After Dark (4 page)
MATT
EXHIBITIONISM
I want to fuck her with an audience. I both do and don’t want to share her. I want to reveal her like a possession, to draw off her clothes the way one might unveil a painting. She is no object, and yet I want to objectify her.
I want to see her embarrassment. When I bring her out, when I expose her to strangers, I want to feel her tremble and watch her blush. The thought makes me hard. (If the thought excites me this much, what would the reality do?)
I want to make our most private act a spectacle—not often, maybe not more than once, but I need this. Why do I need this?
I want to talk to her while we do it. I want to remind her that they are watching, to arrange her so that they have a good view, and to tell her that they are going to see her come. And when she comes, I want to call her a good girl and then send the watchers away, because she is mine …
Hannah and I walked side by side through Larimer Square. It was Sunday evening, warm and windy, and shoppers milled beneath the canopy of lights. A stranger recognized us. Hannah was civil while I bristled in silence.
Strangers …
Automatically, I recalled my first entry in the journal Mike had given me.
When I bring her out, when I expose her to strangers …
I shivered in the warm night and my dick stirred in my slacks.
“You okay?” Hannah took my hand.
I stopped, startled by her touch. We hadn’t been touching much these days. Whether it was catching me jerking off to a threesome or my failure to propose, I didn’t know, but Hannah had rebuffed me every night since—until I quit trying. I went to bed late and didn’t reach for her. I showered alone after she left for work.
“I’m fine.” I brushed my thumb across her fingers. Even that small touch was intoxicating. My breath came faster.
“Can we please act normal tonight?” she said.
“I wasn’t planning on making a scene.”
“Matt—”
“If you feel the need to prep me, I should probably stay home.”
We stared at one another. It was Father’s Day and Hannah had insisted that we visit her family. She’d dragged me to a salon that morning to get the black dye trimmed out of my hair. I had “Frankenstein hair,” she’d said, and she didn’t want to “freak out her family.” Though she had tried to laugh it off, I knew what she really meant: my hair was an unsightly reminder of the faked death fiasco, and her parents didn’t need extra reminders about my insanity.
We had spent the afternoon combing Larimer Square for a gift for her father. Exasperated and out of options, we’d stumbled into John Atencio, of all fucking places, surrounded by engagement and wedding rings. “Cuff links,” I’d growled at the saleswoman.
It was getting dark by the time we were ready to go.
“I want them to see you,” Hannah said. She squeezed my hand. “I want you to … get to know my family better, and for them to see how amazing you are.”
“Don’t you mean how sane I am? How well-adjusted I’ve become?”
“You’re hurting me,” she whispered. “That’s not how I see it and you know that.”
“We need to get going.”
I dropped her hand and walked briskly to the car. I carried a small black bag from the jeweler—sterling silver cuff links—extravagant, admittedly, but Hannah wanted to make a good impression tonight. I’d also bought two bouquets of peonies for her mother and sister.
I drove slowly through Denver, past my old apartment and past Lot 49, past that patch of green space where Hannah and I had touched for the first time, and down the familiar roads toward the house where she grew up.
I parked at the curb. Hannah’s fingers curled on my leg.
“Here.” I passed the John Atencio bag to her. She took it and replaced her hand on my thigh, rubbing gently. She knew what that touch did to me …
“Mm.” I gazed at my lap. “I feel like a well-behaved dog being rewarded.”
“You’re nervous. I get it now.”
“Did it take you all night to figure that out?” I exhaled softly, controlling my desire. “Do you think I don’t want your parents to like me—that I’m indifferent to their opinion?” I gazed at the lawn stretching toward the house, all the windows dark. I pictured a much younger Hannah playing on the grass. I also thought about giving Hannah a home and making her happy there.
“You’re smirking,” she said.
“I’m having unsettling visions of domestic bliss. Remembering, too … the first time I drove out here, and you came running across the lawn.” I pointed. Ghostly sadness gripped me. “God, I can still see it, the way you looked. I can smell that night, taste it. I know that…”
She touched my inner thigh. “Go on.”
I kept pointing, searching for words.
