Rule #27 Just act natural.
Amelia
Matis runs his thumb along the arch of my foot, and I let my head fall back with a groan. My computer is in my lap while the TV plays quietly in the background.
“Keep doing that,” I whisper as I press my foot a little higher up his lap to feel his cock in his trousers. It’s not hard, but with the impressive length, I can still make it out with my toes.
“Behave, Trouble,” he commands softly, grinning at me from the other end of the couch.
“How can I possibly behave or focus on any of this when I’m still thinking about all the things we could be doing right now? There sure are a lot of things under that anything but umbrella.”
He snickers, that handsome smirk sending butterflies to my stomach.
“Patience, mon trésor.”
Smiling down at my laptop, I love that I can still be both to him. That he adores both—treasure and trouble.
“How’s the to-do list coming along?” he asks, nodding toward the list we made this morning.
“I emailed my proposal to the program, and I contacted the costume designer Elizabeth uses for a quote. Now I’m chatting with Phoenix and Elizabeth to set up a meeting.”
“Good girl,” he hums, and I melt into the couch.
Biting back my grin, my cheeks flush with excitement. It’s not just that I’m doing this amazing project or that I could actually get into this program, making me a real designer. It’s the fact that I am doing any of this at all.
His praise is nice but so is crossing things off my list. Hell, I added the chat with the girls at the club to the list just so I could cross it off.
Normally, to-do lists overwhelm me and often set me up for disappointment, but there’s something about Matis’s quiet confidence in me that settles my nerves and makes everything easier to accomplish.
I mean…don’t get me wrong. It doesn’t replace Adderall or techniques learned over the years, but something about him makes being alone in my mind a little easier.
“What if they don’t pick me?” I ask, my shoulders sliding away from my ears as I stare despondently at the computer screen.
Matis’s hands stop as he stares at me from the other side of the couch. “Then you try something else. You make your own designs. Make your own clothes. Open your own shop. But one hit isn’t going to knock you down, Amelia. Understand?”
His words bring big fat tears to my eyes, and I lift my gaze to his.
For some reason, I feel so pathetic, already catastrophizing something that hasn’t happened yet, but I am scared of failure.
I’m scared that all this passion and hard work I’m putting into this is just a laughable attempt and all a waste.
“I don’t want to be a failure,” I whisper, quickly wiping away one of my stray tears.
He squeezes my foot to get my attention.
“The only failure would be not getting back up after you’ve been knocked down.
Amelia, I have known you your whole life.
You are the most tenacious, spirited, passionate person I’ve ever met.
You are not a failure, and if you don’t win this one thing, then it doesn’t mean you lost. It means you were meant to win something far greater. ”
For a moment, we hold each other’s eye contact. Love pounds in my chest, thrumming through my veins like my heart pumps only for him.
Slamming my laptop closed, I set it to the side as I crawl over the couch and straddle his lap. Clutching the back of his neck, I bring my forehead to his as his hands slide up my spine, gripping me just as tight.
“I don’t like to think about what my life would be like without you in it,” I whisper. “Even if none of this had happened.”
He strokes a hand across my jaw, holding my head delicately as he kisses me. It’s not a rough or passionate kiss. It’s gentle and filled to the brim with love.
“I feel the same way, Trouble,” he replies against my mouth.
Pulling away from his lips, I bury my face in his neck so my body is molded to his. His arms swarm me, and I never want to leave this spot. It’s cruel to think anyone would find this wrong.
Just then, there’s a door opening somewhere in the house. Lifting my head, I stare into his eyes, both as wide as saucers. Panic snaps us both into motion.
“We’re home!” my mom calls from the side door.
I leap from Matis’s arms, returning to my spot on the other side of the couch. He quickly adjusts himself farther from me, trying to look casual as he drapes an arm along the back and stares at the TV. From here I can see his chest heaving and his fists clenching.
I grab my laptop and open it on my legs, returning to the work I was doing a moment ago.
“Amelia,” my father calls. “You home?”
“I’m in here!” I chirp back to him. My voice sounds tight and shaky, but that could just be my paranoid imagination.
My mom’s shoes scuff across the floor as she enters the living room.
“Oh, Matis,” she says sweetly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
There’s not an ounce of concern or suspicion in her tone. I wouldn’t have asked him to stay if I thought they’d be alarmed by his presence, but that’s just what his relationship with our family is like.
That’s just how much my parents trust him.
“I didn’t like being home alone, so I asked him to come hang out,” I say, answering for him.
