent, the way her breath just hitched. I can’t fucking help myself when I bend my head and nuzzle her neck, lightly skimming my lips over her soft skin, causing her to sigh.
“I’m coming home with you tonight, Mac.” I feel raw and edgy… my voice heavy with aching need.
Mac’s breath comes out in a rush and her body seems to fall into mine until her breasts are mashed up against me. I go hard as a rock… just like that.
I need my mouth on hers so I pull away from her neck, but that gives Mac an opportunity to bring her hands up and she pushes against my chest. She keeps pushing until I am forced to step away from her.
“No,” she says with conviction, even though her voice is shaky. “You’re not.”
My body is not ready to process her rejection. My cock wants inside of her so bad that I start to envision pushing her to the floor and burying my face between her legs, just like I did last time we were together, so she would have to acknowledge that we still very much want each other.
But the look on her face stops me. It tells me, Not gonna happen.
Anger rises up inside of me at being denied, not just because my body is craving her, but because it fucking hurts to get rejected. “I don’t get it. You want me, and I want you. Why are you being this way?”
“I do want you,” she says softly. “I want you a lot. But I want more than just sex. I need more than just sex.”
I just blink at her, hearing what she’s saying… but not really. I’m not comprehending at all. I don’t want to comprehend, but I f
ind myself asking, “What more do you need?”
“I want a relationship. Dating, conversation, shared secrets. I want it all, Matt. I deserve it all.”
A myriad of emotions rage through me. My common sense immediately denies her request, and my walls stay firmly in place. Part of me though… part of me says, Go for it. Try it.
That part, however, is quickly drowned out with a thousand voices of reason telling me that I’m destined for hurt. That my life has been pretty fucking fantastic the last few years by subsisting on nothing but one-night stands. It’s not a bad life to go back to.
Shaking my head slowly, I say, “I don’t have that to give.”
“Yeah, you do,” she says tenderly, her eyes seeming to look deep into my soul, like she sees something there that I don’t even know exists. “You showed me you do in Nashville. You have a lot to give.”
She reaches a hand out toward me and, for a split second, I think about taking it. Then I’m backing away, locking the walls in place. I make a last-ditch effort to make sure that there’s not some other factor that I may be overlooking… that may be causing her to be stubborn about this. Again, I can’t understand why she’s turning her nose up at something that is so amazing between us.
But then, a thought strikes me. “Are you seeing someone?”
Before she can answer, an even more awful thought strikes me. “Fuck… please don’t tell me you’re dating Cal.”
“No,” she says in exasperation. “I’m not dating Cal. We’re just friends.”
Friends, my ass.
Heard that story before. Turned out his type of friendship involved putting his cock in my wife. “Please… that man just wants in your pants, and he’ll get there, too.”
“He doesn’t want in my pants,” she shouts at me. “You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”
Trust?
She dared to throw out the word “trust” to me? The man who is the poster child for having his trust abused?
My lip curls upward in derision. “See, that’s just it. I don’t trust you.”
Mac actually takes a step back as if I had slapped her, but I don’t feel guilty in the slightest. My lack of trust in her is nothing but the God’s honest truth. Why should she expect more?
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