“I know that I’ll die with those memories in me. I know those are the kind of memories … that last.” I focused on Hannah. Her face was vibrant, her expression unlike anything I had ever seen. I knew that whatever had been left unsaid, she understood. I also knew that the old cosmic trick was playing itself on me. The greatest cynics fall in love.
I pulled away from the house.
“Matt?” Hannah’s hand stilled on my leg. “Uh, my—”
“We’ll go back. I’m not ready.” I expected her to protest, but when I glanced at her, she was smiling. “Something funny?”
“You.” Her finger dragged up the seam of my pants. “You think I don’t know you, but I do. This is how you always get when you’re nervous. Rude, agitated.”
“Mm, one of my many ch—” I groaned. Hannah’s hand brushed my cock, which was starved for her touch. I floored the accelerator. “
Fuck.
”
“Matt!” She giggled. “Slow down.”
“
You
slow down.” I laughed, really laughed, for the first time in days. I didn’t know why Hannah had suddenly deigned to touch me and I didn’t care. It felt good. Her fingers strayed over my thigh and I drove east, out into the prairie. We had taken this same nighttime drive almost a year ago. We were strangers then, but not anymore.
I parked beside a country road and we walked. The night smelled clean, like wheat and earth, and it felt good to get away from anything man-made.
“The way you look out here,” Hannah said, her face tilted toward mine, “makes me want to say I’d leave Denver and move to the middle of nowhere with you.”
“How’s that?”
“You look happy.”
“I like the freedom. It gives me peace. But you’re not leaving your job for me, bird. Someone’s got to pay the bills.”
She giggled and I smiled down at her.
With the road far behind and nothing in sight but stars and grass, I pulled her to a stop.
“I don’t have a ring,” I said.
“Wh…” Her expression went blank. “What?”
“I don’t … have a ring.” I looked away, out at nothing. It seemed incredibly stupid to be without a ring when not one hour ago we’d stood in a jewelry store. It also seemed incredibly stupid that I had been afraid to engage myself to Hannah, when I knew as well as she did that love comes along less than once in a lifetime. Once if you’re lucky, and I’m not.
“W-what happened to”—her hands were limp in mine, her voice breathless—“‘you don’t really know me’ and … and wanting things that—”
I touched her lips.
“What happened to not touching me? Maybe you don’t know me,” I said, my thoughts forming as I spoke, “but engagement isn’t yes, forever. It’s … maybe, forever. So…” I got down on one knee. Jesus, she looked beautiful. Her eyes filled with tears. “Maybe, forever?”
“I—” She blinked rapidly.
“Hannah, say yes. Marry me. Please.”
She nodded—a small, rapid motion—and found her voice.
“Yes. Yes…”
Rather than rising, I pulled her down. I held her against me and we grasped at one another. “Finish … what you started in the car,” I hissed. Her hand went straight to my cock. I moaned as she gripped me through my slacks.
We undressed one another frantically, tearing at zippers and buttons, and stretched out together in the grass. I hovered over her, pressing kisses to her nipples, caressing her breasts with my hands and face, and savoring the feel of her body beneath mine.
I needed this. I was burning for this. The tip of my cock traced cum along her belly and every muscle in my body tightened. God, I wanted to make this one count.
I closed my eyes and moved down, resting my forehead against her stomach. She touched my face and stroked my hair. I focused on the sweet-smelling night … and Hannah, my fianc
é
e. She was soft below me, still and mysterious, not belonging to the city.
When I thought about the life I wanted to give her, and how I might put aside my wishes and make her happy, pride tempered my lust. I fit my hands to the curves of her body. I kissed the milk-white skin of her thighs and the softness between her legs.
Twice I brought her over the edge before I entered her. Then I let her ride me. Her pert, round bottom filled my hands. Her steady pace dragged sighs from me.
Finally, the ache of my need became acute. The tight heat of Hannah’s body turned from sweetness into slow torture, and I moaned into our kiss.
“Do it to me,” I gasped. A plea and a demand.
And she did.
HANNAH
We pulled up to my parents’ house (for the second time) around nine. Matt killed the ignition and braced his hands on the wheel.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry.”
