Not My Type: Felicity Ch. 06


I buried my fingers in his hair, holding him to me. I didn't dare speak, didn't dare open my mouth out of fear of spilling out what was in my heart. Just having him here with me, like this, had to be enough.

We lay like that for a long time, with Matt covering me, still inside of me. I couldn't even begin to guess what he was feeling, but if it was even half of what I was, it was a lot. Matt shifted, but I held on, anchoring him in place.

"I must be crushing you."

"You are. But I like it."

"Oh, really?" He flexed his hips, moving within me. I thought I'd gotten accustomed to the full feeling of having him inside me—until he thrust deep. A cry ripped from my mouth, echoing in the silent room.

"Really?" Matt drawled again before he repeated the motion. When I made the same sound, he chuckled and thrust again. And again.

When I came, minutes later, it was the loudest sound of them all.


It wasn't yet dawn when I woke to the feel of a wide, rough hand cupping my breast. It felt wonderful to wake up warm in someone's arms, especially when that someone was the man I'd been fantasizing about for three years, the man who had surpassed all my lusty daydreams. I moaned my pleasure aloud.

Matt lay spooned behind me and twitched against my ass. He pulled at my nipple, pinching it a little roughly then rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until I groaned from the intoxicating combination of half-pain, half-pleasure. His hand trailed down my body to dip between my legs. I arched against him as pleasure sparked in my belly. Wetness bloomed over his probing fingers.

There were no teasing asides. There was no shared laughter. There was nothing but our groans of mutual satisfaction and the intense feeling of being completely filled as Matt entered me. From behind, Matt felt huge.

His arms kept me pinned against him as he thrust into me and when he dipped his fingers into my wetness again and strummed my clit, I came hard, writhing against him. Matt kept up his pace and so the ripples of pleasure cascaded from one orgasm to the next, until I could only moan and pant for breath at turns while he took me.

His mouth was slick against my neck as he continued to move thickly within me. He whispered nonsensical endearments into my ear that I couldn't understand but still needed to hear.

He wasn't gentle and I loved it. His unexpected roughness added to my excitement. This was a side of him I'd never seen before and there wasn't anything I could do but come again, my muscles rippling over his cock.

Just when I thought he'd never tire, my name poured from his mouth in a gravely, sleepy growl.

I wilted in Matt's arms, wrung out and sated while he pulsed within me. He smiled into my shoulder and dropped a soft kiss there before he withdrew from my body.

Happy and wrapped up against him, I slept once more.


The bright light beyond my closed eyelids woke me. Lazily, I stretched my limbs, stiff and aching from the night before.

I knew I was alone even before I opened my eyes.

I glanced at the bedside clock, surprised that I'd slept most of the morning away. But then again, I wasn't exactly used to being up half the night engaged in physical activity.

I strained to hear if Matt was in another part of the apartment, but all was silent. He must have slipped out to pick up breakfast and coffee at the restaurant across the road. I lay back in the sheets that smelled of Matt and our lovemaking. Scenes from the previous night flashed in my head. I revisited each moment, over and over, until they were blazoned on my brain so completely, I would never forget a single kiss or caress.

Together we'd been so much more than I ever would have dreamt. Beneath the camaraderie and silly flirtation was a capacity for overwhelming passion. What a waste it would have been to let that remain undiscovered. I lay there for a long time, smiling up at the ceiling, so happy I'd taken the risk.

My stomach rumbled. I glanced over at the clock again. Noon. What the hell was taking him so long?

I rose naked from Matt's bed. A quick exploration of his spartan bedroom didn't reveal a bathrobe of any sort. My dress was hung carefully in the closet but I couldn't conceive of putting it back on just to eat breakfast, so I slipped into my panties and Matt's discarded dress shirt instead. The shirt was longer than my dress anyhow. I rolled up the too-long cuffs and went exploring.

There was no sign of Matt anywhere. He'd left no note, no message for me to find. Stumped, I considered that Matt might assume I'd go downstairs to the garage.

