37. Fischer

37

FISCHER

M atthew's loft is incredible. As disorganized as he can come across when he's trying to tell me about what happened to him on the subway on any given day, his place isn't messy or chaotic, and it's a far cry from the sterile gray walls and watercolor prints in my place on Park Avenue. Even the light here seems warmer. The vintage sofa in the sitting area is pale pink velvet while the kitchen cabinets opposite are a dark turquoise, as are the shelves lining his workshop holding his sculpting equipment and supplies.

The tree sculpture sends sparkles of light across the floor and the bed—like rainbow fireflies.

But when I arrive on Monday morning with him after his overnight shift, I get about two seconds to take it all in before he has me backed up against the door, his hands up my shirt. His mouth is on mine, and I'm clinging to his arms. After he reclaims my tongue, he drops to his knees, makes quick work of the fastenings on my pants and sucks my cock into his throat.

My knees threaten to buckle as he blows me ruthlessly. The cab ride had been tense, sexually, but I didn't realize he was this close to the edge. Though I had Vaughn last night, the kid sleeps like a rock, and Matthew didn't have to be at the desk until ten. It's not like we've been hands off.

He brings me to the brink so fast I don't have a chance to handle it gracefully. I'm all moans and grunts and curses, mind-blown and overpowered.

" Matthew …"

I come forcefully, and he groans as he drinks me down, sucking me to the point of my legs actually giving out. He catches me by the hips and shoves me back against the door, like he's reminding me it's there to hold me up.

He stands and adds his body weight to keep me upright, kissing my entire load of cum into my mouth and breathing as heavily as I am. I'm forced to swallow myself, which is odd and insanely erotic in a narcissistic and satisfying way.

When I regain control of my thoughts, I kiss him back properly, or at least, give way to him. I get so high off his want, it's gotta be bad for my brain. But once a man comes inside you when you're passed out from exhaustion, you have to acknowledge that he fucking owns you.

I try not to question why he needs me the way he does—or at least—the way it feels like he does. And why am I only too willing to offer myself to him like a nun offers herself to God?

Because I am.

"You're gonna get a lot of those today," he tells me, finally giving me a chance to breathe. Not that I wanted it. I stare back at him, dazed.

"Laundry," he says like he just thought of it. "It's critical."

"Yeah." It's one of the many reasons we're spending the day here and not at my place. He's behind on laundry and can't or won't remember to bring it with him so I can have it sent out with mine.

"Sheets are the priority."

I tilt my head toward the couch. "I'll just be over there."

"Promise you'll make sure I finish it," he says.

I grin. "Okay."

"Seriously, if you don't keep me on task, I'll be wearing dirty underwear for a week."

"I'll make sure it gets done."

He kisses my forehead once and heads for his bed where he proceeds to strip the sheets. I put my pants back together and grab my bag which slipped off my shoulder during all that business at the door before grabbing my cane and making my way over to the pink couch. My hands shake as I pull my laptop out. I highly doubt I'll be able to be productive here, but I can pretend.

"Where's the washer and dryer?" I ask, curious.

"Kitchen." He's still breathing heavy.

"That's convenient."

"Maggie had it installed. I'd legit never do laundry otherwise."

"But blackout shades are where you draw the line?"

"I'd hate to lose any of the light in here," he says.

He has a point. The light is half the magic. The other half, of course, is him , and all the traces of him scattered around.

After putting the sheets and pillowcases in the washer, he starts making a rare pot of coffee. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Caffeinating."

I frown in disapproval. "You worked all night."

"I'm gonna stay up today. Sleep with you tonight like a normal person."

"You'll wear yourself out," I say.

He gives me a wink. "That's the plan."

I shake my head and try to focus on my screen.

I can't, though. I have a thought that won't quiet down. "Have you reached out to anyone about the tree yet?"

He glances over at it like he forgot it was there. "I don't know. I'm kind of getting used to it."

"So, that's a no."

"You've been keeping me kind of busy. I don't know if you've noticed."

"Did you at least talk to Gavin?" I ask.

"Not yet."

I sigh. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No, I will."

"I don't mind," I tell him.

"I'm not sure it's good enough," he says. A familiar refrain.

"Someone will think it is."

"Do you want to buy it?" he asks. "I know you like it. And I believe it when you say it."

"Not sure I have space for it at the Eastmoor, but I can pull out my measuring tape."

He laughs, effectively closing the subject. "Want some coffee?"

"Sure."

I pull up a spreadsheet so it looks like I'm actually doing something when he comes over to sit next to me on the couch with a thermos of coffee for himself and a normal-sized mug for me.

I slide my laptop onto the coffee table and take the drink from him. He leans to the side, propping his elbow on the filigreed wood frame of the sofa and waits for me to pay attention to him. I shift slightly so I'm facing him, and our legs are touching.

