55. Fischer

55

FISCHER

W hen Matthew returns to the bed, he leans back into the pillows on his side. I'd have to turn around to look at him. I make the choice not to. As much as I want to snuggle against his chest, too much remains unsettled.

I managed to say a lot last night when we weren't looking at each other, and while I'm a lot clearer this morning, awkward ejaculation aside, I want every opportunity to be able to speak from my heart all the things he deserves to hear.

"I would try to protect you with my dying breath," I begin.

"Even if I didn't need it?" he asks. "Or want it?"

"You'd still be worth it," I say.

"Is that why you left me the first time, too? You were trying to protect me?"

"I was trying to protect us both. I'm not that selfless."

"But you're saying you were this time?"

"Matthew, since Nicole filed that petition, I felt like I was dying. I would have rather been dying."

I hear how deep his next breath is. "I think I was dying," he whispers.

"I knew staying away would hurt you, and I'm so fucking sorry. I know it doesn't help, but that's why I called. And why I wanted Gavin to check on you. I was worried."

"One day maybe I'll tell you what it was like to feel like I'd never be with you again, but I don't think I can go there right now."

That hurts to hear. "Don't mind me, I'm just over here drowning in a thousand regrets."

"Can you look at me, please?" he asks.

I set the coffee down on the nightstand and turn around. His hands are empty, and his knees are hitched up, leaving a space between his legs where I know I belong. Seeing me staring at the space longingly, he pats the mattress, and I come, crawling to him like one of the subs in Gibson's club, kneeling between his thighs and waiting for permission to touch him.

He stares me down, his eyes full of thunderstorms and lightning. My favorite hurricane. "I'll do whatever it takes to be with you, too. But you can't leave me again," he says.

"I know. I can't."

"No matter what, Fischer."

"I get it," I say.

"Is this what you want?"

"Were you ready?" I ask. "Back then? Were you ready for this?"

He nods. "Back then, I would have followed you anywhere."

"Is it better, then, or worse, that I left you behind?"

He narrows his eyes. "It makes it harder to trust you."

That makes sense. Maybe it was a dumb question. "You think I can handle you?" I ask instead.

"Yeah, I think so. If you wanted out, you had your chance."

"I definitely don't want out," I say. "What about you?"

Matthew frowns. "Can I handle you?"

I nod.

"I mean, you're pretty high maintenance for a dude, but it's not like I'm gonna suddenly trust someone else to take care of you."

My mouth twitches. "I'll never want anyone else."

The tenderness in his eyes nearly knocks me back. I want to reach out and take hold of his waistband—just for balance, but I keep myself still, only swaying slightly. "I want you more than I want to breathe," I confess.

"You ever think about texting me that ?"

"Would it have helped?" I ask.

"I think so. Why didn't you?"

I swallow hard and bow my head. "Because who wants to admit that they're not even a whole person without someone else?"

"You're a whole person," he says, and he takes one of my hands. "Maybe we just happen to share a heart."

"Maybe that's it," I whisper, stroking his knuckles with my thumb, refamiliarizing myself with the heat he exudes. How hot he runs in every way—in all the ways I've always been so cold I've often felt chilled to the bone.

"I don't give a fuck what we have to do to be together," he tells me. "I'm done trying to get anyone to understand something only you and I are capable of knowing. If you're the only thing I get to have for the rest of my life, I'll consider that a win."

"The rest of your life?" I ask.

"Yeah. You're it. Can you handle that ?"

"It's a lot of pressure."

He puts his hands around my wrists, lightly encircling them. "Running away with someone in plain sight?"

I manage a small grin. "When you put it that way…"

I used to wonder why me ? Why would someone so young and beautiful and full of promise waste their time on someone old and scarred and cynical. But he's never seen me as any of those things. He's seen deeper. He's seen the abandoned child, the traumatized reporter, the soft center that all my guards were built to protect. And every kiss we've shared—from the first one—has proven to me over and over again that he loves me. Deeply. It's the only thing I believe. The only thing in my life that's real and mine .

Of course I second-guessed everything—that's who I am, but he's been so steady, so earnestly in love with me. He's made it impossible to deny that what we have is extraordinary—once in a lifetime. "You're sure?" I ask because I'm still me, and I have to.

"Yes, princess."

I flush, shaking my head before I finally lift my gaze to meet his again. He lets go of my wrists to hold me by the waist, his abs flexing as he crunches up to bring our faces closer. "I love you," I tell him.

"I love you."

"And you'll keep me?" I ask.

He nods slowly. "If you'll stay. I'll hide in your closet as long as it takes."