“I hope to hell they didn’t make dinner.” He glanced at the house. The porch light cast a yellow cone over two old wicker chairs. Moths bumbled against the bulb.
“They didn’t, I’m sure. They eat early. Besides, I told Mom not to do anything special. I said we just wanted to stop by and say hello.”
“Maybe we should do this another n—”
“Love, it’s Father’s Day. There is no other night … until next year.”
“How do I look?” He fiddled with a button on his cuff.
“Honestly?” I grinned and thumbed a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “A bit like you just had sex in a field.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Baby, relax. I’m kidding.” I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned over to kiss his cheek, and he hauled me onto his lap. “
Mmph!
”
“The fucking things I feel when I look at this house. It frightens me, I swear.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” he said, “but I see this house and I want to give you a home, somewhere we can…” He trailed off.
Have a family
, I thought.
A little night owl. A little, little bird.
As soon as the thought entered my mind, I shoved it out. Violently. I wanted a career, success, love, but not some Martha Stewart vision of happiness. That wasn’t me.
So why was I picturing a small girl with blonde curls and a little green-eyed boy?
“What’s the matter?” Matt scanned my face.
“I—” I swallowed. “I want you to myself. I mean we just … just got engaged.”
“You have me to yourself. You know I’m all yours.”
“But … kids.” My voice cracked.
“Oh, bird.” He chuckled and nuzzled my cheek. “Is that what you’re worried about? We won’t start a family right away. Hell, we haven’t even set a wedding date. There’s no rush.”
“Well, what if I—”
Never want kids?
The words withered in my throat. I pulled back to look at Matt. He cocked his head, a touch of confusion dimming his smile. God, I couldn’t stand to disappoint him. “Um, what if I can’t … have kids?”
His smile faded completely.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
I traced his lips. “That bridge” indeed. It wasn’t fair to charge into marriage without telling Matt that the thought of pregnancy made me queasy. But we weren’t exactly charging into marriage. We were charging into engagement.
Maybe
forever. My shoulders drooped.
“There’s always adoption,” I mumbled.
His mouth twisted.
“I don’t want someone else’s kid. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No! No. Matt, just … kiss me.” I pressed my mouth to his spontaneously.
His fingers sifted through my hair. He gripped my jaw and tasted me deeply. I felt dizzy when he broke the kiss, oxygen starved and hungry for his mouth.
“More?” he whispered.
“Yes … please. Er—” I shifted back on his lap, my head spinning. Engagement, talk of children—things were happening too fast. Maybe Matt had been right in wanting to delay our engagement. Why mess with a good thing?
Fuck, Hannah, make up your mind.
“We should probably go in. It’s getting late.”
We crossed the lawn hand in hand. He passed one of the bouquets to me.
“For your sister,” he said. “You give it to her.”
Guilt nettled at me as I inhaled the flowers’ perfume. I hadn’t seen my sister since my birthday, over a month ago. She’d looked out for me after my breakup with Matt, but Matt and I had repaired things, and I’d barely given Chrissy another thought.
The front door swung open and my mother beamed at us.
“Hey, Mom.” We hugged.
Daisy’s bark resounded from the hallway. The spaniel whooshed out and lunged at Matt, then at me, panting and whining.
“Mrs. Catalano, it’s lovely to see you again.” Matt hugged my mom and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He offered the bouquet and Mom buried her nose in the blooms.
“So gorgeous. Thank you. You should be calling me Helen by now. It’s good to see you all in one piece.” She patted Matt’s cheek and he smiled graciously. I wanted the earth to swallow me. “You two are just in time for dessert. Do you like ice cream, Matt?”
He gave me a dark look.
“Uh, we already ate, Mom. Sorry. Is Chrissy around?”
“In her room.”
Matt took his cue. His social graces never failed to surprise me. “When was I here last?” he said, escorting my mother down the hall. “Thanksgiving, wasn’t it?”
I watched them turn the corner. A goofy grin pulled at my mouth. How nice to bring home a man and not a boy.
I bounded up the stairs to Chrissy’s room. I knocked once on the door.
No answer.
“Chrissy?” I called.
After a moment, a small, dry voice replied, “Han? Come in.”
