15. Wyatt
15
WYATT
We make it home after midnight, my skin feeling too tight for my body.
He didn’t take his hands off me the entire night. And in retaliation, I didn’t take mine off him.
We were always touching, stroking, staring into each other’s eyes.
Right before we left, I realized how easy it was to do all of this with him. How natural it felt.
It made me sit opposite him in the limo on the way home, pouting. When we get home, I say nothing as I move to the bedroom, ripping my tie off and throwing it on the ground.
“You’re angry,” Matthias says, following me into the bedroom.
“I’m not,” I lie as I pull my shirt off and toss it aside. Who cares where it lands? I just want to get in the shower and wash the scent of him from me. To erase the feel of him under my hands.
How right that felt.
“You are,” he says slowly, his dark brows furrowed. “What did I do wrong?”
What did he do wrong? He fucking agreed to marry me.
But honestly, I’m angry at myself. At tonight. How easy it felt to slip back into old habits. Not that we ever touched like that before, but still…
The friendship was easy.
And he betrayed me. I need to remember that.
The fact that he’s a man isn’t what I’m struggling with.
It’s that the man is Matthias.
I ignore him as I enter the bathroom. I twist my wrist and the water falls from the showerhead, pelting the ground. I yank at my pants and realize that Matthias is leaning against the doorjamb, watching me.
I grit my teeth. “Can I have some privacy?”
“No,” he says. “Not until you tell me what I did wrong.”
Letting him watch me is preferable to having this conversation. The one where I admit how much his betrayal still stings. No, not even his betrayal. His abandonment of me. For years, he’d been my only friend, my anchor in the storm.
And he cut me off. Set me adrift in the sea without ever checking to see if I swam or drowned.
I narrow my eyes at him, dropping my pants and realizing it leaves me in only my boxer briefs.
His eyes track down my chest, and I see him wet his lips.
Those same lips I kissed earlier. Just that once, but still.
I kissed him.
Without another thought, I push my underwear off and kick them to the side, turning around and walking into the shower without a backward glance. If he wants to look, he can. He can fucking look all he wants. But he can’t touch me anymore.
Not tonight. Not while we’re in the privacy of our own home.
Not our home. His home.
I grab the shampoo and scrub it into my scalp, closing my eyes and rinsing it, all while feeling his eyes on me.
He won’t look away. This is all a game to him. He’s waiting for me to break. To demand that he leave. A silent dare.
He should know me better than that. I never lose.
My fingers curl around the bar of soap and I brush it along my chest and arms, turning to peer over my shoulder to see if I’m right. And I am. He’s there, watching me intently, the front of his pants tight as he takes me in.
I should be appalled, disgusted, but more than anything, I feel that competitive nature roar inside of me.
I’ll give him something to look at.
I turn all the way around, realizing that I’m not as cut as I used to be, but from how his knuckles whiten on the door frame, he doesn’t appear to mind. He seems to like what he sees.
My hand drags the bar of soap across my chest and down my abdomen, swirling it around my belly button before dropping it to my cock. I grab on to it, stroking my dick under the spray of water and soap, letting him stare at what I’m doing.
And I get hard easier than I thought I would.
Perhaps it was all the tension of the evening, of being kissed for the first time in over a year. Or maybe it’s knowing that Matthias can’t look away. That I’m winning.
Maybe it all is just fucking with my mind.
My hand tightens and I let myself moan.
Matthias is standing up straight now, the top button of his shirt undone, his hand pressing against the front of his slacks as he watches me with hooded eyes.
“You want this,” I whisper, knowing he can’t hear me, but egging him on all the same. He can’t have me. He knows this. We may be married, but this, right here, is just for show.
I continue to stroke myself, dragging my other hand up to my lips and pushing two fingers inside, taunting him.
He shifts on his feet, his lips parting as he drags in a breath.
I can make out the way his chest is heaving, the way his forearm bunches as he strokes himself over his pants.
Matthias Buckingham.
The master manipulator. Only he’s the one being manipulated now.
I stroke harder, faster, sucking on my fingers and making myself moan louder. With a final twist of my wrist, I feel my balls draw up and my release shoot from me. I shudder, making the most obscene noises as I work my cum from my dick. I’m left panting, my fingers slipping from my mouth, my dick hanging limp in my hand.
Matthias is still, a statue on the other side of the room. His hands are back on the door frame, like he’s physically restraining himself.
