Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
MATT
Jordan pushes through the crowd, and a tinge of panic zips through me.
Did I upset her?
I pushed the line. I know I did.
It’s not like it’s coming out of thin air. I’ve always done this. It’s what we do. It’s meant to be fun, playful, teasing.
But after the other night?
I’m pushing my luck.
And this time, I’m secretly hoping she breaks. That we end this night exactly the way we used to: her moaning my name, wrecked, and breathless.
Just like old times.
Maybe that’s wrong of me. Maybe that makes me the bad guy. But I can live with that. Because I can’t stop thinking about her—and not just tonight.
Every night.
Every day.
Every goddamn minute.
But I also know her. She knows what she’s doing. I gave her my credit card, and she bought a lethal dose of I want you to fuck me.
My gaze follows her. Not to the exit. Not to the restrooms. No—to the bar.
She glances back, and our eyes lock for a beat before she turns back around, saying something to the bartender.
I turn my attention back to Joel, one of the capital partners in this deal. I met him through Leo. He’s cool as hell, and we get along great. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to work with.
My focus pulls to Jordan again after a minute or two.
What the hell is she doing?
She ordered whiskey—an old-fashioned, one round ice cube in the center of the amber-colored liquid, an orange peel for garnish.
I’m on my third.
She picks it up, turns slow, and looks right at me. Her bottom lip rolls between her teeth as she lifts her glass, her eyes flicking to the liquid then back to me. She smiles right before she takes a sip, eyes peering at me over the rim.
My stomach drops.
Holy shit.
She wants me.
This is intentional. She’s practically asking for it. Hell, she’s begging for it.
That’s the thing about Jordan.
She’s always played the role of the perfect Greek daughter. Classy. Controlled. Poised.
But underneath all that? She’s wild. Adventurous.
And in bed, she’s a goddamn threat in the best way.
A queen. A sex goddess. She craves surrender.
For someone else to take the reins and control the outcome.
Not out of weakness, but because she knows she can’t win every battle.
Sometimes, she just needs permission to let go.
And I’m the only man she’s ever trusted enough to do that with.
Richard never looked like he knew what to do with her. Not the way I do.
She was always the one touching him, hanging on and trying to pull his attention back to her.
She hates that.
She needs to feel wanted. Lusted after. Seen. Sexy. Desired.
I’m only half-listening to Joel. Enough to nod along and answer appropriately. But the distraction is there. Her gaze. The whiskey.
“It’s a shame Leo had to pass on this deal,” Joel says. “How many kids does he have now?”
“Two,” I reply. “And another on the way.”
Joel chuckles. “Really?” He shakes his head. “Can’t imagine passing up these kinds of opportunities to have more kids.”
I smile politely. “It’s not something I can relate to, but I get it. He loves being a dad.”
My eyes wander to Jordan again. She sees me, smirks, and tips the glass back, emptying it in one large swig.
Fuck.
Joel says something. I don’t hear it.
“Will you excuse me, Joel? My wife is asking for me.”
“Sure, mate. If the wife calls…”
I’m walking away before he finishes, my gaze fixed on Jordan.
She leans back against the bar, sexy, flirty, confident as hell.
She doesn’t even realize I’m about to wreck her world.
Or maybe she does.
I don’t know which thought gets me harder. But my cock is threatening to expose every dirty thought I’m having.
I stop just short of her. “Whiskey?” My voice drops. “That’s a bold move.”
She shrugs. “What’s it to you?”
I lean in close. “We both know you only drink whiskey when you wanna get fucked.”
“Cute story. Who told you that?”
I chuckle, low and knowing. “No need for stories, babe. Just decades of history to prove it.”
She startles briefly, then looks me directly in the eyes and says, “So what if I do? You gonna do something about that?”
Her hands come to my tie, toying with it, twisting and tugging, practically putting me on my knees right here.
“That depends,” I say, calculated. Controlled.
“On?”
My mouth brushes her earlobe. I flick it with my tongue before I whisper, “On whether you’re wearing underwear under that dress.
