Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
MATT
Pete pulls the Bentley up to the curb of my building.
“Thanks, Pete,” I say, grabbing my bag and stepping out.
I adjust my tie as I head for the door, anxious to see Jordan, especially after our texts earlier. I can’t wait to get this suit off, get her naked, and finally act on everything that’s been running through my head for the past few hours.
There was a private event at the club Leo and I co-own in Chicago last night, a full buyout by a Saudi prince. No room for mistakes. We didn’t leave until the last guest had gone, which was early this morning. Then I had to go straight into meetings all day.
I’ve been running on caffeine and adrenaline. I’m exhausted, wired, and I need to fuck.
My fingers tap against my thigh as the elevator climbs to the top floor. I’m already moving the second the doors open, heading straight for wherever Jordan is.
“Hey, babe?” I call out.
I walk through the kitchen, eyes scanning the living room, and continue down the hall.
“Babe?” I call again.
Nothing.
I pause at my door, glancing in. She’s not there either.
“Babe?” I call out again before continuing down the hall to the guest room she was staying in before we started sleeping together. It’s where all of her shit is.
I step into the empty, dark room and flip on the light.
My heart drops straight into my stomach.
What the fuck?
All her shit’s gone.
My pulse starts to climb, each beat pounding harder against my ribs.
I pull out my phone.
Babe… I’m home. Where are you? You still at your place?
I walk further into the room, into her closet.
There’s not a trace of her. Not a shoe. Not a shirt. Not even a fucking hair. She even vacuumed. Like cleaning up after herself somehow makes up for the fact that she fucking left again.
No.
This doesn’t make any sense. We were texting this afternoon. It was fun and flirty. She seemed… fine.
But she always seems fine, until she isn’t. I’ve never seen a breakup coming. Not once. Every time it hits like a ton of bricks.
No.
She wouldn’t do this to me. Not with Cole’s hearing right around the corner.
I tug at my tie, my neck suddenly feeling like there’s a goddamn noose around it. Spinning around, I book it down the hall toward my closet. I need to get out of this suit.
I can’t fucking breathe.
I try calling for her again. “Babe?” I shout.
Fuck.
I’m tearing out of my suit jacket the second I step into my bedroom. I round the corner, step into my closet, and flip the light on.
I stop cold.
Her shit’s here.
All of it. In my closet: clothes, shoes, purses, jewelry. Her dresses are hung next to my suits, and I don’t know where the hell all my other stuff went, but I don’t even care.
A lump builds in my throat, my eyes stinging fast.
Christ.
I close my eyes, drawing in a breath that doesn’t quite reach my lungs, and let it sink in.
She didn’t leave.
And she didn’t just stay. She moved in.
She fucking moved in. After ten years of me asking, she finally said yes.
My next inhale is shakier than the last. “Fuck,” I mutter. I refuse to lose it over this, but I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept. My brain’s been spinning all day, and I just sent myself into a spiral of anxiety.
“Hey,” Jordan says from behind me, her voice soft. “You’re home.”
I turn around, swallowing down the stupid shit lodged in my throat.
There she is. My wife. Looking beautiful as ever. Her hair’s down, wavy and wild, just the way I like it. Leggings. Sports bra. Jacket zipped halfway. And she’s holding a tea from the place around the corner.
I gather my composure and lock my gaze on hers. “Your shit’s in my closet,” I finally say.
“I know.” She smiles faintly, sets down her tea, and walks toward me.
Her hands press against my chest. “Is that okay?” she asks, sliding them up and around my neck. I instinctively grip her hips.
“I kinda like it here,” she whispers, brushing her lips against mine. “Thought I’d stick around a little longer. You know, for the pool.”
A low chuckle rumbles through my chest, and I cock a brow. “For the pool?”
“Company’s pretty good, too.” She presses her mouth to mine, soft and careful. Then she grins. “Heard the guy that owns this place has a real slugger.”
I grin, bringing both hands up to cup her face. “You moved in.”
It’s more of a statement than a question, but I still need her to answer. To confirm it. I need to hear her say the words.
“I did. I moved in.” Her smile shakes, eyes glistening. “I’m choosing you, Matt.” A tear slips, falling in what feels like slow motion. “I love you. And every day I want to wake up and choose you over and over again.” Her tears come faster now, her lips trembling. “Just like you have with me.”
Fuck.
Me.
My vision blurs. “Babe,” I say. It’s all I can manage.
She gets it.
She finally gets it. How excruciatingly I love her.
