Stipulation (3 page)

I pour my all into
it, loving every time he trembles against me, loving when his words
are harsh and dirty, but then sometimes reverent. I love the taste of
him, and the reclamation of the power that I was holding earlier.

I’m loving all
of it, but none of it compares to the feeling of when Matt finally
orgasms so hard that his legs buckle and he falls to the bed,
whispering over and over, “Mac… Mac… Mac…”

Matt chanting my
name in reverence is much sexier than him screaming at the top of his
lungs. This was indeed a job well done.

With a supremely
satisfied smile on my face, I crawl up on the bed beside Matt and
wait for him to recover.

Then it’s my
turn.

I can hardly wait.

It’s quitting
time. The workweek is over, and a bunch of my colleagues invited me
out for drinks with them. I declined, giving some lame-ass excuse
that I already had plans, but truth be told, I don’t feel like
doing anything other than going home, eating a carton of Ben &
Jerry, and falling into a coma-like sleep.

I’m exhausted,
both mentally and physically.

Why you ask?

Well, I’ll
tell you.

I spent two days in
Chicago with Matt, watching him depose witness after witness, while
paying keen attention to his cat and mouse game so that I could take
the best notes possible. At night, he kept me awake until the early
morning hours, making love to me over and over and over again. He was
insatiable. I was insatiable. We couldn’t get enough of each
other, but I drew the line when Matt wanted to pull me into the
bathroom on the airplane so we could both join the Mile High Club.

When we got back
late Wednesday night, he shared a cab with me, giving me a quick kiss
goodnight when he dropped me off at my apartment. I was too tired to
even cop a feel of his muscled body, merely mumbling a goodbye to
him.

The rest of the
week, I spent jumping to do Lorraine’s every whim. Matt was off
traveling again Thursday morning to Atlanta, and that seemed to give
Lorraine a renewed sense of power over me. I swear, one day she even
asked me to get a cup of coffee for her, but I faked a bout of
diarrhea and told her I had to use the bathroom to get out of it.
Every time after that, if she even looked like she was going to ask
me to do something, I’d clutch at my stomach, hunch my body
over, and moan with a pathetic look on my face. She’d wrinkle
her nose in distaste and as soon as she was gone from my sight, I’d
laugh out loud over my deviousness.

I haven’t
heard from Matt, not that I expected to. On no less than three
occasions after he brought me to a screaming orgasm, he didn’t
even wait for my heart rate to get back to normal before he would
lean over me with a worried look in his eyes and say, “You know
this is just sex, right?”

I’d dutifully
say ‘right,’ and then gasp as he started kissing me
again.

So, even though he
was clear that it was just sex, and even though he made sure I
understood that he wasn’t relationship material, I still was
sort of pining to hear from him. Yes, I know… it’s sex…
just sex. And great sex at that.

But I’m a
woman. We get our feelings all mushed up in this stuff, and even
though my brain rationally tells me not to let my heart get involved,
it’s kind of hard not to. I mean, there is more to Matt than
just sex. He’s an attorney I’ve come to respect a great
deal in the short time I’ve known him. He’s passionate
about his work and is a champion for the underdog. He’s a great
employer, treating everyone fairly and equally. Also, he’s
funny as hell, and when he doesn’t have me sobbing out in
pleasure, he has me laughing so hard in bed that I’m terrified
I’m going to make the faux pas of all faux pas. The dreaded
fart while you’re lying in your lover’s arms.

Luckily, that hasn’t
happened… yet.

I finally broke down
this morning and sent Matt a short email, asking him when he got a
chance if he could email those articles he mentioned on biomechanical
engineering. I really didn’t want them… actually wanted
to puke from the thought of having to read them, but I wanted…
no,
needed,
some type of contact from Matt.

After all, as a
woman, I’m entitled to my period of insecurity and self-doubt
that would assuredly overwhelm me at any minute and convince myself
that Matt actually hates me and wants nothing to do with me.

When Matt replied to
my email around lunchtime, I was so excited I choked on a piece of
brown rice sushi that I was trying to swallow. After I hacked it up
and spit it in the garbage, I opened the email, eager to suck down
the details of some witty or flirty response he would send me.

Instead, he just
responded:
See attached articles.

Well, shit! What a
letdown. I could literally feel my depression firing through my veins
over the fact that what Matt had been telling me over and over again
was true. I was really nothing more than great sex to him. He wasn’t
missing me, he wasn’t pining after me, and he sure as hell
didn’t have time to flirt with me.

In fact, I’m
betting he was already planning to hit
One Night Only
this
upcoming weekend.

So, you see…
that is why I’m too tired and depressed to do anything but head
home and crawl into bed.

When I get to my
apartment, I’m somewhat relieved that Macy is gone. She had
left me a note that said:

Heading to the
Hamptons to torture my parents for the weekend. See you Sunday.

Macy had invited me
to go with her, but there was no way I was subjecting myself to that
freak show. Macy and her parents despised each other, and they
literally only got together to make each other suffer. It was sick
and twisted, and so far out of the realm of my understanding. I lost
my dad four years ago, and my mother and I were very close. We talked
every day, by either phone or email, and there was nothing I couldn’t
talk to her about.

Well, except maybe
Matt.