” I lower my voice. “Because the thought of you dripping down your thighs while you think about what I’m going to do to you…
” I pause, just to torture her. “I’m going to lose my mind before we make it back to the room. ”
A tiny gasp escapes her lips, and it’s deeply satisfying, more than I’d like to admit.
I grin, looking up at the bartender. “She’ll have another.” Then I’m back at her ear. “Drink up, babe.”
I kiss her cheek, then take a sip of my drink, savoring the burn as anticipation sparks through my veins.
I’ve been waiting so damn long for this.
Five months since she walked out of that wedding and back into my life.
Five months of wanting her so badly it’s made me stupid. Every smile, every laugh, every glance my way.
She has me wrapped around her goddamn pinky finger.
Jensen was right about more than one thing. I am pussy whipped.
I always have been.
For her.
It’s not like I didn’t know. I know. It’s just… suddenly, it’s crystal fucking clear who’s always held the power between us.
And it’s Jordan.
It’s always Jordan.
Together? Her choice.
Broken up? Her call.
Friends with benefits? Her terms.
Cut me off completely? Her decision.
Friends without benefits? Her rules. Her lines.
And now those lines are somehow erasable because she says so? Because she’s turned on and lonely?
I’ve been both those things.
It hasn’t mattered.
She tugs that little string and looks at me like she wants it, and I come back with When?
No one in my life has this kind of control over me.
No one.
I’m the CEO. The one in charge. The one who makes the hard decisions without blinking.
But Jordan?
She doesn’t just have me wrapped around her finger. No. She’s got me by the fucking balls.
And the worst part is… I don’t even want to fight it.
The bartender slides a new drink to the edge of the bar. Jordan takes a sip, then sets it down, and says, “I’ll be right back.”
She walks off, heads turning, eyes following. Men staring at my wife as she walks by.
I don’t blame them. She’s the most beautiful woman here by a landslide. But still, I start to follow, then pause.
Yeah, okay… I might be a little possessive. But I’ll never admit that to her, and I don’t want to prove her right, so I force myself to stay put.
Three minutes later, Jordan’s striding toward me, a sexy smile curving her lips.
She stops right in front of me and slides her hands over my chest, slipping beneath my jacket.
Her hand pushes something into the inside pocket, and by the look in her eyes, and the devious smile on her face, I know exactly what it is.
My cock jerks.
Fuck me.
I’m in public. Surrounded by rich, classy people, some of whom I work with, and she just stuffed her panties into my pocket.
I keep my face neutral because I’m Matthew Grayson.
But inside?
I’m a goddamn mess.
Brain short-circuiting. Testosterone spiking.
That high slit. Her bare skin. Just inches from me.
Christ.
I’m four seconds from taking her right here. Right in front of everyone.
She pats my lapels, then tilts her chin, smirking. “You losing your mind yet?”
My chuckle’s deep and low. What a fucking menace. I glance in both directions, wanting to be discreet.
No one’s paying attention to us.
I pull her in close, letting my fingers dip into the open back of her dress, grazing the curve of her bare ass. “Baby, I haven’t been able to think straight for five goddamn months.”
I kiss her. Hard.
Because it’s too hard not to.
Because I want to.
And because I can.
It’s not gentle. Not careful. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything I’ve been biting back. The kind that says if it weren’t for these people, you’d already be naked.
I break the kiss, teeth scraping her bottom lip until the very last second—like it’s killing me to end this.
She lets out a shaky breath, and my eyes flick to her thigh, to the temptation I can’t stop thinking about.
“Let’s go,” I say.
The second we step into the elevator I’m already crushing my mouth to hers, inhaling her like I just came up for air. My hand slips into her dress, gripping her bare ass, pulling her closer. She moans into the kiss, rolling her hips toward me, grinding against the firm length of my cock.
The elevator comes to a stop on the third floor.
“Christ,” I murmur, dragging my mouth from hers with more restraint than I’ve used in months.
I hate public elevators.
Jordan doesn’t get the memo. Her hand slides to the back of my neck, and she pulls me right back in as another couple steps inside. I kiss her anyway. Because she’s irresistible and I’ve never been afraid of an audience.
