Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
JORDAN
Three Weeks Until the Guardianship Hearing
I stare at my reflection, giving my lips a final coat of gloss.
I rub them together, the silky texture soft against my skin, then use a finger to clean up the edges.
I step back, giving myself a final once-over when Matt enters the bathroom.
His gaze meets mine in the mirror, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he walks toward me.
“Damn, babe,” he says.
His fingers graze the top of my shoulders, then sketch down my bare back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I watch in the mirror as his eyes follow, darkening when his hands reach the base of my spine before sliding around my waist, slipping through the open sides of my dress.
He leans in, kissing my jaw before murmuring, “How do you expect me to behave tonight when you’re wearing a dress like this?”
I grin, spin around, and smooth my palms up his chest. “I don’t.”
He moves to kiss me, but I turn my head, giving him my cheek instead. “Sorry,” I say, “I just applied gloss.”
My gaze drifts over his handsome features.
“You sure you don’t want to invite anyone to come out tonight?
Even just Megan and Kevin? I know it’s last minute, but…
” My hands skim across the front of him, eyes following, taking in the firm muscle beneath my fingertips.
My gaze lifts to his. “It’s your birthday,” I say softly.
“All I want for my birthday is to spend the night with you, babe.” He flashes a grin. “And for you to sit on my face later.”
I laugh. “The morning blow job wasn’t enough, huh?”
He shakes his head. “I want to end the night with you coming on my tongue.”
Heat flickers low in my stomach, skittering outward.
He gives my ass a light smack before grabbing a handful. “We need to leave. You ready?”
“Yeah. I’m ready. I just need to get my shoes.”
I walk to the closet and slip into the new pair of Manolos Matt brought home the other day. You know, because he felt like it.
I’m excited for tonight, even if part of me still finds it weird he chose to spend his birthday with just me. That’s not like Matt. He’s thrown a massive party every year for as long as I can remember. Everyone we know goes.
I’ve asked him multiple times about it, and his answer’s been the same every time. He only wants to spend the night with me. It’s just another thing to add to the list of ways Matt shows he loves me.
I look down at my feet. Damn. These shoes are fucking gorgeous.
I snatch a clutch from the shelf and step out of the closet, meeting Matt with a smile that says everything. I can’t wait to spend the night with him.
Matt swings open the restaurant door for me, his hand resting at the small of my back as I step into the cold November air. I pull my coat tighter around me, crossing my arms over my chest.
Pete’s already waiting at the curb.
Dinner was ridiculously good, a five-star steakhouse at the top of a high-rise overlooking the Hudson. Matt said we could go somewhere that had more vegetarian options, but it’s his birthday, and he loves this place. He lives for that tomahawk steak the way I live for a new pair of shoes.
I ordered the Brussels sprouts and a salad, then drank most of my calories in the bottle of wine he insisted on.
Needless to say, I’m a little tipsy.
I slide into the Bentley, and Matt shuts the door behind me. I shrug out of my coat, and a moment later, he settles into the seat beside mine, his hand landing on my thigh like it belongs there.
His fingers trace smooth strokes along my bare skin, lighting a small fire deep in my core.
God. How many times has his hand been there?
Hundreds? Thousands?
Yet somehow it still feels like the first. Still sparks that immediate, reckless need for him.
I turn toward him with a soft smile. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
He looks at me for a second longer than usual, his eyes searching mine. “You look really beautiful tonight, babe.”
My smile stretches wider. “Thank you.”
“Do you remember your twenty-fifth birthday? On the rooftop?” he asks.
“Of course, I do. That was a great night. Why?”
He shrugs. “The dress you’re wearing,” he says, eyes dragging over me. “It reminds me of the one you wore then.”
I arch a brow. “You remember the dress I wore?”
“Not really.” He leans in, brushing his lips against mine. “But I remember taking it off.”
I laugh softly, meeting his lips with a kiss. “Why am I not surprised?”
His mouth moves to my ear, his hand inching higher up my thigh.
“You wanna fool around?”
His breath is hot against my skin, low and dangerous, and my pulse stutters. His thumb skims up the center of me over my underwear—light as a feather, barely there. A wave of heat crashes between my thighs, building with every second.
“What about Pete?” I whisper, nodding toward the front of the car.
Matt leans forward and pulls the privacy curtain closed with a smooth tug.
“There,” he says quietly. “Problem solved.”
A finger slips beneath the fabric, and I let out a sharp exhale.
