Last Light (23 page)

He reached for the lube, his forearm moving on the periphery of my vision.

The little opening of the bottle pressed against my anus.

“I think you need more inside,” Matt said. His tone was mocking. He squeezed the bottle and a thick strip of lubricant squirted into my bottom. I jerked. It was cold and felt so strange, and so … “
Good,
” I moaned.

Matt’s hand hit my ass with a slap. I yelped.

“That was for speaking. Now, Hannah, nod if you’re ready.”

I gave a little nod. God, was I ever ready.

He spread my cheeks and poised his head at my entrance. I inhaled and exhaled deep from my belly, bending forward and controlling my breath the way I did in yoga. My body relaxed by degrees. The aromatic bathwater and steamy, low-lit bathroom helped.

“Hannah, fuck…”

Oh, and hearing Matt’s pleasure helped too. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand drifted between my legs and began circling my sex. I pushed back to meet his pressure. When his head popped into me, I groaned.
More.
I wanted to say it, but Matt wouldn’t rush. He would scold me; he would say it’s dangerous to rush. He might stop altogether.

As the minutes passed, Matt worked his thick cock in and out of my backside, tiny thrusts taking him gradually deeper. I fingered myself and teased my clit. Soon our moans were echoing around the bathroom.

When Matt noticed my hands working my sex, he went crazy.

“God, Hannah,” he snarled, “already playing with yourself? Tell me … tell me you’re my slut. Say it. Fuck, if you could see my dick in your ass…”

His member throbbed inside of me, the girth spreading me wide. It didn’t hurt.
It shouldn’t hurt,
Matt told me once,
and if it does, we’ll never do it.

I snuck a glance at Matt in the mirror. His head was lowered—eyes on my ass—face awash with pleasure. “I’m your slut,” I whispered. The word came easily.
Slut.
Just for Matt. “Only yours, Matt. Only for you.”

“My God. Fuck.” He thrust into me and paused. I moaned to put him at ease, and he thrust again—and then again. The feel of him back there, in there, made me shake. “Watch … watch us.” He turned me carefully and I grasped the towel bar. One hand lingered between my legs, teasing my clit. I was close, too close. If I wanted to come with Matt, I needed to slow down.

“Look,” he growled.

In the mirror, I saw our bodies in profile. Matt’s cock moved easily in and out of me. I looked … far gone. Eyes glazed, lips parted, features slack. Matt looked no better.

“Your ass, Hannah … it’s so fucking good. So tight, God…”

He fucked me harder, faster, and his moans grew ragged. When he began to curse and tremble, insisting that he loved my tight ass and telling me how he needed to come in it, I pushed myself over the edge with him. I watched him the whole time. For once, I got to see his unadulterated pleasure—the way he fought it, and then gasped and arched and buried his cock in me. He squeezed my ass as he came and leaned over me.

I came with him, my spikes of pleasure peaking in a pulse of bliss.

I moaned his name shamelessly.

Afterward, Matt wrapped a hand around my neck and pulled my back flush with his chest. “How’s that,” he panted, his breath beating against my ear, “for a good-bye.”

He put me in the tub. The warm lavender-colored water lapped at me. It smelled of blackberries and shimmered on my skin.

“I’ll see you on Friday, won’t I?” Matt said.

“Friday.” I smiled at him and resisted the urge to wave. Even the accoutrements of good-bye seemed to bother him. I figured that had something to do with the loss of his parents, but I never asked. I hated saying good-bye to Matt, too, and the reasons didn’t matter.

He closed the door and I listened to him moving through the condo.

After a while, I heard his voice. Calling the cab. Silence, then the condo door shutting.

I waited a moment in the water, and then I stepped out carefully and wrapped myself in Matt’s bathrobe. I grinned as I crept through the condo. It would serve me right if he reappeared, but I wanted to watch him go.

I peeked through the blinds at the front of the condo. Huh. No taxi. Poor paranoid Matt, he probably told the guy to meet him out back.

I went to the bedroom and looked down from the window.
What the …

Matt, wearing his coat but no sunglasses or hat, strolled up the alley toward a bright blue Corolla. He waved at the driver. The driver-side door popped open and a tiny redhead appeared. She gestured toward the back of the car and laughed. Matt laughed.

Who…? What?