This couple can pull up a chair, for all I care.
“Oh—this is going up.” A woman’s voice cuts through the haze, but I barely register it. They step off, and a second later we’re moving again.
I grab her hips and turn us, backing her against the elevator wall. Her fingers slide lower, teasing—
Fuck.
The elevator stops again.
I groan, catching her hand. “Come on,” I mutter, already pulling her out the second the doors open.
We’re down the hall and into our suite moments later, buzzed, wired, high on anticipation. I walk her backward, mouths still locked, until her back hits the wall.
She shoves at my jacket, and I shrug it off, letting it fall. My hand slides down toward the slit in her dress, slipping inside, brushing warm, soft skin, her thigh damp enough that my breath stutters.
Desire slams into me, full force. My fingers drift higher, knuckles brushing against her smooth, bare pussy. She exhales against my mouth, warm, sweet, and loaded with liquor.
Whiskey.
Fuck.
I freeze.
Every primal instinct paused against its will.
I break our kiss with a rough groan, chest heaving, cock throbbing, forcing my hand to still—because one more inch and I won’t stop. Because if I touch her the way I want to, I won’t come back from it.
I promised her.
She kisses me again, confused when I don’t respond.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, breathy. “Why’d you stop?”
Her fingers tug at my tie, loosening the knot.
I drag my hand away like it burns, sliding both palms up to her neck, to her jaw, touching her, but not the way I want to.
“You’re drunk, babe.”
Her brows knit. “So?”
“I told you I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked me to.”
I search her eyes, needing her to understand how goddamn hard this is. How close I am to losing this fight. How my cock’s so hard it fucking hurts.
Her fingers work the buttons of my shirt, one by one, slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving mine. “And this is me asking.”
“Babe… I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
My jaw sets tight.
She exhales, sharp. “I’m not that drunk, Matt.”
“You had whiskey. And champagne before that.” My voice is rough. Tight. Controlled by sheer will. “You’re not sober.”
“I wasn’t drunk when I ordered the whiskey,” she says quietly. Another button. “I knew what I was doing. I just needed a little push.”
“And you needing a push,” I murmur, “tells me everything I need to know.”
She opens my shirt and drags her hands over my chest, testing me. Tempting me. Daring me to give in. Letting me feel exactly what I’m denying myself.
I shut my eyes for one brutal second.
Then I grab her wrists.
“Matt,” she breathes, sultry, soft. Wanting. “Please. Touch me.”
Christ. I’m barely hanging on here.
I hold her there, breath ragged, my cock pulsing so hard I can barely think straight, every nerve screaming to just give in. To fuck her already. But that nagging little conscience of mine stops me.
I quiet the thoughts. The ones that tell me she wants this. The ones that say I can claim I was drunk too. The ones that remind me how fucking good she feels.
But the one that screams louder than the rest?
The one that knows the truth.
That she’s not some girl in a bar. Not just an ex-girlfriend. Not even just a friend.
This is Jordan.
My best friend. My person. My girl.
My wife.
I bring her hands to my lips and kiss her knuckles. “I’m sorry, babe. I can’t. Not like this. Not the first time.”
“It’s not the first time,” she argues. Her chest rises and falls, eyes pleading. “We’ve done this a thousand times.”
True.
I bring my hands back to her jaw, eyes locked on hers.
“But not as my wife.” I shake my head. “When I fuck my wife for the first time, I don’t want a damn thing to be fuzzy.
And right now?” My thumb brushes her cheek.
“You’re not going to remember this the way I will.
” I press a soft kiss to her lips. She tries to deepen it, but I’m already ending it.
I let out a breath, resting my forehead against hers. A smile tugs at my lips. “Might be time to make use of one of those vibrators you packed,” I murmur. I kiss her cheek. “I’m gonna get some air.”
I back away, slow, with every ounce of strength I have left. I button my shirt and turn, leaving her standing there as I walk away from my two favorite things in the world.
Sex.
And her.