"I came over here to ask you something," he tells me.

"Is it serious?" I ask him.

"Sort of. Have you gotten a chance to have the talk with Ravenna?"

The coffee sours on my tongue, and I set it down along with my laptop, which I also close. "Not yet. Like you said—we've been pre-occupied."

"I'm willing to give you a few minutes if you want to take care of that," he says. "Unless you changed your mind."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I sigh. "I haven't even seen her."

"I know you've been texting."

I glare at him. "Look. I'll talk to her while you're working tomorrow. Then you can come up and punish me for taking so long to get around to it."

"And then what?" he asks, surprising me. I thought I'd get more mileage out of the invitation for punishment.

"How do you mean?"

"Then do we talk to Maggie? Our family. What comes next?"

"Do we have to decide that now?" I ask, my heart misfiring at the thought.

He sighs, defeated. "You're right. It's only been a couple weeks. No use getting anybody else involved if you decide it's not gonna work."

"Why me?" I ask.

"It's not gonna be me ."

"I'm not prepared to concede that. You've literally never been in a relationship before. What if you hate it?"

"I've been in a relationship with you for years, and I don't hate it at all."

"You know what I mean," I say, refusing to let him off the hook. I'm not the wild card here. Not by a long shot.

"I'm freaking out," he blurts.

"Why?"

"Because I don't think I'm a good fit for you."

I hate this conversation. And it's not the only time we've had it this week. His validation needs are as high as mine. It's no wonder we exhaust each other. "Again, why?"

Matthew shifts like he thinks his couch is as uncomfortable as mine. For the record, it isn't.

"Because. You've been married before. You've never been in a relationship with a guy, and I'm not sure you see yourself ending up with a man. Any man."

My head jerks slightly. "You're not just some guy, Matty."

"Have you gamed this out in your head, though? In terms of Maggie, Mom and Dad. Nicole?"

"We're not doing anything wrong," I remind him. "We never have."

"Not on paper, maybe…"

"Not in any way." I study him closer. He's chewing his cheek. His fingertips are brushing back and forth over his thumb. He's all but screaming at me to put an arm around him, but instead, his body is stiff, and his words are tight and clipped. Quiet.

This is Matthew at his absolute most addictive. A perfectly beautiful mess, specifically designed to make me throw all my inhibitions aside. I might as well just hand him my heart and tell him to put it in a sculpture. Etch it, solder it, try to make something useful out of it because he's going to destroy it either way.

We're on a collision course, and it's moving fast. It would be just as dangerous to get off the ride as stay on it. I have zero illusions when it comes to him. I know his track record, and I know we're complicating things, which can't be easy for a guy who likes to keep things simple.

While his thoughts might be a rainbow-colored chaos cloud, he works a simple job, avoids emotional entanglements, and processes his feelings with art and sex.

So I get what it takes for him to bring this up with me. He's trying to set his expectations, which means he's developing some. I'm more curious about what those are than I am wondering whether I'm suddenly going to see the light and want to date Raven because of how it would look on a Christmas card.

"I think it's important we not think too far ahead," I say carefully.

"No, I mean, I get that," he says casually even as his posture remains rigid. "I'm not trying to make you predict the future or anything. I'm just wondering whether it's an option. Or if you're just trying not to think about it."

"I don't see Raven as an option," I say.

"You don't think maybe you should?" he asks, sounding pained. "Or maybe you might feel differently if Vaughn gets along with her?"

That image hits me in the gut. I have a visceral reaction to it, shuddering. That's never going to happen. I might not be ready to shout it from the rooftops or gather the family together to make an announcement, but I'm in love with Matthew. Deeply, and unquestioningly. Now's probably not the time to bring that up, though. He's already close to spiraling.

I scoot closer to him and grab his fidgeting hand.

"It makes me sick thinking about you with someone else," he says.

"I know." I feel the exact same.

"Can I ask you a hypothetical question…?"

"No," I say, covering his mouth with my other hand, and for the first time in several minutes, his eyes crinkle with a smile. He kisses my fingers before I pull them away. "Maybe you should take a nap," I tell him.

"Is that brotherly advice, or…?"

"Oh, you wanna play now?"

He advances on me, and I don't have the will to move away. "Maybe I don't need a nap. Maybe I need a distraction."

"Don't you have laundry to do?"

"It hasn't buzzed yet," he says, his nose brushing mine.

I rest my hands on his chest where I feel his heart slamming into his ribcage. Exactly the way mine is. "For the record," I say, while I can still form a coherent thought, "It makes me sick thinking about you with someone else, too."

Matthew shakes his head. "At least you don't have to see the proof of it walking in and out of the lobby all the time acting like she and I have a special secret."

"I'll fix it," I promise him.

"Tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Good."