Panic and all the worst possibilities hit me. Matt has another lover. Matt met someone near the cabin. She knows who Matt is—or worse, she doesn’t. Matt can be truly anonymous with her. She’ll run away with him like I won’t.
He’s leaving me.

How’s that for a good-bye?

I dashed through the condo and down the complex stairs. I rushed barefoot out of the building. The cold stung at my damp skin.

“Hey!” I said as I rounded the corner.

I waved my arms and Matt’s bathrobe flapped around me.

Matt and the redhead turned. His eyes widened and he went stock-still. Then he held up a hand and shook his head.

“What—” I slowed as I neared the car. “What’s going on here?”

“Hannah. I didn’t want you to worry. Let me explain. This is my driver.”

The redhead stepped forward. She extended her hand and nodded.

“Alexis Stromgard,” she said. “Mr. Callahan’s private driver.”

Private … driver? I blinked and took the girl’s hand. She grasped my fingers in a curt shake and moved away. “Mr. Callahan, I’ll take your bag.”

Matt, still looking shell-shocked, handed his duffel bag to the girl. She carried it to the back of the car. I watched all this in a state of wonder. Something didn’t
fit.
The car was too garish. The girl was too young.

“Come here.” Matt steered me up the alley. When we were out of hearing range, he said, “Yes, okay, I lied about the cab.”

“I can see that.” I tightened the tie on his bathrobe. “Mr. Callahan?”

“She doesn’t know who I am. It’s just an alias I gave her. She’s from out of state.”

“Why did you lie?” My cheeks reddened with cold and embarrassment. And hurt. I thought Matt and I were past the lies. I thought we were partners in crime.

“Baby, I didn’t want you to worry. I knew it might seem … risky, to hire a driver like this, and I didn’t want you worrying about me blowing my cover, you know?” Matt squeezed my hand. “But it’s actually safer, Hannah. She doesn’t know who I am, and she … she’s very discreet. Very professional. We signed paperwork and stuff.”

I looked at my toes. “Where did you find her?”

“What?”

“How did you come into contact with her?”

“Well … I found her on Craigslist.”

“Craigslist? Seriously?”

“Hannah, I have to go.” Matt glanced around and put on his sunglasses. “Yes, Craigslist. She’s very professional, like I said. I hired her for the weekend to bring me here, that’s all. I couldn’t stand the idea of a weekend without you. Is that so wrong?”

“So she’s leaving?”

“Yes, she’s driving me to the cabin. Are you angry with me?”

I shifted my feet on the cold, prickly pavement. “I’m not angry, Matt. I’m sad that you felt like you had to lie. I’m glad you came to Denver, though. I missed you.”

Matt hugged me, squashing my damp body to his chest. He kissed the top of my head.

“Nice bathrobe,” he murmured. “Now get inside before you freeze your cute little ass off, all right? I’m sorry. I love you. We’ll talk soon.”

I faked a smile and kissed Matt’s cheek. I took one look at the blue car. The driver sat inside, her slight silhouette almost invisible.

She was cute—adorable, even—and that bothered me more than Matt’s lie.
Very professional,
huh? I saw that laugh she shared with Matt before I charged out of the condo.

“I love you, too,” I said. “And I want her gone by tomorrow.”

Chapter 32

MATT

Melanie peeled out of Denver like a race car driver.

“That was some fucked-up shit!” she said above the music.

Fortunately, Mel’s taste in music didn’t bother me. All the same, I didn’t feel like shouting. I turned down the volume and lit a cigarette.

I’d smoked more in the last month, I realized, than I had in all of 2013.

“Alexis Stromgard, huh?”

“Damn straight.” Mel beamed. “Quick on my feet, right?”

“Mm.” I smoked and looked out the window.

“You can thank me whenever the mood strikes you, Mr. Callahan.”

“Thank you? Do you think I’m proud of that performance?” I scowled and turned away from Mel. “Maybe you have a future in fiction writing. You have to be a great liar to write fiction, a real historical revisionist.”

“Hey, buddy, that lie saved your ass.”

“It saved
your
ass,” I hissed. “I could have fucking told her who you really are. I should have. You’re the bitch who stole my work and published it.”

Mel hit the brakes. I pitched forward and grabbed the dash.

“Get out of my car, you asshole.”

“
Drive.
” I stared at Mel and she stared at me. A car behind us laid on the horn, then pulled around and sped past.

Mel eased back into the traffic. She glared through the windshield.

