“Matthias? Are you there?” she calls through the door.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan. I don’t know what’s worse, having my orgasm interrupted after working on it for almost an hour, or being caught jacking off by the person the fantasy is about.
Grumbling, I throw on a robe, and crack the door.
“What?” I snap. An unsatisfying jack off session will make anyone grumpy.
She takes a step back, a little surprised. “Um, I watched the video of your friend and I’m going to try to see him some time in the next few days.”
“Great. Anything else?”
I don’t even really give her a chance to reply. As soon as she starts to shake her head, I say, “Okay, fine. Good night.”
I close the door just as her face falls.
Matthias.
Stop it.
Stop thinking about throwing the door open and fucking her right now against the wall.
Just stop.
My cock refuses to behave, though, still achingly hard, precum dripping from the tip. But when I return to the shower, the water is cold, and touching my own cock pales in comparison to what I actually want to do.
***
I’m a coward.
Like actually a spineless coward.
After a few hours of restlessness, I leave the apartment at five-thirty a. m. and make my way to Teterboro, where the company jet is waiting.
I send her a coward’s text. I’ll be gone until Wednesday. The car is all yours. Kevin will pick you up every night.
And then mute her so I don’t have to see what she replies.
I need some space.
I need to be in a place where she’s not just in the next bedroom, where I can actually smell her and feel her moving.
Because if this continues, the next step I’ll take is one that can never be undone.
My cock twitches with need at the memory of how close I’d come to coming with her name on my lips last night. All night I hadn’t been able to stop visualizing what might’ve happened if she’d just come in without knocking and seen me there, leaning back on the shower bench, fisting my cock as I called out her name.
Either way, the consequences would’ve been earth shattering.
So, I’m running.
Or even better, flying.
I get the okay over the radio that I’m free for take-off and minutes later, I’m in the air.
But she’s still all around me.
CLARISSA
T
he house, the club, the whole damn city feels empty without him here. But the anger I feel at him rages and swells so high it might just flood the earth.
What is his deal?
One moment he’s telling me that he likes me and wants to find out what this thing between us is, and the next he acts like he can’t stand the sight of me.
Like he couldn’t wait to get rid of me.
Like… he was hiding something.
Oh, my god.
Clarissa, you stupid fool.
He had someone in there with him. Why else would it take him so long to answer the door, and then when he did, he was panting, in a robe, barely opening the door and trying to get rid of me as quickly as possible.
My stomach ties itself into a knot a sailor would be proud of, and I let out strings of curses that would cause sailors to blush and call their mommy.
“Ms. Masters,” Henry, James’s bar assistant, appears in the door way.
“Guys! Would you call me ‘Clarissa’, please? How many times do I have to ask you?”
My two employees eye each other before nodding and I feel instantly remorseful. It’s not their fault that I just figured out that my fake fiance had a woman in his bedroom last night and now he’s fucked off to God knows where, probably taking her somewhere where I can’t interrupt their fucking.
“Sorry, guys. I’m just not feeling great.” Which isn’t a lie. My temple still pounds throughout the day. The bruise is covered by carefully applied makeup and, well, the anxiety just keeps coming. If there’s anything good about Matthias being away is that I won’t have to worry about hiding that from him.
On the other hand, it has been better in the last few days.
Ironic.
“Clarissa,” James says, with a gentle smile. “There’s a guy here to see you. Um, he… is on the sidewalk on a bike… and a piano. And no, I’m not kidding.”
That actually makes me laugh because James grew up in Harlem and only just moved out of a shoebox in a five-floor walkup with his girlfriend.
James had just won the Up-and-Comer title in the Neat bartender awards when I read about him in a magazine. He mentioned being between jobs while he looked for something that could provide constant inspiration.
When I showed up on his doorstep six months ago with nothing but an idea and no money, he talked to me for five minutes before agreeing to embark on this crazy journey with me.
He’s seen things and nothing shocks him. Except a guy pulling a piano on a bike.
“Oh, great! I’ve been waiting to see him.” I pick up the phone to text Matthias and ask if he wants to come and watch the audition with me. But then I remember.
James lingers in the doorway, waiting for me. “Matthias said he’s bringing back a bottle of
Macallan M for me from his trip.”
I eye him. Did he just read my mind? “You… talked to him?”
He nods, unaware of the turmoil churning inside me. “He texted. He sent me a bunch of pictures from his flight as well. Crazy.”
So… he can text. Just not me. Good to know.
On the third night in a row in Matthias’s apartment alone, it’s also the third night I haven’t been able to sleep. Well, not alone, Marika, his housekeeper, is here, but when I’m home, she’s mostly asleep in her room.
It’s just the third night without him.
He hasn’t answered any of my messages, only texting around three a. m. each night to make sure that I’ve arrived home safely, although I’m sure that he is getting reports from Kevin.
“This is stupid,” I finally say around four-thirty a. m., and kick my blankets off. I’m suddenly ravenous. My appetite must be coming back after… Patrick. After three days of having had my lunch brought to me, I’ve barely eaten much more than a Caramello Koala since Matthias left.