Page 39 of For Pleasure Or Worse

“But he loves her,” David reasoned. “That’s enough sometimes. Maybe when all this honeymooning wears off and reality sets in he’ll smarten up and tell her what he needs.”

“He’s head over heels,” Anna said. “And she’s young and has to learn a thing or two before beauty gets boring.”

My chest felt caged in, lungs swelling against iron bars. I wanted to crawl inside my own skin and hide. Part of me was ready to burst out of the shadows and confront what I’d heard, but most of me collapsed in on myself, regressing back to that young, insecure teenager being scolded by her parents for having no motivation or redeeming qualities. This was worse than that, because all I’d ever tried to do was make Mateo’s parents like me, and they still somehow came to the same conclusion.

What if they were right? Being a partner to someone was more than taking up their space, and sooner or later Mateo was going to realize that I wasn’t the type of woman you’d want as a wife. I wasn’t a homemaker. I couldn’t even blame the staff of chefs and maids that I grew up with for it. I never learned because I didn’t have to. It was pure laziness. I was exactly what Anna and David were saying I was, and now I wasn’t sure if Mateo felt the same and chose to ignore it all this time because I was loyal and good at the one thing every man wants. Sex.

That’s what I got for eavesdropping. Before I could hear anything more, I carefully tiptoed away, folding my lips over my teeth and biding a few extra seconds to get into our bedroom, close the door, and sink to the wood to let myself cry.

As a distraction,I made myself busy doing the pre-production work for our Valentine’s Day shoot. It was the loneliest, horniest holiday of the year, and if it went anything like our previous together, it would also be our most lucrative. We had requests pouring in for video gifts and personalized Hard-O-Grams, as I had named them, and a poll for the livestreamshowed the current vote for sex position of choice was the pretzel dip. Classic.

I didn’t leave my bubble of sorrow until I heard the front door open long after dinnertime and Mateo’s voice greeting his mom and dad. My insecurities were irritated like a rash I kept on scratching, and every time I looked in the mirror I was more and more unsure that the man I was going to marry was even attracted to me anymore. I’d become too comfortable, I couldn’t cook a roast or iron a dress shirt without leaving it worse than it began, and like his mom said, once the novelty of a wife with a shallow G-spot wore off, eventually I would be useless.

The door to the small laundry room was cracked when I crept down the hall and I ducked my head inside to see Mateo tugging his work polo over his head and tossing it into a half-full washer. The movement tousled his hair, and it fell so perfectly across his forehead and in wispy strands in front of his eyes I leaned against the frame to admire it for a second as he filled the machine with detergent and turned it on.

He noticed me staring and a smile curled his lips. “Hi, angel.”

“Hi,” I hummed back. He tugged his white undershirt from his jeans and unfastened his belt before pulling it entirely out of the loops and setting it aside. “Can I help?”

I didn’t wait for an answer before slipping into the room, nudging the white door closed behind me and twisting the lock. Mateo’s eyebrow lifted at the sound of the soft click. “Are we hiding from something, Natalia?”

“Maybe,” I answered coyly. The rumbling washer swished to life as I wedged myself in the space between it and Mateo. My breasts pressed into the bottom of his ribs, spilling over the low neckline of my tank top. I looked up at him but he was already looking down, gaze hooded, focused where I expected him to be, and then those yellow-brown eyes found mine andneedrushed violently between my legs.

Both sides of his jaw twitched, and his throat corded on a swallow as I trailed my long fingertips across the rough denim on his thighs, up to the hem of his undershirt, and slipped them beneath. His stomach pulled taut under my touch, and I drew circles in the light-brown hair that swirled around his belly button and down toward his waist.

“There’s nothing suspicious about doing laundry together with the door locked,” he reasoned. “Perfectly normal.”

“The dryer broke,” I joked, tugging open his pants button then bouncing onto my tiptoes to reach the exposed skin at his collarbone, lashing my tongue against his neck.

“Goddammit, woman,” he said gruffly, his fingers looped into the band of my jeans. “You know my mother’s thirty feet away.”

“I distinctly remember you saying you could fuck me anytime, anywhere, any way you please.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t. But you can’t keep your mouth shut when I’m inside you, Tally. I’m not sure you want everyone hearing you while you cry on my cock.”

My face flamed, the hint of degradation sending me far away from any rational decision making. Heknewwhat those words would do to me. “I’ll be quiet,” I promised, taking the lobe of his ear between my teeth and biting down lightly. The soft groan it pulled out of his chest surprised us both.

“What is this about?” Mateo lifted me to sit atop the washing machine and wrenched my knees apart. When he stepped between my legs our noses were nearly brushing. “Something got you all hot and bothered while I was at work? Tell me.”

I hid my face as his vein-swathed hands rubbed up and down my legs, squeezing gently at the juncture of my hips, and setting my nerves on edge. “It’s not that.”

“Don’t lie. I’ll get it out of youmy wayif you do.”

Most of Mateo’s threats did the opposite of the intended effect. My blood raced at the thought of a punishment, his hands around my neck, a red ass, edging, withholding. I could turn myself on just imagining it, but he was doing all the work himself.

“I’m not.” His touch climbed up my body and tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck. I let my head fall to the side ever so slightly and Matty’s gentle lips grazed the spot where my pulse hammered just below my ear. “I was working.”

“So I was right.”

“I was thinking about you and how stressed you’ve been.” I slid the zipper of his pants down. “I don’t take care of you enough.”

Mateo’s eyes flitted to the closed door as I peeled the band of his boxer briefs away from his body and slid my hand into them, coiling my fingers around a hot, hard shaft. His hips jarred into it, asking for more while I tugged slowly.

“Fucking Christ, Tal, you’re more than taking care of me.”

He wrenched the low neckline of my top down, uncovering my budding, sensitive breasts and with my free hand I lowered his head, guiding his mouth to suck on them, one after the other. His cock beaded with precum under my fingertips.

“Doesn’t this bother you?” I gestured to the washing machine.

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