Collateral Damage |+18|

7. I could fall in love with him. [Part 2]

“That smells good,” I say as I walk into his kitchen, where he’s frying something.

Matt looks over his shoulder at me and smiles. The sweater is huge, almost reaching my knees, which definitely makes me look funny. But he seems pleased to see me wearing his clothes.

“Do you like fish fillet?” he asks, going back to his task.

“Yes. Do you want me to help with anything?”

“No, I’m almost done. Why don’t you find something to watch on the TV? I think I have almost every streaming service. Help yourself.”

I smile at the way he says it.

“Do you have a preference?” I shout so he can hear me while browsing the big screen for something to watch.

“Whatever you want, I’m not a TV fan.”

I settle on a recent adaptation of a classic romance.

“Do you know it?” I ask Matt about the movie while helping him set everything on the table in front of us.

He glances at the screen for a second.

“No,” he shakes his head, which surprises me. Everyone, at some point, has heard of or seen something about this movie, even on social media. It won more awards than I can remember.

“Do you have social media?”

He stares at me like the answer should be obvious.

I laugh.

“Tell me, what would I do with an i********: account, Buttercup?”

I sit beside him carefully, making sure not to hurt myself, and bring the plate to my lap to start eating.

“i********:’s outdated, old man,” I say, putting a baked chip in my mouth. “Now it’s TikTok.”

He sighs.

“Well, I don’t have any of that, love.”

“But you’re… you,” I add. “How can you not have social media?”

“My company has social media. I don’t,” he says, eating, looking at me before continuing. “And I don’t manage that part of the company. We have a social media manager for that, and I don’t get involved.” He shudders, as if just thinking about it annoys him.

“You should have social media. It’s fun.”

“What would I post?”

“I don’t know… funny stuff.”

“Do you have social media?”

“I have all of them,” I toss him a chip when he looks at me incredulously. “What’s surprising?”

“You don’t seem like that type.”

I roll my eyes again, amused.

“Well, I love social media, not to mention it’s the perfect advertisement for what I do. But I won’t tell you more. If you want to know, make an account on each one and find me.”

“That’s not happening, Buttercup.”

I wink at him and add, “We’ll see.”

And I press play on the movie to start watching.

|…|

Perched on the countertop, I laugh while he washes the dishes.

“You’re ridiculous, Buttercup,” he says, but affectionately, not mockingly.

“Seriously, everyone at the company fears you; they see you as a complete ogre. I’ve seen several accounting girls cross themselves when they see you pass by.”

“I’m not that bad, I just want everything to be perfect… although lately, I’ve started enjoying chaos,” he says with a mischievous smile that makes him look younger.

I splash some water to distract him from my flushed cheeks, because that smile… that smile does things to me.

“What do you like most about your job?” I ask, trying to distract him as I notice him watching me playfully.

“I like everything,” he says thoughtfully, biting the hook. “But I’m lucky to say that what I like most is what I’m best at.”

“So buying apps, tweaking them, and selling them for a better price is your passion?”

“Incredibly, yes.”

He’s gotten rich doing it, so his answer doesn’t surprise me at all. That’s the foundation of his empire.

“How do you know an app has potential?”

“Instinct,” he admits after thinking. “And so far, my instinct hasn’t failed me on any.”

“But have you ever tried creating an app from scratch, completely your own idea?”

I know it’s the wrong question when I see him shut down. The relaxed, easygoing atmosphere between us shifts, growing a little tense.

Several seconds pass in which I think he won’t answer, until he whispers,

“I did it many years ago,” he nods to memories of the past, his face hardened and lost in thought. “But it didn’t work.”

I open my mouth to ask more, but he moves quickly. He grabs my waist and pins me against the countertop, then slips between my legs. He lowers his head and searches for my eyes, staring at me intensely.

“For someone you don’t like, you’re awfully curious about me.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” I let my hands rest softly on his shoulders, then add, “At least, I never said it out loud.”

He understands what my words imply, how playful I am with them, and smiles that mischievous smile of his.

“You’ve called me an i***t more times than anyone else ever has in my whole life.”

“That’s because you’ve been an i***t…” I lower my gaze to his chest and whisper, “…with me.”

“Really?” He moves his hand from my cheek down to my neck, in a seductive caress.

“Mjumm,” I tilt my head toward him, craving more of his touch.

“And how should I apologize?”

I look into his eyes as his hand coils gently around my neck, holding me with a maddening care. My eyelids flutter, struggling to close under the pleasure his touch awakens, but I can’t; he doesn’t let me escape. His eyes lock with mine with an intensity that takes my breath away, and I can’t look away, not even when his hand slides, releasing me slowly to trail across my collarbones.

He moves deliberately between my breasts until finally reaching my stomach. His thumb finds my navel through the fabric and circles it softly, leaving a trail of heat that runs through me to my core. Every touch of his is a mix of strength and tenderness, a reminder that I’m completely at his mercy.

A small sound escapes me as he leans toward me to murmur in my ear, “You haven’t answered me, Defne.”

I drop my forehead on his shoulder, and my hand reaches out to grip his waist. I press closer, and his lips return to my neck, doing what they did days ago: sucking a piece of my skin, letting out a wet sound that makes me wet between my legs.

“How do I apologize for being a complete i***t?” he continues whispering as I lose myself in his scent, his touch, and everything about him. “Tell me, I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He takes my hand and places it over his, on my stomach, urging me to show him what I want.

“Come on, Def,” he holds my hair at the nape of my neck, then plants a soft kiss on my exposed skin, a kiss that runs through my whole body. “Move my hand, Buttercup. Where do you want me to touch you?”

“You drive me crazy,” I whisper, intertwining our hands on my stomach. The other goes to his hair, burying my fingers in his scalp to press him deeper into my skin. He growls, kissing my neck more passionately, taking every movement I give him as permission, covering every inch of skin he can.

I slowly lower our hands together, bringing them directly to my center. Through the fabric, he presses the heel of his hand against my c**t, and his fingers grip me possessively.

I moan softly into his ear, and he loses control.

His hands grab my hips, lifting me off the countertop, probably to his bedroom. But we both forget about my bruise, so when he holds me, I undoubtedly scream. Hard. Because he’s grabbed me right where a huge bruise is already forming.

“s**t,” he curses, and carefully sets me back on my feet. Before I can reply, he lifts my sweater off my skin and sees the massive bruise forming on my hip. “f**k, Buttercup, why didn’t you tell me it hurt before?”

“Because it didn’t,” I close my eyes, fighting the pain.

He kneels before me and, without a hint of shame, pulls down one side of my panties, revealing more of my skin to his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was that bad. How the hell did you do this?”

“I guess my whole weight fell on that side of my body.”

“Christ, Def,” he leans in unexpectedly and leaves a soft, lingering kiss on my skin. Then he puts my panties back in place, and the fabric of his sweater falls over, covering me.

Meanwhile, I try to control the goosebumps erupting all over me.

“I’m going to call the doctor to get you something, okay?”

“You don’t have to…”

But he’s already leaving the kitchen in search of what I’m sure is his phone.

I sigh, but inevitably a smile spreads across my face.

Because I like this side of him, so protective it borders on irrational.

I like this man.

Not Matheo, the perfect man, flawless and only accepting perfection.

I like Matt, the imperfect man under all his armor. The emotionally accessible man, who blushes, cooks, and can make me laugh easily. The one with dry humor about current things, reminding us of our age gap, but who also smiles like a mischievous child.

God, I could fall in love with him.

I’m in so much trouble.