I snuck out the door and down the stairs barefoot. My heart soared when I found the side door to the garage unlocked. Matt must have come down to do some work. But his car wasn't in his spot and the shop was empty.

There was no note on my desk, no voice mail on the garage answering machine.

I sat at my desk and did my best not to let confusion and doubt sweep over me.

Another hour lapsed before every bit of hope dwindled away. My stomach curdled with the thought that maybe Matt hadn't left to get breakfast. Maybe he'd just left.

I glared at the phone and willed it to ring. I listened for any sound from upstairs but there was nothing but a hollow, lonely silence. All my joy seeped away as I waited and waited.

Part of me insisted I go upstairs, get dressed, and go home, and I was almost prepared to do so until I realized that I'd carpooled to the reception with Reverend Nate. My truck was still parked across the island at St. Andrew's.

Not only had Matt left me alone—he'd left me stranded. Home was a good twenty minute hike past the houses and businesses of people I knew and saw every day. I couldn't imagine what they'd think to see me walk past in a fancy dress and high-heeled shoes. A sickened wave washed over me, leaving me feeling abandoned and soiled.

I just wanted to go home, have a long, scalding hot shower, and curl up in bed where I could cry. All that mattered now was making it home before I lost it. Tears threatened to well just as I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel outside. I bolted from the office, ready to give Matt a taste of my temper. But it wasn't a redhead smiling at me. My raw emotion must have shown on my face as I opened the door for Adele and Nate.

As if things couldn't get any worse I had a reverend looking at me—barefoot, barelegged, and wearing Matt's shirt. The shame of it all made my cheeks burn.

"I think I'll wait in the car," he said under his breath.

Adele moved past him and before I could even say anything, she enveloped me in a kind, big-sisterly hug.

"Oh, Flick, cherie, what happened?" she cooed. It was the very question I'd been asking myself over and over.

"H-he's not here," I wailed. My cheeks were wet with tears. "I-I don't know where he went. He left before I woke up and he hasn't come back."

"Well he wasn't at the family brunch this morning either. When you two disappeared last night and didn't show up there this morning, we all sort of assumed you were doing other...things..."

Her attempt at diplomacy and the innuendo only made me cry harder.

Adele pulled a tissue from her bag, handed it to me, and waited in sympathetic silence as I struggled to regain control. I felt ragged inside.

"I m-must have done something wrong," I stuttered as I wiped my damp cheeks.

Adele reached down and put her hands on my shoulders. Her smile was so sweet and gentle that it made my throat constrict. It had been so long since I'd had a friend that I didn't know how to accept her kindness.

"You've done nothing wrong," she insisted gently. "We each make our own choices. You are not to take the blame for someone else's actions. Now, we brought your truck. Why don't you go home and get cleaned up? It'll make you feel better. Matt has to emerge at some point and when he does, you two can talk. I'm sure there's a very good reason for his behavior."

I desperately wanted to believe Adele that there was a reasonable explanation; like he'd been abducted by aliens or perhaps his car had suddenly burst in to flames. But a more logical part of me feared that Matt had woken up this morning and looked at me with nothing but regret. Now he was being a coward about it and couldn't face me.

Adele held up the silver clutch I'd taken to the wedding. "You left it in Nate's car. Your keys were inside." After another compassionate smile she said, "Go home cherie."

I took the purse from her. My keys were cool, the edges sharp as I curled my fingers around them. The stab of pain was a welcome jolt.

Adele gave me another hug. "If you need anything, any time, you can call either me or Nate."

I nodded, feeling numb as she led me out into the afternoon sunshine. She and Nate watched as I climbed into my truck and started it. They even went so far as to follow me to be sure I was okay on the five-minute drive home.

I was vaguely aware of only being half-dressed and barefoot. Not that I cared. I couldn't have ever put the dress and shoes from the day before back on; they'd become permanent reminders of my stupidity.