Christ. I can’t remember a single moment in my life that’s ever felt better than this.
I swipe the moisture from her cheeks with my thumb and kiss her. Hard. Like she might disappear if I don’t. Like a man who’s been holding back for twenty fucking years—just enough to keep his heart from getting broken. Like a man holding the woman he’s wanted since he was six years old.
Her fingers start to work the buttons of my shirt with impressive precision, our mouths colliding, frantic and messy.
My shirt’s gone three seconds later, along with her jacket.
I tug her closer, closer—until there’s no space left to think. I don’t need to. My body knows what to do.
I lift her and her legs lock around my waist. She pulls her sports bra over her head and tosses it aside, her bare tits pressed flush to my chest. I groan, adjust my grip and lift her higher. I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing lightly as I walk us toward the bed.
I lay her down and crawl over her, dragging us to the center. Her mouth is everywhere—my jaw, my throat, my chest—like she’s starving and needs this as much as I do.
Her hands roam across my skin, gripping, pulling, nails scraping lightly across my back.
“God, I love your body,” she breathes. “I’m so turned on.”
My jaw tightens, and it takes everything in me not to lose control and bury myself inside her right now.
My palm slides to her breast, kneading softly, thumb circling her nipple before rolling it between my fingers. She arches into me with a soft gasp.
I lean into her ear. “You like that, baby?”
“God, yes.”
I keep my mouth there, my voice low. “You are so fucking sexy.”
My hand drifts across the curves of her stomach, slow and deliberate, giving her time to feel it coming. When I reach her hip, I grip her inner thigh and ease it open, my fingers brushing the center of her.
She sucks in a breath.
My breath skims along her jaw as I make my way back to her needy fucking lips. She crashes her mouth to mine, hungry and desperate.
“Take your pants off,” I command.
“You take them off,” she counters, voice breathy. “Take control, Matt.”
I break the kiss, eyes locking on hers.
The corner of her mouth lifts before she whispers, “Do whatever you want to me, babe.” She brings both arms above her head, laying them flat against the bed, wrists crossing.
I know exactly what that means.
Fuck.
I didn’t think my dick could get harder.
It just did.
She hasn’t asked this of me in years.
I nip at her bottom lip. “You sure?” I ask, my voice rough, threaded tight with restraint.
She nods, eyes dark. “I’m sure.” She lifts her hips, pressing into me with intention. “Make me beg. Tease me until I can’t handle it anymore. Please.”
Jesus.
I grind down once. Deliberate.
Then I lean forward and reach for the hidden switch along the panel behind the headboard.
There’s a soft click, and a drawer slides out seamlessly.
I reach for the satin ties.
When I settle back over her, I take her wrists one at a time, wrapping the soft fabric around each one, tightening just enough to remind her who’s in control. I secure them to the flush metal rings built low into the bed frame, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for them.
It’s subtle. Intentional. And it was designed for her.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her leggings, and peel them down, unhurried, leaving her in nothing but her white lace thong. She shifts, thighs pressing together before parting again.
Holy fuck.
I sit back, unbutton my pants and tug down the zipper, feeling her sultry gaze on me. I push them off and toss them aside.
My hands wrap around her ankles, then travel up her legs, slow and patient. Over her hips. Up her stomach. Higher. I take my time, feeling every inch of skin, letting anticipation build until her breathing turns uneven.
I grip her hair gently, tilting her chin up. “Don’t move,” I murmur near her ear, voice deep.
I reach back into the drawer and pull out the silk eye mask, sliding it into place and tightening it snug behind her head.
Her chest rises and falls. “Matt,” she says softly.
I nudge her legs open wider with my knees, then settle between them, brushing my thumb across her lips, catching the edge of her bottom one.
Seeing her like this—vulnerable, needy, and at my mercy—there’s nothing hotter.
“Christ, babe. You get me so fucking hard.”
I lean down, my breath ghosting against her skin as she arches, lips searching. I grin, make her wait a beat, then slowly press my mouth to hers. She hums against me, drawing me in like I’m the air she needs to breathe, taking my tongue into her mouth.
My hands roam across her warm, smooth skin, greedy and wanting, like I can’t decide where to touch her first.
My lips drag down her jaw, her neck, her chest. I flick my tongue across her taut nipple, then draw it into my mouth, flattening my tongue against it, savoring the way her body writhes beneath mine.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “I love it when you run your tongue across my nipples.”
And I fucking love when she tells me what she wants.