“But he can hear—”
His finger curls.
“Ohhh,” I gasp, my head falling back, eyes fluttering shut.
He chuckles under his breath. “Then you better be quiet.”
Another finger joins the first, swirling slow and deliberate, curling just right.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my hips lifting instinctively.
My breath grows uneven. My pulse pounds harder. Every small movement builds into something hotter, heavier.
He moves deeper, faster now, finger-fucking me until my breath turns ragged and I’m a mess of broken gasps.
His mouth grazes my collarbone while his other hand slips into the side of my dress, palming my breast.
That does it.
The release hits me hard. Sharp. Electric.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me. Let me hear it.”
Fuck it.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, not nearly quiet enough.
My stomach tightens, thighs trembling as pleasure crashes through me in waves. I clamp my lips together, trying to swallow the sound, but a fractured moan slips free anyway.
I let out a shaky breath as the intensity fades, my body slowly unwinding. My heart’s still racing when I open my eyes and find Matt watching me.
His gaze is dark. Satisfied. Possessive.
“That was so fucking hot.”
I laugh softly, glancing toward the curtain, where I know Pete definitely just heard me come.
My cheeks burn, and I don’t even care.
It was worth it.
Fifteen minutes later, after an awkward goodbye to Pete, we’re in the elevator.
Matt breaks our grip to wipe his sweating palm against his pant leg. His hand finds mine again, weaving our fingers together.
He was on his phone briefly, right before we came up, said he was texting someone for work.
I glance at him.
He seems… nervous.
Matt doesn’t do nervous.
“You alright there, babe?” I ask as we climb to the top floor.
To his penthouse.
Our penthouse.
A smile pulls at my lips.
“Yeah,” he says.
“You seem anxious.”
He smirks. “Still high from watching you come.”
He pulls me into him and kisses me hard, groaning into my mouth.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open.
I step into the foyer… and freeze.
I gasp, walking myself further into the room, turning slow, taking in every inch.
It’s dark, but the entire place glows, lit up with tea lights.
Hundreds of them.
Everywhere.
Along the floors. The shelves. The tables.
Every flat surface holds a vase overflowing with peonies. They’re my favorite.
And the best part?
My record player.
It’s on the console table behind the couch, spinning, playing Etta James.
My fingers drift to my lips. I don’t even know why my eyes sting. It’s just… beautiful.
I turn slowly. “Matt… what is all this?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just takes my hands and walks me toward the windows, the glass walls that overlook the city. His arm wraps around my waist, and he pulls me in close. He locks his other hand in mine and brings it to his chest.
He starts moving us, slow, swaying.
My brows pinch. “Dancing? You don’t dance.” I shake my head, smiling. “And you hate this music.”
He pulls me closer, hand firm at my waist. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Normally I’d be grinding against your ass in a club.” His mouth brushes my ear. “But I’m not doing that to music my grandparents most likely made love to.”
I burst out laughing. “Made love?”
“If you’re fucking to this music,” he says, dead serious, “it’s called making love.”
“Ooooh,” I say, raising my brows. “So are we making love tonight?”
His eyes lock on mine, expression serious. “You bet your ass we are, baby.”
He smothers a grin, and God he looks so sexy.
This whole thing is so Matt—over the top, thoughtful, romantic as hell.
And it’s very me.
He knows I’m obsessed with this era. The dresses, the music, the movies, the slow dancing.
I grew up watching old black-and-white movies with my yiayiá and mamá.
Listening to my grandparents’ records on repeat.
My pappoús loved Louis Armstrong. I played that album so many times, he ended up giving it to me on my tenth birthday.
“If you’re lucky,” I tease, brushing my lips over his.
“I don’t plan for lucky. I plan to win.”
“You sound awfully confident.”
He grins. “Babe—I know you. I know exactly what I signed up for.”
“Hmm,” I hum, still smiling.
He kisses me softly, and the room falls quiet.
We sway for a moment in the silence before Matt pulls back.
“Just a minute,” he says, stepping away.
He walks to the console table and carefully lifts the needle, switching out Etta James for another record. He lowers it back in place, then makes his way back to me.
The crackle at the beginning is one of my favorite things about vinyl. I soak up the anticipation, that suspended second before the music begins.
Louis Armstrong’s gravelly voice fills the room, hitting me straight in the chest.
And not just any Louis song.
What A Wonderful World.
My favorite. It has been forever.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
He stops right in front of me. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey,” I whisper back.