I drifted up the walkway and to the front door of the house without noticing how I'd gotten there. Inside, the hall was dark and cool. I ached all over and all I wanted was a hot shower and my bed. Well, there was one thing I wanted more, but he'd up and abandoned me.

I was oblivious to everything other than my own misery, which is why running into my Dad was such a shock. He stood in the middle of the darkened living room with his cane in one hand and an empty glass in the other. So much for his latest bout of sobriety. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. His grey eyes danced over my outfit—or rather my lack of one.

"Just gettin' in?"

My entire body tensed at the sound of his voice. I let out a weary sigh. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well that's too bad, 'cause I do."

When he studied me with his cold, distant eyes, I felt like I was more of a stranger to him than his own daughter.

"Ya sleep with him?"

He answered my silence with a slow, disapproving shake of his greying head.

"I never pegged ya for that sort o'girl, Flick. Thought I raised ya better n' that."

The aching loneliness of waking up in Matt's bed to find I'd been abandoned, came crashing down at me. And now I was the one being judged? I'd had enough for one day.

"Raised me? You didn't raise me! You stuck a wrench in my hand and sent me to play on the garage floor, that's not 'raising'. Now is not the time to start playing the part of the upset parent!" I yelled, suddenly furious beyond reason. "Not after twenty-one years of ignoring me."

Dad actually looked taken-aback, but he retained his composure.

"Taught ya everything I knew," he countered in a quieter tone than before.

"You taught me everything you knew about cars," I retorted. "How the hell was that supposed to prepare me for life? For this?"

Dad's hand shook. The ice in the bottom of the empty shot glass clinked about as he set it down.

"Did he hurt ya?"

I wrapped my arms around my waist and squeezed hard, hoping to bring a little feeling back into my body.

"No, Dad. He didn't hurt me."

Not physically, anyway.

"Ya should talk to him." It was a tone of voice I don't think I'd ever heard from him and it surprised me. I softened a little towards my dad then. Here was a man who'd not only been left with his grief when his wife died twenty years ago, but who'd been left alone with a little girl. What did an auto mechanic know about raising a girl?

"Problems don't get solved by runnin' from them, Flick."

Anger churned in my empty stomach. My gaze flitted down to the empty rye glass on the table. His hypocrisy rankled my shattered nerves.

"So it's better to just drown them then?"

He looked shocked at first but it gave way to the simmering anger I was much more used to.

"That's different," he snarled.

I planted my hands on my hips and scoffed.

"It's not different and you know it!" There was no way I was going to let him lecture me on facing my problems, not when he reeked of rye whiskey at one-thirty on a Sunday afternoon. This time there was no way I was going to stop until I said everything I wanted to say. "You really don't expect me to take a word of this conversation seriously when you sit around this house all day long and pour booze down your throat rather than deal with your problems!"

"I've watched you hide away in here for more than a year! I bring you food, I bring you drinks, I clean up after you, and I never question you. I never complain. I pay the bills, I take care of the garage—I do everything. Everything. And you don't even notice, you don't even give a damn!"

I looked up into my father's face, expecting him to yell back at me but he remained silent while his hand trembled on the cane's handle. The injury had aged him so much. The lines around his lips and eyes had deepened and the booze and cigarettes had left their mark.

"You've never noticed," I accused. "You've never cared."

His expression flickered then, just a little, and I thought he'd deny it.

His silence cut deeper than any words he could have said.

"You never asked me if I wanted to run the business! You just assumed that I would. And you have no idea what I've gone through this past year and a half, how much I've struggled. You just sit here in the dark with a drink in your hand and figure that I'll take care of everything. Well, what if I don't want to take care of everything? Of you?"

"For once, I wanted someone to want to take care of me." My voice broke as I struggled not to cry but failed. "I'm sorry if I made the mistake in thinking that maybe I'd finally found someone who did, but I will not have you lecture me on how to fix it."

I scrubbed away my tears then before Dad said anything, before the yelling began, I did the very thing he'd urged me not to do. I ran from my problems, all the way upstairs to my cool, quiet bedroom.

To be continued...

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