I meet his gaze and he lets go. His hands tremble as he grabs on to his hair, moving out of the bathroom to finally give me some peace. And when he does, when he finally disappears, I feel myself sag.
All the excitement, all the adrenaline, it vanishes along with Matthias. In its place, I’m left with questions.
What the hell did I do?
Why did I like having Matthias’s eyes on me while I got off?
And why do I want to do it again?
* * *
I take my time in the shower. I use every minute to pull myself back together. To try and remind myself of why I hate Matthias.
He’s the reason you got arrested.
He almost cost you your scholarship to Yale.
He didn’t speak to you for years.
He took over your firm.
He was given the promotion meant for you.
He did fuck all to stop you from being fired.
He insisted you marry him, despite knowing you hate him.
I square my shoulders, reminding myself of all of this. Matthias is not my friend. He hasn’t been for a very long time. We aren’t children anymore. The Matt and Wy who could read each other’s minds don’t exist.
He doesn’t have my best interests at heart. This is all part of an act.
I’m a means to an end for him. Nothing more. What happened tonight doesn’t change anything.
Then why can’t you stop thinking about how he tasted? How he pressed on the front of his pants while watching you get off?
I twist the handle of the shower and let the ice-cold water blast me. I force myself to stand there until I’m shivering, until I can’t think about anything other than stepping out from the spray and getting warm.
Brain finally quiet, that’s what I do. I go through my nighttime routine, dragging out each individual step as long as possible. Teeth. Water flosser. Moisturizer. Hopefully, if I take long enough, Matthias will be asleep when I finally head back to the bedroom. I even rub some of his fancy body cream all over my body, anything to stretch out the time a little longer.
I regret it almost instantly. His scent surrounds me now.
I smell like his.
I’m tempted to get back into the shower and scrub myself clean again. But that’d be weird. Matthias would hear it and wonder why.
Maybe he’ll think you’re jerking off again. Perhaps come in for another viewing party.
That thought is enough to have me tucking the towel firmly around my waist and heading for the door. The last thing I need is to play any more games with Matthias tonight.
It’s fucking with my head more than I’d like to admit.
Matthias seems to be of the same mind. He’s not asleep, but he’s not jerking off either. No, he’s propped up on a pillow, his brow furrowed as his eyes race over the book in his hands. My lips twitch as I notice the glasses perched on the end of his nose. I didn’t know he wore those. He didn’t when we were younger.
He doesn’t look up as I go to my suitcase. The one I hadn’t emptied yet. It’d been missed by whoever put away the rest of my stuff, which is good considering it held all my underwear. I’ve been living out of it, clinging to the reminder that this was temporary. Flipping open the lid, I frown. “Where’s the stuff from this case?”
“In the drawers,” Matthias sounds distracted, turning another page. “And in the closet.”
I whirl to face him. “Why?”
“You’re going to be here for a year. You may as well be comfortable here.”
There’s too much logic in that for me to argue with. “You didn’t need to do it for me.”
He finally looks up from his book. His eyes sweep over me before settling on my face. “Well, you weren’t doing it.”
“I was getting to it.”
“It’s been a week, Wy.”
“Stop calling me that,” I grumble, striding over to the drawers. I open the top one to find my underwear all arranged on one side, neatly folded in small little squares.
On the other, is Matthias’s.
I flush, ducking my head so Matthias can’t see. Why the fuck am I finding it so weird? I’m sharing a bed with the man for god’s sake. Sharing drawer space is nothing.
But it is. Somehow, it’s more intimate. I don’t know why, but it is.
I debate grabbing pajama pants or shorts instead, but dismiss it. I may not want to play any more games with him, but I’m not backing down entirely. At least I’m not naked.
This time.
With a flick of my wrist, I mess up his side of the drawer, feeling bad the minute I do it. But the damage is done. He’s messed up my life, I can mess up his neatly folded clothes.
I drop my towel, refusing to let myself look back to see if Matthias is watching. Pulling the briefs on with jerky movements, I throw my towel in the hamper and grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge Matthias keeps under the desk.
Well, isn’t this domestic?
I’m too drained to let that spiral take hold. Tonight was…a lot. All I want to do is get into bed and go to sleep.
“I cleared half my closet for you too in case yours wasn’t big enough,” Matthias says as I slide under the sheet beside him. “But your stuff barely takes up half a rack.”
I wait for the flare of anger, but it’s barely more than a spark. I’m too exhausted for anything more. “Not like I need a load of suits these days.”
“You will when you return to the office.”
