Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
MATT
Jensen’s text comes through as I’m walking into my building in New York.
Jensen
Did you see that kickoff?
Damn.
I type back as I walk.
No. I didn’t make it. Almost to my elevator.
I tap my key fob against the panel.
Jensen
Are you planning to watch the game with your wife?
I chuckle as I step inside, the doors sliding shut behind me.
Doubt I’ll see any of it with all the fucking we’ll be doing.
Jensen
See—now I don’t know if you’re joking or not.
Guess you’ll never know.
I shove my phone into my back pocket, step into the foyer of my penthouse, and head straight for the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
“Hey, babe?” I call out.
Nothing.
She said she’d be here tonight when she asked what time I’d be home. Granted, I told her eight, and it’s only seven-thirty. I busted my ass to get out of the office early so I could make kickoff.
I pop the cap off my beer and take a swig, then make my way down the hall to change out of my suit.
My steps slow as I enter my bedroom.
Is that… my shower?
I round the corner toward my closet, and sure enough, the bathroom door is shut, the light on, water running.
Why is she in my shower?
I start toward the closet when I hear it.
A sharp inhale.
I freeze, my ears perking up… followed closely by my dick.
Jesus Christ. Is she… getting off?
A slow smile pulls at my mouth. She did always love my shower. Multiple sprayers. Detachable. Every setting imaginable.
Another sound floats through the door. Not quite a gasp this time—a moan. Needier.
My cock hardens.
Fuck.
I know I should leave. Give her privacy. It’s fucked up of me to stand here and listen.
I told her I wouldn’t be home. She didn’t know.
But… Christ, it’s hot. The thought of her in there, naked, in my shower—with multiple shower heads.
Walk away.
Just get dressed.
I turn and step into my closet.
I can do this.
I shrug out of my jacket, loosen my tie, start unbuttoning, my thoughts locked on Jordan. On every little sound she’s making.
Problem with the closet—it shares a wall with the bathroom.
I’m down to my boxer briefs when another moan echoes through the air. Louder this time. Longer. Like she’s completely losing it to a goddamn shower head.
Fuck me.
I brace myself against a shelf, close my eyes, and slowly exhale. I need to hurry the hell up.
I don’t move.
My mind wanders into a dirty place. Jordan. Me. Her body beneath mine. Remembering when those sounds were only for me. When I was the one making her feel good, making her come so hard my name would tumble from her lips in a breathy moan.
My hands move before I can stop them, instinct taking over. I tug my boxer briefs down, already irritated with myself as I wrap my hand around my cock, my thumb brushing through the precum at the tip.
A flicker of guilt hits as I start to pump my fist, but it fades just as quickly when that familiar rush settles in—the same euphoric feeling I get when I’m chasing any kind of high. This won’t take long. Not when it’s been weeks since I’ve been with anyone.
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the fantasy, every sense sharpening. The imagery. The sounds. The memory of Jordan’s warm skin against mine. The tension builds fast, heat spreading through my body, pushing me closer to the edge.
Her soft gasps fill the air again, and that’s all it takes. The release hits me hard, pleasure surging through me in sharp pulses as I slow my movements and let it take over completely.
I shudder, take a deep, labored breath, and open my eyes.
Thank fuck for the box of tissues on the shelf.
I clean myself up and change quickly into joggers and a T-shirt.
I step out of the closet just as the water shuts off and make my way to the living room so I don’t miss any more of the game.
I sink into the couch, beer in hand, flipping on the TV. I open my messages. Jensen texted me multiple times during my… situation.
Jensen
Guess I won’t, but knowing you—I’ll always assume the worst.
Did you see that pass? Please tell me you saw that pass.
I’m taking you ignoring my messages as you and Jordan being “busy.” Just an fyi.
I chuckle to myself and toss my phone aside, more than happy to let Jensen think I’m getting laid.
A few minutes later, I hear Jordan padding down the hall. I keep my attention on the TV.
Act natural.
Just a guy on his couch watching football. No harm, no foul.
Her voice echoes into the room. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were home.”
I turn, craning my neck.
Christ.
She’s in a short black silky robe, hair knotted at the top of her head, looking wildly refreshed.
A smirk tugs at my mouth, but I fight it.
She freezes when she sees me and her eyes go wide. “How long have you been here?”
I shrug. “Just a few minutes,” I lie casually, lifting the bottle to my lips.
“But you’re not in your suit.”
Shit.
“Nope,” I say, keeping my eyes on the game.
Her footsteps come closer until she’s standing directly in front of me, arms crossed, blocking the TV.
“Matt…”
I wish I were the kind of guy who could keep his eyes on her face.
I’m not.
Her bare legs are right there, and my gaze drags slowly up them.
“My eyes are up here,” she says, impatient.
I lift my gaze to find her staring at me, lips pressed tight, one brow raised, unimpressed.
“You were in your closet while I was in the bathroom.”
She says it like a realization, waiting for confirmation.
“Sorry,” I reply, smug. “Is that a question?”
“Matt,” she warns.
“I think the more important question is…” My lips twitch. “Why were you in my shower?”
Her cheeks flush instantly. “Oh my God.”
I chuckle.
“Oh my God, you heard me?” She shoves my arm.
“Ah, fuck,” I laugh.
She grabs a pillow and throws it at me. “God. I’m mortified.”
“Come on, babe. It’s normal.”
“I know it’s normal. What’s not normal is having you listen like a creep.” She pauses, clearly annoyed. “I thought you weren’t leaving work until eight?”
“I left early to get home for the game.” I grin. “Something I’ll be doing more often now that I know what you do when I’m gone.”
She groans, turning away. “I’m going to my room and may not come out until next week.”
