Page 20 of Beneath His Touch

I still need to come clean to Matthew about my past, though there haven’t been any weird feelings lately. But I’d much rather be honest, have no lies of omission between us,and allow him to cut and run or stay and possibly deal with the shit storm of my stepfather and the goon squad.

I’m waiting for the laundry to turn off in the dryer at the house I’m cleaning when a text message alert pings and pauses my audiobook. I’m on book two of the series with the Scottish narrator, fully enjoying the dialogue while getting through my workday. I move to the device and glance down at the screen.

A giddiness takes hold of me, and when a giggle slips from my mouth, I slap my hand over the offending noise. Then I become an even stranger person, looking around the area to make sure nobody heard me, which is ridiculous, since I’m here by myself.

Matthew: What’s a guy gotta do to get his woman to come back to his place after work today?

Me: That depends. What time are you actually going to be home?

Matthew is a workaholic, more so than I am, and even on the rare days he does leave the office early, he’ll bring his work home with him.

Matthew: I have court at 4. Depending on how long that goes, I should be home before 6.

Me: Wow, who are you? Don’t you usually stay at the office burning the midnight oil?

Matthew: I’ve got a reason to be home now, as long as you’re there, and this time, I’m picking up dinner. You’re not cooking after being on your feet all day.

I smile, the buzzer goes off on the dryer, and while I need to respond to Matthew, I also need to pull a few things out before they wrinkle. I glance from my task of shaking out the long-sleeve dress shirts when another ping alerts me to a text.

Matthew: Kitten, you wouldn’t leave me on read, would you?

Matthew: Fine, if you insist on cooking, at least tell me what you’d like me to pick up.

I’d really love to respond to his message right away, and I could use voice-to-text if the damn thing didn’t butcher my words every single time. It’s not theduckversusfuck, either. Oh no, it’s adoesversusdoesn’t,heversusshe, andthinkversusthing. The wrong context can screw it all up, misconstruing words, making me sound like a damn idiot. I’ve done that one too many times to Ophelia. While she’s my boss, she’s also one of those people who don’t judge and make similar errors themselves. It’s now a running joke between the two of us to see which one can butcher our texts up more than the other.

I hang the last of the shirts, this washer-slash-dryer the Emanuels own is the cat’s meow. There’s a cycle similar to that of a dry cleaner for the washing part, and for the drying, it has a steamer setting, making it so you don’t have to iron.Thank fucking god. The one part of this job I loathe is when a paying customer expects everything ironed. And there are some who do, down to their bed sheets and underwear.

Me: Sorry, I’ll be home around 5, grab a quick shower, and then I can head to your place. As for dinner, I’m good either way.

Matthew: Don’t be sorry. I know you’re working, unlike me, who can’t seem to focus on a damn thing except on my kitten. As for dinner, I’ll pick something up and bring it home. Anything in particular you’d like?

Me: I’m not picky. Whatever you choose is fine with me.

Matthew: Perfect. There’s a new Mediterranean place that opened near my office. I’ll get a variety, and we’ll dig in.

Me: That sounds amazing. On the balcony, please?

Matthew: If that’s what my kitten wants, that’s what my kitten will get. Have a good rest of your day. See you this evening.

Me: You too

Our conversation concludes, and I get back to finishing this house and have one more left before I head back to the shop. Then I’m going to do exactly what I told Matthew. Only I’m going to pack a bag, just in case.

15

MATTHEW

"Ineed to tell you something, and it may not be what you want to hear." We're lying in bed. Letty's head is on my shoulder, and her hand is on my heart. I may have gone overboard with our dinner choices tonight but figured we could take leftovers the following day, except we'll more or less be eating it for the rest of the week. Mezze, the new authentic Mediterranean restaurant that opened near my office, has a menu that made my mouth water. It probably didn’t help that I worked through lunch to get done with work early enough to come home to Letty.

The Mezze platter for two consists of hummus, a creamy appetizer made primarily from mashed chick peas, Baba Ghanoush, a dip that’s smoky in flavor from roasted garlic, eggplant, tahini, lemon, and other ingredients, and the last was Tzatziki, a Greek yogurt with shredded cucumber, garlic, and fresh herbs. The warm fried pita bread they loaded us up with for the dips and Tabbouli salad were equally fantastic.Letty chowed down on the finely chopped parsley, diced tomatoes, fresh mint, onion, olive oil, and lemon juice salad. By the time we made it to the lamb, chicken, and beef kabobs, Letty could barely eat a few bites before she said she was full.

We brought everything in from the balcony, portioned out a few meals for both of us, and came in for the night. It didn’t stop there. I’d seen the tiredness in her eyes, the yawns she attempted to hide by turning away or using her hand, so I called it a night, locked down the apartment, took her hand in mine, and led her to the shower. Letty has a penchant for baths, and I almost offered to draw her one before thinking better of it. She’d probably fall asleep with the warm water lulling her aching muscles and tired bones.

That meant a quick shower, where I took care of her. She returned the favor, taking her time, dragging her hands over my skin, and making my cock come alive. Neither of us was able to stay away from the other. Her back met the cool marble wall, and I used my cock to get both of us off together, the same way we did on the couch, only this time, I led the entirety of the show, and what a fucking show it was. When we recovered, I dried her off, not allowing her to do the same for me, or I’d want to do something stupid like fuck her senseless. When I finally get inside my woman, I want nothing but time.

“There isn’t a single thing about you that I don’t want to know, Letty.” She’s in my bed, wearing one of my shirts and plastered to my side with a leg hitched over my thigh. The thin fabric of her panties does nothing to keep me calm. Ican feel the heat and outline of her pussy, and I'm pretty damn sure I can smell her arousal, too.

“I’m not so sure of that.” There is worry in her tone.