I punch the pillow, trying to get it into a more comfy position. Oh, he wants me to return now, hm? After he stole my job away from me? “I told you already, that’s not happening. Everyone knows I was fired, Matthias. Walking back in as your husband? Think about what they’ll say. Whose cock I sucked to get the position.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d remember you sucking my cock.”
I groan, slapping a hand against my forehead, something not unlike lust pulsing through me. “I didn’t mean literally.”
He smirks, the book going on the bedside table. “I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you wanna do.”
“That’ll be the day hell freezes over.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure.” Matthias clicks off the lamp and shuffles down under the sheet. Rolling onto his side, I know his eyes have found me in the darkness. “You seemed to enjoy yourself earlier.”
“I was just relieving some tension. You’re the one who couldn’t look away.”
His chuckle rumbles over my skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. “That’s not what I was talking about, but I’ll admit I enjoyed the show.”
My head twists on the pillow to find him watching me with a satisfied smirk. “What are you talking about then?”
His hand lifts, hovering over my forehead like he’s about to push a lock of hair out of my eyes. Time seems to pause as I wait for his touch. But it falls away.
A strange feeling runs through me. It’s one I’m familiar with. The feeling itself isn’t what’s turning my mind upside down, but the context.
I’m disappointed.
What the fuck?
Before I can process that, Matthias speaks. “I’m talking about the way you kissed me. Your hands in my hair. Your leg between my thighs.”
I grit my teeth, turning to stare at the ceiling instead of him. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Oh, believe me, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.” My brow furrows, what does he mean by that? “But I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
Neither was I. Like hell am I admitting that to him though. “It was an act. Just like you asked.”
“An act, huh?” His breath is hot on my ear and I’m fighting to stay still, to not turn my head to face his challenge head-on. “Then why were you the one who had to get off the second we got home?”
“That had nothing to do with it. I was teaching you a lesson.”
“You taught me something, all right. I’ve spent years wondering what you look like when you come. Now I don’t need to imagine it. I’ve got the memory to look back on as often as I want.”
I’m so tense that you could bounce a quarter off any part of my body and it’d hit the ceiling. “You repulse me.”
He hums before rolling onto his back. “I’d believe that if I was the only one hard on that dance floor. But we both know that wasn’t the case.”
With that, he falls silent. Moments later, his breathing falls into the slow pattern of deep sleep.
I scowl into the darkness. People who fall asleep that easily must be psychopaths. It’s the only explanation. Matthias does it every night, so it all adds up.
As exhausted as I am, I know it won’t be that simple for me.
Especially not with everything that happened tonight. With everything Matthias has just thrown at me.
“I’m talking about the way you kissed me.”
“Why were you the one who had to get off the second we got home?”
“I wasn’t the only one hard on that dance floor.”
He’s holding up a mirror, forcing me to face things I want to ignore.
Things I don’t want to admit.
I wasn’t hard. I was just…it was natural. And I was winning. I won.
That falls flat as I think about meeting Matthias’s brothers. The strange family dynamics I don’t fully understand. The hints of how he’s talked about me in the past.
But most of all, there’s one phrase that keeps replaying. One that I know is going to keep me up for hours. One I can’t escape, even if I want to. It proves that I’m right, that Matthias is attracted to me.
But I’m fucking terrified it means more than that.
“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
* * *
I must fall asleep because I’m having a super weird dream about me trying to run in a bowl full of pudding, but my tongue is too large and my feet are webbed. I can’t move, can’t swim. Can’t cry out for help. I’m forced to eat that pudding to escape.
And in the distance, I hear it. Someone moaning.
But that sound isn’t in my dream.
It’s coming from beside me.
Sitting up slowly, I blink until my vision focuses. When it does, alarm fires through me. “Matthias?”
He’s thrashing in the sheets, beads of sweat rolling down his face, his chest. Even in the darkness, I can see how pale he is. His breathing is too fast. His lips are open as moans turn to whimpers.
“Please,” he begs. “Please, I promise. Don’t.”
My blood turns to ice. Who is he speaking to? What the fuck is going on?
“Matthias,” I lean over him. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”
A choked sob falls from him as he covers his eyes with his forearm. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Please don’t do this.”
This dream is definitely not about eating pudding. The fear in his voice brings something out in me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time, not toward Matthias anyway.
Protectiveness.
I shake his shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Wake up.”
Nothing. He just moans again, tears leaking from his closed eyelids. “Please. I’ll do whatever you ask. Not him. Hurt me instead.”