“Don’t be lame. Get dressed and come watch the game with me. Nothing to be embarrassed about.” I smirk. “It was hot.”
She flips me off as she walks away, holding her finger high for me to see.
Watching her go sends my mind spiraling again. Makes me want to follow—slip my hands into that robe, see what other noises I can get her to make.
Shit. I’m hard again.
The crowd erupts on the screen, the announcer practically shouting, but I have no idea what just happened.
A few minutes later, Jordan drops onto the couch beside me.
In her fucking pajamas.
My gaze drops to her cleavage instantly.
“Who do you have playing tonight?” she asks, curling her knees to the side.
“What are you doing?” My voice comes out rough.
“Just watching football with my husband,” she says innocently.
Christ. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
I swallow. “Jordan. You trying to kill me?”
“You had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”
“Not the same thing.”
“No? Did you hear me in the shower and then leave?” Her eyes narrow, sharp and pointed. “How long did you listen for?”
I don’t say anything. I’m too busy trying to shove the guilt down.
She scoffs.
“Don’t do that,” I say, lifting a hand, resigned.
“Don’t make me feel bad about it. What was I supposed to do?
I come home from a long day of work, and all I want is to get comfortable, relax, and watch some football.
And you’re in my shower masturbating? Fuck, babe.
I tried to be respectful, but Jesus. I’m only human. ”
My gaze drops briefly to her nipples before I scold myself and drag it back to her eyes.
“You got me hard as hell. You sounded…” I exhale, shaking my head. “Fuck. You sounded sexy.”
“Yeah?” she asks, brow raised. “Did you enjoy it?”
“Babe…”
She shifts closer, her fingers sliding to the nape of my neck. “Did you touch yourself?” she asks softly, pushing, taunting.
A low chuckle escapes me as heat rises under my skin, my pulse quickening when her fingers brush along my collar. I hold her gaze. “You’re playing with fire, babe.”
“Mmm. Am I?” She rests her other hand on my chest. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” Her smirk is all pride, all knowing. Jesus. She’s practically beaming.
I lean in closer, testing the line, pushing back just enough. I brush my lips across her forehead, my breath skimming her cheek as I move lower. “I’m more than comfortable,” I murmur, stopping just short of her mouth, hovering there, our breath mingling.
My index finger traces down her neck, across her collarbone, lower, pausing at the edge of her neckline.
She draws in a shaky breath.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice low. “I touched myself. I rubbed one out to the sound of your moans. Imagined you naked, wrists bound to my bed, gasping my name.” I grin inches from her lips. “I’ve never come so fast, babe. Thank you.”
Then I sit back and reach for my beer like nothing happened, fully satisfied.
She gapes at me—flushed, chest rising, nostrils flaring.
“You’re such a dick,” she says sharply.
I just grin.
Yeah. I can be.
But it’s not like she was planning to do anything there.
She grabs a blanket and tosses it over both our legs, snuggling up to me, acting completely normal and unbothered. But something shifts in the way she settles in. Something familiar. Like she wants more… but doesn’t want to want it.
Her hand falls to my stomach, fingers tracing slow circles across my abs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
My stomach dips.
What is she doing?
Maybe I read this wrong. Maybe she does want more.
Does she want to fuck?
Shit. I don’t know.
But I told her I wouldn’t touch her unless she asked me to. I need words.
I pull my arm from her grasp and drape it around her shoulders, pulling her closer.
Her fingers drift lower, toward the hem of my pants, and my cock jerks beneath them. I clench my jaw, sucking in a breath. Fuck. I’m sure she saw that.
It wasn’t subtle.
Her palm splays flat, and then she breaks the silence. “This weekend was good. With Cole.”
Nope. Definitely not fucking.
“Yeah. I think he had fun, despite the circumstances.”
“Is it weird he hasn’t said anything about us?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” My fingers graze her shoulder, tracing a slow path up and down her arm.
“Well, he hasn’t said anything about us being together or married. It’s like it’s just… normal to him.”
“Hmm. Yeah. But he’s just a kid. I don’t think he really cares or even pays attention to us like we do to him.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She shifts, settling her head more firmly on my chest, my pulse ticking louder beneath her ear.
“It was good to hang out with Alley and Jensen, too. Just like old times.”
“Is it, though?” I ask. “Because nothing really feels like old times anymore.”
She sits up, her eyes searching mine. “What do you mean?”
Shit. Sometimes when Jordan’s this close to me, looking at me like that, I forget how to fucking breathe.
I let out a slow exhale. “I don’t know. Just… them. Gone. In Chicago. Alley pregnant. Cole…” I hesitate. “You. Everything’s different. And sometimes I miss how things used to be,” I admit.
“Ah, Mr. Structure,” she teases, her lips curving upward. “You’ve always hated change.”
“I don’t hate change. I hate feeling like I’m losing things I care about.”
“Matt… life is just shifting. Moving. Everything in the picture is still in the frame, the scene just changed.” She shakes her head. “You haven’t lost anything. We’re all still right here. You just hate that you can’t control what happens next.”
I let the weight of her words sink in, and a quiet chuckle escapes because she’s right. Of course she’s right. She knows me just as well as I know her, and somewhere beneath the armor she wears for the world is a deeper wisdom shaped by everything she’s been through.
“You calling me out?” I ask, caught in the depths of her eyes.
“Something like that,” she says with a small laugh. “What do you have to worry about anyway? I know the stuff with Cole is up in the air, but… you’re Matthew Grayson. Things always work out for you.”
She settles her ear back against my chest, and I pull her in closer.
Sure, they do.
Most of the time.
But I’m still waiting for things to work out with her.