“Sure, you could have told her that,” she said, “and I could have told her that
you
put
Night Owl
online in the first place—and that you told me to keep selling it.”

I smirked and flicked my cig out the window. I knew Mel was right, and I knew I was using her as a punching bag. I just felt so goddamn guilty.

“But I wouldn’t threaten you with that,” she went on, “because I’m not a douche bag. And if you call me a bitch again, I’m going to shove your three thousand bucks up your ass and kick you out of my car myself, all right?”

I smiled in spite of my unhappiness. Mel sure had a way with words.

“All right,” I said, and that was that.

I didn’t apologize and Mel didn’t try to wring an apology out of me. It was horrible, more than I could make Mel understand, to lie to Hannah and to see someone else lying to Hannah. I promised myself that one day it would stop. One day, only honesty would exist between us. I wouldn’t lie to protect Hannah. I wouldn’t lie to protect myself. Only honesty …

It was dark by the time we reached Estes.

“I’d like to buy you an ice cream cone,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

I dialed down the music again.

“I said I’d like to buy you an ice cream cone.”

“You are … the weirdest person.” Mel laughed.

“Pull over!” I snapped.

Mel jumped and swung into a metered parking spot. The street was desolate, the little tourist town dead in the middle of March. I put on my hat, scarf, and sunglasses. I paid the meter and we walked along the sidewalk.

“It’s winter,” Mel said in a quiet voice.

“Yes, and?” I scowled at the passing shops. Native American gifts, Colorado gifts, a bar, more gift shops, another bar. Half the stores were closed. “It’s nearly spring.”

“It’s just … a little chilly for ice cream.”

“I’m buying you an ice cream cone.” I turned on Mel. I shook her shoulder—not hard, but firmly—and spoke in the calmest voice I could manage. “I’m buying you ice cream. One ice cream cone. If you don’t want it, the offer is off the fucking table. Why can’t you be happy?” I leaned in, my voice rising. “What my parents always bought me was one ice cream cone. And it was delicious. Why can’t you fucking accept it?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. God, what was Mel’s problem? Couldn’t she see that I wanted to share something of myself? Always, when Mom and Dad took us to Cape May, they bought us saltwater taffy and one ice cream cone each. Then Dad would call us “the emperors of ice cream.” The emperors. Me, Seth, and Nate.

“The emperors,” I whispered.

“Matt…?”

“What?”

“That … actually sounds great. Ice cream.” Melanie smiled. “I’d like that.”

A relieved smile broke out on my face. “Yes,” I said. “Let’s go.”

We found a little ice cream parlor and Melanie chose a mint chip cone. I couldn’t quit smiling as I paid.

“You don’t want one?” she said.

“No, no. That’s not how it works.” We sat at a small round table and I watched Mel eat her ice cream. She looked genuinely happy. “How is it?”

“Great.” She grinned.

When she finished, the last bite of waffle cone gone, I cleared my throat and said, “Hannah wants you to leave.”

Melanie’s grin dropped. “What?”

“Mm. She wants you gone. She doesn’t want you driving me around.”

“Wow.” Mel chewed her cheek. “She didn’t strike me as the insecure type.”

“She’s not insecure. She worries about me blowing my cover. She’s in this, too, you know?”

“So am I. Do
you
want me to leave?”

I shrugged and made a noncommittal noise.

The answer was no, I didn’t want Mel to leave, but I wouldn’t give her that. She would read my answer wrong.

“What you did—” I paused, frowned, smoothed my hands over the table. “Melanie, you can’t—”
You can’t grab my dick, or hop on my lap, or try to kiss me
.
Ever again.

God, how to say this?

I forced myself to look at her. Her eyes were wide, her face colorless. I smiled thinly.

It was hard to believe that this timid girl found the courage to grope me. Go big or go home, I guess. Or, in Mel’s case, don’t go home. I wanted Melanie to stay. My loneliness at the cabin was too absolute, and Mel’s cheerful attitude made a good counterpoint to my gloom. And, most important, having a car at my disposal gave me a much-needed sense of control.

“Don’t try anything stupid again,” I said finally. I narrowed my eyes. “Understand?”

“Yes.” Mel nodded vigorously. “I won’t. I swear.”

“Good. It should be enough for you to know that—”
That I wanted you
.
That my body came alive at your touch.
“That I want you for a friend, Melanie. A friend.”