My chest constricts until I can’t breathe. Is he dreaming about his dad? About standing between him and his siblings?
Enough. He needs to be free of this hell. My feelings toward Matthias are more complicated than the Geneva Convention, but I can’t stomach seeing him suffer a second longer. Not like this.
Shoving the sheet away, I straddle his waist. With my weight atop him, he stops thrashing. Cupping his face in my hands, I bring my face to his. “It’s okay. It’s not real. You’re safe. I’m not going to let any fucker hurt you. Wake up, Matt.”
His eyelids flicker.
“Come on, Matt,” I continue, urging him to wake. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
He blinks, confusion shrouding his gaze.
Then everything happens so fast that I can’t quite process it.
His hand shoves under his pillow.
I’m flipped on my back.
A dagger is pressed to my throat.
Matthias’s lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes shadowed.
I can’t do anything more than blink up at him. Why the fuck does Matthias sleep with a dagger under his pillow? And why is his instinct to put it to someone’s throat?
I swallow, feeling the blade scratch at my skin. “Matt, it’s me. Wy. You’re safe.”
With shaking fingers, I wrap them around his wrist. The one holding the blade that could end my life at any moment. I don’t pull it away. He won’t hurt me. Not like this. That truth exists in me with as much certainty as my own name.
He squints, his voice hoarse. “Wy?”
“It’s me,” I breathe. My thumb strokes the inside of his wrist reassuringly. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”
“ Fuck. ” His weight lifts off me as the dagger falls to the floor with a clatter. Bright light fills the room and then Matthias is towering over me again, his eyes wide. “Oh my god. Did I hurt you?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer, his fingers tilting my head back and skimming down my neck.
“I’m fine,” I rasp, lifting my chin higher so he can see. “Completely fine.”
His hands are shaking as he removes them. They immediately go into his hair as he staggers backward. “I could’ve hurt you. Fuck. Fuck. ”
“It’s okay,” I lift onto my knees. I can’t help but reassure him. I don’t like this version of Matthias. The one who’s trembling and haunted. I want the old him back. The one who’s too cocky for his own good. Who takes what he wants and doesn’t give a fuck about anyone. “You were having a nightmare. This is my fault. I shouldn’t have sat on you like that. It startled you.”
“I could’ve hurt you,” he repeats in a whisper, staring down at the blade.
“But you didn’t.” I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist again. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I know that.”
A furrow appears on his brow as he looks down at where I’m touching him. “You called me Matt.”
I hide my flinch. I hadn’t even noticed. It’s such a common shortening of his name, just as Wy is for mine. But he told me once that I was the only one allowed to call him that.
Just as he was the only one who could call me Wy. That hadn’t changed after everything that went down between us. Even Jen got corrected the few times she dared to shorten it.
Suddenly, I’m all too aware I’m holding his wrist. That I can feel his pulse racing under my fingers. Is that a leftover remnant of his nightmare? Or is it because I’m touching him?
I’m no longer sure what I want the answer to be.
A muscle jumps in Matthias’s jaw as he stares at the floor. “I’m really sorry, Wy. I could’ve hurt you.”
“No,” I disagree softly. “I don’t think you can. Not physically anyway.”
His gaze shoots up to mine and, for once, I don’t hide anything from him. I let him see how much he hurt me. The betrayal I still feel. The fury at his abandonment of our friendship.
Suddenly, it’s all too much. I lie down, pulling the sheet up to my chin. “If you’re that worried about hurting whoever is in bed with you, maybe you shouldn’t sleep with a weapon under your pillow.”
He bends slowly to pick it up from the floor, turning it over in his hands with an inscrutable look. “It’s not been a problem before.”
My stomach turns in a knot as his meaning sinks in. “You think I’m going to attack you in your sleep? Thanks a fucking lot. I know your opinion of me is low, but I didn’t realize it’d hit the bottom of the barrel.”
“No, I meant I’ve never slept in the same bed as someone before. Before you, if someone was in my room, the dagger was likely needed.”
My mind empties out at the thought of what Matthias is hinting at. “Just what aren’t you telling me? What secrets are you keeping?”
He gives a humorless laugh. “So many that I’ve lost count. But there’s only one thing you need to know right now. Two, actually.”
“What?”
“You’re right that you don’t need to fear me hurting you,” he turns his back and stalks for the door, throwing away the next comment over his shoulder. “And my opinion of you is anything but low.”