While I adore my
Macy-girl, I’m glad she’s gone because I don’t feel
like being around her natural effervescence tonight. She’s like
sunshine on a stick, and tonight I just feel like being depressed. I
want to put on my stretchy pants and let my stomach hang out while I
gorge on ice cream.

Which is exactly
what I do. I put on my gray sweatpants, an old Columbia t-shirt, and
my fuzzy slippers. I wash all of my makeup off, braid my hair into
two pigtails, and curl myself up on the couch to watch a marathon of
Law and Order: SVU
with my two favorite men in the world…
Ben and Jerry.

When I’m well
into my third episode, and my ice cream carton is looking
pathetically empty, the doorbell rings. Getting up from the couch, I
shuffle to the door, intent on ignoring whoever is on the other side.
When I put my eye up to the peephole, my skin gets all prickly with
awareness.

Matt is standing
there in a rumpled suit with his briefcase in one hand and his travel
suitcase in the other.

I take a moment
before I open the door to do a mental checklist of how bad I look.

No makeup.

Check.

Bad hair.

Check.

Frumpy clothing with
an ice cream stain on front.

Check.

Fuzzy slippers that
look like something my grandma would wear.

Check.

Oh, hell…
this is just sex, so let’s see how bad Matt wants it.

I pull the door open
and give him a smile, making sure he can get a good gander at the hot
mess that is McKayla Dawson. “What are you doing here?”

In true Matt
fashion, his eyes rake down my body slowly and back up again. When he
meets my eyes, there’s no mocking over how frightful I look.
Instead, his eyes look fevered and his voice is husky when he says,
“I’ve been fantasizing about you for two days. Why
wouldn’t I be here?”

He steps up to me
and leans down to nuzzle my neck, his arms going around my waist. I
push back at him, but he doesn’t let me go.

“Matt…
I look a mess. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You look
beautiful, and you’re going to invite me in so I can fuck you
senseless.”

Yes, please…
I’ll take two!

I immediately step
back when his grip loosens and motion for him to come in, closing the
door behind him. He sets his briefcase down and removes his jacket to
lay it over the back of the love seat. Perusing the large living
room, he takes in the Brazilian hardwoods, the expensive leather
furniture, and the custom drapery.

“How do you
afford this place? I know I certainly don’t pay you enough to
live here.”

“It is my
roommate Macy’s apartment. She’s ungodly rich and
apparently thinks I’m like her best friend or something, so she
lets me live here for peanuts. I’m totally taking advantage of
her,” I quip.

“I seriously
doubt you even know how to take advantage of someone,” Matt
murmurs as he lifts me up into his arms so that my legs go around his
waist. “Enough talk, though. I need to be inside of you.”

Wrapping my arms
around his neck, I press against his lips, welcoming the feel of his
tongue against mine. His palms grip my ass hard, pressing me down
against his erection, which is already seeking release against his
zipper. Pulling away slightly, I mumble against his lips, “Bedroom’s
down the hall.”

Matt starts walking
back toward my bedroom, rubbing his chin along my neck as we go. His
five o’clock shadow abrades deliciously against my skin,
causing me to shiver.

“I’d
love to take a shower first,” Matt says when I point out my
bedroom door. “Will you join me?”

“Hmmmm,”
I muse. “You, me, hot, soapy shower… that sounds
terrible.”

Laughing, Matt
follows my direction and carries me into my bathroom. While he strips
both of us down, I ask, “So… how was Atlanta?”

“I’m
exhausted, but it was a good trip. I got the case that we were
mediating settled. Client’s happy,” he said, while
trailing a finger up the outside of my leg and over my hipbone. His
hand goes between my legs, so I barely can comprehend him when he
asks, “How was the rest of your week?”

I think a garbled
sound came out, followed by a low moan, and immediately finished by a
breathy pant.

He grins at me.
“That good, huh?”

I nod my head, and
he pushes me into the shower. My hands start wandering, playing over
the hard lines of his chest, digging into his shoulders. I let my
fingertips gently bump along the marbled ridges of his stomach, and I
playfully tug on his happy trail of hair. While Matt shampoos my
hair, I take him in my hands and start stroking him to life, which
doesn’t take much effort on my part.

Batting my hands
away, Matt says, “Let’s finish this shower. I’m
dying to get you in the bed.”

“What’s
wrong with shower sex?” I ask, my lip sticking out in a
full-blown pout that I’m hoping will earn a nibble from Matt.

Kissing me on the
nose and sticking me under the water to rinse off, he says, “Nothing…
I’m just so tired, I don’t know if I can hold you up. Bed
sex tonight. Shower sex in the morning after I’ve rested.”

With that, Matt
slaps me on the butt and hops out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
“Hurry up… I’ll be waiting.”

He heads back into
my bedroom, while I quickly slap some conditioner on my head and work
it through my long locks. Rinsing it well, I turn the water off. I
dry off as quickly as possible, but there’s nothing worse than
taking long, wet hair to bed. Quickly brushing the tangles out, I
turn the hair dryer on, trying to get the majority of the dampness
out of it.

But I think of Matt
lying in my bed… naked… slightly moist…
completely horny for me, and, after three minutes, I give up and turn
the dryer off. We’re just going to have to deal with wet
pillows from my head.

Dropping my towel to
the floor, I turn the bathroom light off and walk into the bedroom.