Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
We’ve had such a wonderful evening. Fantastic food and wonderful company. Lots of laughter and even a dance or two. I’m so glad I’ve met Matt’s friends, and also a little sorry I put it off for so long. Especially as they’ll be part of our child’s life. But then again, maybe it’s for the best I didn’t build those relationships. Less to leave behind.
Matt closes the door behind me, and I feel his hands at my shoulder, helping me off with my coat.
“Stay with me tonight.” His voice is all husk and want as he captures my hand and turns me to face him.
The thing we’ve been dancing around all night. I wonder if Matt thinks we’ve turned a corner. Who knows, maybe we have. But it’s not happiness I see lurking just beyond. For me, at least. Because I will lose him. There can be no other conclusion to us.
I can’t commit myself to him because love doesn’t harbor secrets. Not when they eat you from the inside.
It’s been a sobering realization that, one day, he’ll meet someone, and I’ll lose him. Sobering and a little heartbreaking. But there’s no man on this earth finer than Matt Romero, and he deserves the world. Not my twisted love.
I wish I were stronger. I’m not. So tonight is mine. The ultimate act of selfishness as I tip onto my toes, my hand pressed to his lapel.
Please forgive me, I silently intone. I’ll remember everything. The fine fabric beneath my fingers and the soft press of his breath as he lowers his head to meet me halfway. Our mouths meet with a tenderness, all soft lips and halting, aching breaths. But we kiss intentionally, freely, as for the first time since that night in October, I allow myself to think of him as mine.
My love is mine and I am his . . .
But only for tonight.
Matt’s bedroom, like the rest of the house, is stylish and sleek. His bed is huge, of course, the nightstands housing banker-style lamps, stacked with books. A photography book, one on Victorian engineering, another about Greek mythology. Those are placed at the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on, I know.
Many a morning I have visited his room after he’s left for work. I’ve curled in his messy sheets and inhaled the scent of him from his pillows. And I’ve flicked through the pages of the only book he seems to have recently read. Our baby bible.
My footsteps echo against the wooden parquet flooring as I meander slowly around the edge of the room. Taking it all in, as though this is my first time in here.
“It’s nice,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
Matt stands in the doorway, hands slung low into his pockets as he plays along with my white lie. We both know the door to the left leads to an en suite bathroom large enough to party in and that beyond the door to the right is a closet fit for a king.
At the far side of the room, flanking the original fireplace, two leather chairs stand empty but for throw pillows and fur-like blankets. Wooden shutters keep out the night, a huge tribal rug underfoot muffling my steps now. Art hangs from the dark-hued walls, some modern, some abstract, and a brass-studded ottoman is placed at the end of the bed. Every piece of furniture, both new and old, seems to have been selected with thought for its position within the space.
The room is unique and eclectic and very him.
At the sound of the door quietly closing, I angle my head over my shoulder. “Get the light?” I hate how that sounds like both a request and a come-on.
Ignoring my request, he cants his head, coming closer still. He slides my hair over my shoulder, and I give a little gasp as his lips find my neck.
Though my panties are tiny, green and lacy, and not unfamiliar to him, I’m not wearing the matching bra tonight because it no longer fits. Thank goodness for the concealed support of my dress. I want darkness because I don’t look the same as I did. My body is so changed, and I’m afraid I’ll look ridiculous—like a hippo in a tiny strip of La Perla.
“Please, Matt, I’m—”
“Beautiful.” His lips coast down my neck as his fingers tug the zipper at my side. “I can’t wait to see you, Ryan.”
Those bedroom tones and the straps of my dress slipping from my shoulders. I close my eyes as the fabric tantalizes my skin, sliding over the tips of my breasts. Pooling on the floor.
“Because you’re so fucking beautiful.”
I push out a breath, suddenly all sensation, every inch of my skin aware of every inch of him. The brush of his pants against my naked thighs, his chest as it grazes my back. The press of his lips against my neck. The feel of his strong arms as they band around me, and the subsequent hot press of his cock.