"And if you get bored?"

Matthew kisses the corner of my mouth, murmuring, "You could never bore me."

The nervous jump of my stomach tells me he's right. The balance between us exists due to his persistence and my resistance. He's uncontainable, and I'm too tightly-wound. He chases, I surrender. Sometimes not in that order. I'm free to kiss him first, but he'll overwhelm me before I even know what hits me. "So we're doing this? For real? Forever? No matter what? Good times and bad?"

His gaze drops to my mouth. "All I need to hear is that you want it, too."

"And then what?' I ask, feeling my body heat up.

"And then I'm gonna take you apart the way I did the tree."

"Jesus. Yes—yeah, I want it. Not going anywhere. Ever."

"Perfect." His mouth presses into mine, and I part my lips to receive his tongue.

One stroke, and I'm groaning down his throat. I wrap my arms around him, and he lets himself fall back, holding me to his chest. My kiss is hungry and desperate. A week of need unleashing itself. He lets me devour him, take everything I've missed and everything I need. His hands roam over my clothes as I feast on his mouth.

He squeezes my ass hard, and I grunt, thrusting against his abs. "Needy baby," he says.

No shit.

I kiss him again, and this time, he slides his hands down the back of my pants, scratching marks into my ass cheeks. I lift my head to look at his face. His eyes flutter open, glazed with lust and something like relief. Something like eternal love. His lips are red and wet and so beautiful as he presses them together and arches his neck. "Don't stop," he says.

"I'm not."

He uses his grip on my ass to move me over his cock, a whimper coming from him this time, and suddenly I'm getting a whole new vibe. I don't know what we're doing unless… "Do you…?"

He nods.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Jesus Christ, I thought I was turned on before, but my cock could etch a diamond now.

I kiss him again as he shoves my pants past my hips. His legs fall open only to wrap themselves around mine. He grinds himself against me, a hand around my neck keeping my mouth attached to his. So passionate. So desperate. Begging for something he told me he'd never ask of me, which absolutely feels like a dare, but this morning, it also feels like more.

I won't lie and say my confidence is at an all-time high. This last week has broken me in wholly new ways, and every kiss threatens to add another fracture line. But I want him to trust me. I want him to trust all that we are and all that we'll be—no matter what.

I lift my head again, and immediately he says, "Please…"

I help him out of his shirt. In the sunlight, all the cuts on his torso and arms are bright red and slightly puffy. His cheeks are pink, and his gaze is fevered.

"Do I need a condom?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Test was negative."

Three words have never turned me on so much. I won't deny I've wanted this. Both because it means something to me, and because I think he needs it more than he's wanted to admit. It may not be the last wall that has to fall between us, but it's an important one.

I pull his boxer briefs off, and he lifts his knees, exposing himself in a way I've never seen him. I get naked in a hurry before digging around in his nightstand to find lube.

"Are your knees okay?" he asks.

"Don't worry about me." I can't feel anything but my pulsing cock and the growing need to be inside him. Whether I'll last more than a few seconds, I can't predict, nor can I expect he'll ever need me like this again, but all I see when I look at him is how much he needs me now . He's burning for it—to get the feelings fucked out of him. I hope I don't fuck away all the good ones, too.

After I apply a liberal amount of lube to my weeping cock, I seek out his hole and brush two fingers over it. He shudders, and his jaw locks. Through gritted teeth, he says, "You don't need to stretch me."

"Can I do this my way, please?"

"I'm sorry," he says quickly.

I press my other hand down on his abs, and he hikes his legs back further, flexible enough to bend himself nearly in half. His hole is wide open, pleated and pink. I slide my slick fingers inside, and he groans. Fuck, he's white hot. "Matty, Jesus."

I want to thank him, but I shut up. I don't stretch him, but I do map him. I test the ring of muscle clenching around my intruding fingers, and I search out the small swell of nerves that makes him gasp. I get the feeling he's not used to this because he's panting. A near panicked expression on his face speaks to how vulnerable he feels. How he's fighting himself not to rush me.

I ask him again. "You sure?"

I didn't come here to change everything between us. I don't need to do this to be happy with him. I love how we are—how he wants me on any given day.

He jerks his cock a few times and looks me dead in the eyes. "What do you think?"

I think I need to be inside him. Now .

Grabbing him by the hamstrings, I nudge my cockhead against him until it's aimed directly at his hole. With a deep, shaky breath, I shove through the thin band of resistance and sink in deep.

"Umph…" He grunts, his neck coming off the bed again. " Fuck ."

