Then I slam into her, all the way, no warning, and she cries out and I have to stifle my groan.
I f**k her mercilessly, pumping into her so hard that my balls hurt a little from the way they’re slapping against her. But I dig the pleasure-pain principle so I don’t let up.
Pounding in Mac while she hangs practically upside down on the couch makes me feel powerful, and alive, and I’m reminded why Matt Fucking Connover is the way he is.
This is the only f**king way to live life, and I hope I’m f**king some sense into her because if she’s honest, she’ll admit this is a pretty damn good way to live.
My orgasm slams through me so hard, that I can’t help the words that pour out of me in sync to the way I’m shooting inside of her. “Mac… Mac… Mac…”
When I’m drained and with my chest still heaving, I pull back and slip out of her,
reaching forward to pull her back up. When she gets her legs underneath of her, I start to turn her in my arms for a gentle kiss.
Instead, she practically shrieks at me, slapping my arms away. “I can’t do this anymore, Matt. ”
I can’t help but smile at her. She looks magnificent with her hair wild, her neck red from an explosive orgasm, and anger sparking hot in her eyes.
Makes me want to f**k her again.
“Yes, you can,” I gloat. “Want me to prove it to you right now?”
“No,” she says, her voice now back under control and sounding fatigued. “I’m tired of being controlled by you sexually. I’m tired of this… this… I don’t even know what this is, but I’m tired of it. ”
Yeah, right. Who in their right mind would get tired of this?
Fucking. Best. Sex. Ever.
Apparently, she needs a little reminder so I reach out to her, grinning devilishly.
“No!” she yells in frustration, and my hands drop. “No. I need you to leave. ”
You’d never know it because I keep my cocky smile on my face, but inside, I start to smolder with fury. She’s f**king ruining what I’ve so carefully built back up this week. I thought she was on board with where we went. I thought she understood my need for a “reset”. She certainly hasn’t complained.
I stare at her for a moment, still keeping that arrogant look on my face, when what I really want to do is yell at her in frustration. Her eyes are dismally sad when she just stares back at me, not backing down.
I’m not backing down either. When I decided to “reset”, I did so because it was what was best for me. It was done to protect me. I don’t have room to look out for both of us.
Pushing my c**k back in my pants, I zip myself up while smirking at her. I don’t feel like smirking but I do it anyway, so she knows she doesn’t have a chance for anything more. “You’ll never be able to give this up, Mac. Not for long anyway. ”
I don’t look for her reaction, because I know that what I just said probably killed any bit of feelings she had for me. While I pretty much assured myself it would be her reaction when I said those words, I don’t want to see the utter disappointment and pain on her face.
Because damn it… even though I don’t want to, I do still care.
But ultimately… not enough.
Chapter 20
I have got to be the biggest dumbass in the history of the world. The reasons may be too numerous to list, causing a novel the size of which would rival War and Peace.
I’ll just hit the highlights.
Aside from the obvious, that I should have never f**ked Mac after I learned her real identity, I would have to say my first screw up was in bringing her flowers. It was a silly and lighthearted gesture on my part that apparently holds a ton of meaning to a woman. While, granted, Mac didn’t simper or make a big deal of the flowers—it was still a mistake. It was a mistake because Mac didn’t simper or make a big deal. That, therefore, gave me a false sense of security with her. I underestimated her girlie side, because she wasn’t blatant about it.
So I figured… I brought her flowers with no major reaction, what could possibly be such a big deal then about flying to Nashville to hold her while her mother died?
Yes, even I know how ludicrous that sounds, but my own ego is so battered right now that I’m through trying to rationalize my actions. It’s just easier to admit I’m a dumbass and try to move on.
Except I can’t move on.
I f**king miss Mac so bad that I’m having trouble sleeping.
Having trouble concentrating.
Not having a hard time jerking off, but that’s only because I have a stockpile of amazingly sexy memories with Mac I can call upon for aid.
But I’m tired of masturbating to the memory of a former lover. How could that ever be satisfying when I’ve had the real Mac?