“Well, that was nice of you,” my dad says with a chuckle as he enters the room.
Matis stands and greets my dad with a casual grin. Anyone else might think he’s behaving naturally. But I know him. I spot the hint of shame in his expression.
“How was London?” he asks my dad.
My mom rolls her eyes. “It was fine. Ronan was worried for nothing.”
“Or maybe,” my dad says as he kisses my mom on the cheek, “I was looking for an excuse to be with my beautiful wife.”
My mom smirks as a blush rises to her cheeks. Instantly my gaze flits to Matis, and he clenches his jaw as he looks back down at me.
We’re both full of so many thoughts and feelings, mostly shock for what we were almost caught doing. I know his thoughts as well as he knows mine.
“Ew, stop it,” I snap at my parents as I look away.
They laugh and Matis claps a hand on my dad’s shoulder. “Let’s have a drink while you tell me about London.”
Each of us can act naturally around my parents, which is a reassurance. My dad and Matis leave the room, and my mom starts putting her things away while telling me all about their dinner in the city.
And no one suspects a thing.
I end up taking a long nap after Matis leaves, and when I wake up, it’s almost nine thirty. I missed dinner, and my parents are already in their rooms.
Picking up my phone, I see a text from Matis waiting for me on the screen.
When he left earlier, I was already in my room, so he never had a chance to really say goodbye. It would have been too suspicious for him to come all the way up here for that. So he slipped out the front door and texted me from his cab.
Lying in bed, I reread the conversation from earlier.
Matis: You are trouble.
Amelia: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m an angel.
Matis: I’m going to hell for this.
Amelia: Not for lying to my parents. For what you did to me in the kitchen this morning…maybe.
Matis: And I’d do it again.
Amelia: Worth it.
Matis: Sleep, Amelia.
Amelia: Okay fine.
Matis: Sweet dreams, mon trésor.
That’s the unread message still on my screen. I must have fallen asleep before reading that last line. As I sit up, my stomach growls with hunger. So I jump in the shower and then make my way down to the kitchen to find something to eat.
Biting my lip over a ham and cheese sandwich, I text him again.
Amelia: I’m bored.
Matis: Of course you are.
Amelia: I’m thinking about going to the club.
Matis: Alone?
Amelia: Well, I was hoping to go with you.
Matis: I don’t know if that’s a good idea.
Matis: I won’t be able to keep my hands off you.
Amelia: Good thing it’s a sex club then.
Matis: Amelia.
Matis: You know what I mean.
Amelia: We can rent a room…
Matis: And what do we tell the people who see us walking in it together?
Amelia: To mind their own business.
Matis: I wish it were that easy, Trouble.
Amelia: Fine. I’ll just go alone then.
I can practically feel him growling from here. With a smile, I bite my bottom lip and wait for his response.
Matis: I’ll see you in 30 minutes.
With a squeal, I run up to my room to grab my shoes, and I’m out the door in record time.
It’s still odd for me to go into the club as a member instead of an owner. Normally, I walk in and go straight upstairs to my office, and I try very hard to avoid the basement. Especially at night.
Like tonight.
I have no real business to attend to. No tasks or incoming shipments to check or emails to answer. It’s just me, a woman here to find pleasure, specifically for one man.
To my relief, it appears as if West has taken the night off. The women behind the bar are nice, but we’re not as close as me and West and they don’t know my business.
“What’ll you have?” the one with the vibrant red hair asks as she sets a small drink napkin on the bar in front of me.
“Um…how about a Lemon Drop?” I say without an ounce of confidence in that order.
“You sure?” she asks with a chuckle.
I nod. Normally I have Weston to make my drinks for me, and he’ll usually just hand me something sweet and not too strong, and I never really bother to ask what it is.
My fingers drum nervously on the obsidian bar top as I wait. I can’t help the pull of my attention to the dance floor on the other side of the room. It hovers in the corner of my vision like a blazing fire my eyes keep trying to flash toward.
Finally, I relent to my desires, and I turn toward the dance floor. Just like that first night I watched the group in the booth, I feel that subtle sense of power wash over me.
This is more than just watching. It’s partaking in something more powerful than just sex. It’s an exchange. It’s taking the time to savor what watching truly does.
My body heats. My core tightens. My spine lengthens and my breaths come out slower.
And just as I feel myself letting go, indulging in the slowly growing embers of desire brewing in my belly, I feel his presence behind me.
With his lips near my ear and his scent filling my nose, he whispers, “Hello, Trouble.”