Snug and hot and slick with lube, his channel swallows my cock whole. His strokes on his dick are lazy, but it's because he's watching me. Not my cock sinking into him, but my face. And I can't look away from his either. His cheeks are red as he takes me, and he bites down on the corner of his lower lip as I pull back and thrust.

"Tell me what you want," I say, already comparing myself with everyone he's let do this to him before.

"You…" is all the information I get.

"Who the fuck am I?" The question slips out, absolutely meant to be kept to myself.

"Show me," he says, his voice strained as I slowly fuck him.

"You feel so good," I say.

"Yeah?"

"So fucking good, baby."

He lets out a short, pained whimper, and his eyes close briefly. I move faster, but not rougher, loving the feeling of every inch of him clamping tightly on every inch of me.

I wish my hips were what they used to be. I wish I could do something more than drill him deep, but his groans don't sound like complaints. His hand leaves his cock to take hold of my arm. He rests his calves on my shoulders and grabs for my hands. Our fingers thread and lock. Our eyes meet again, and I'm able to lean forward enough to pin him to the pillow.

"Help me," I tell him. "Fuck me."

A groan rips from his chest, and he gets the message. I can't do this on my own. I need him. His legs shift to lock around my back, tilting his hips up to give himself room to move beneath me. As he works his ass around my thrusting cock, we start to lose ourselves in the new angles and rhythm.

It's perfect.

"Fischer, fuck …"

"That's it…that's so fucking good."

"Give me more," he begs.

I don't hesitate. Tightening my grip on his hands for leverage, I slam into his ass, our flesh and bones crashing as he rocks against me and milks me with every single muscle in his ass. Our bodies thump together, and he groans with each thrust. I'm losing my mind.

"I'm gonna come," he tells me.

"Yeah?"

"You feel so fucking good inside me."

"You're doing all the work," I say—again, words I meant to keep to myself.

"Shut the fuck up—your cock is incredible. Best fucking thing ever."

"Goddammit," I breathe. Pressure builds in my groin as my own release threatens urgently. I shift his hands up, closer to his face and stretch myself to lengthen and roughen my strokes.

"Oh, fuck… fuck …"

He sounds like a different person. Some side of him I've never seen before today. Before he trusted me. His head thrashes as he tries to fight it. My thighs tense as I try to do the same, not wanting this to end. From time to time, my abs graze his cock, and he's so close. I can feel it. See it with my own eyes.

It's got me so on edge, I feel close to death—or nirvana.

"I'm coming," he whispers. "Fucking coming…"

I glance down as his cock throbs hard and cum shoots out. Exactly like that night in the club, I crumble at the sight of it. My resistance fails, and I unleash inside him, my hot load filling his hole as he lets out a long groan of deep satisfaction. I, on the other hand, sound like a grunting, growling beast-person as we continue to fuck every drop out of each other.

"Shit…" he whines. "Motherfuck… shit …" His broken words contain a high note of surprise.

Unable to hold myself up anymore, I crash to his chest, and he grabs me by the head and drives his mouth onto mine. Half of me is still inside him, and he's got his legs locked so hard around my ass, he's not letting me go anywhere any time soon. "I never…oh my fucking God…" He kisses me again. "You're perfect."

I want to say "that was all you" but he's kissing me too hard. Too thoroughly. And that fact is, it was perfect because we are. In all the ways some may see us as wrong, we're also meant for each other. Whatever he thinks just happened here, the end result is he just gave himself to me in a way he never has before. Which makes him fully and completely mine .

I take over the kiss, driving his head into the pillow and covering his body possessively. I wrap him in my arms, and he hugs me to him like a man in love.

Our connection snaps firmly into place. He's the key to my lock, and I open only for him. Together we're far more than either one of us could ever be alone.

Not that I ever plan to leave his side again.

When the kiss comes to an exhausted end, I slide out of him, and he moans. "I feel you…" he whispers, eyes closed as the sunlight attaches to his perfect face.

"That was a week's worth," I remind him.

He sighs, content. "Fuck…I love it. And you're next."

I smile, running a hand down his slick, messy chest. "I love you," I tell him. "You're the fucking best. Always have been."

For that I get a smirk and his fingertips brushing my hair back from my face to tuck it behind my ear. "My forever muse."

The way he's looking at me causes a deep flush to heat my face. Like I really am his everything. If he hadn't already utterly dismantled me piece by carefully constructed piece, those words would have finished the job. Instead, it feels like a rebirth. One I don't have to be ashamed of for the first time in my life.

We have a million promises left to make, but our life starts here , both much too late, and just in time.