He stretches out on top of me, pressing the front of his body to mine, tangling his fingers in my hair and kissing me so deeply I forget how to breathe and exist on him instead.
His hips grind me senseless, and I pant and moan, squeezing his tight ass in my hands, desperate for him to be inside me, to stay inside me.
“Andy, I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“You have no idea how much I love you.”
“I do. Today was the hardest day of my life. Losing you, even for a short amount of time, was unbearable.”
“Andy, I’m so sorry.” His lips blaze a trail up the nerve endings in my neck, lighting my skin on fire.
All that matters is he’s here and not going to ruin his life by joining with Samson. “Whatever it takes, we’ll be okay as long as we’re together.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Matthew
I never expected to have her in my arms again, to be able to make love to her again, and my broken heart swells with too many emotions.
Andy’s forgiveness and acceptance kills me with gratitude. I cling to the small piece of happiness threatening to be overturned by the sea of my unworthiness.
After everything, she loves me and would take me back, but a cloud hangs over us, tainting every action with the dark awareness of finality.
I lied to her. I’m lying to her.
This is goodbye—I’m still going through with my plan.
This is the last time I’ll kiss her neck.
I’ll never trace her collarbone with my lips again.
She’ll never arch beneath me this way again.
The smell of her skin will be a memory.
The taste of her body will fade from my mouth.
My fingers will forget the exact silken texture of her skin, particularly this spot where her inner thigh meets her body.
I trace the velvety skin with my tongue, locking every soft inhalation and sharp cry deep into my heart.
I’m going to need every detail of this night to get me through the next few years, and the ones after that when I no longer recognize myself in the mirror.
She shudders when I throw her legs over my shoulders to better devour her, not stopping even when her heels dig into my back and her hips make her buck against my face.
One finger pressed inside her and gently curled is enough to make her come with a whimper.
Her hands shoot out and flutter on my shoulders, and I crawl back up her body, settling on top, propped on my elbows. Her eyes are dreamy, lids hooded with pleasure and lust.
I love everything about her.
I’m going to miss her so fucking much.
She smiles up at me tenderly, and wraps her legs around my hips. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” It wasn’t even a day and it felt like forever. How am I going to go years, the rest of my life, without her in it?
I grit my teeth against the thought, and kiss her softly, unwilling to bring anything but love into this moment in her bed.
I roll us so she’s on top so I can memorize her back and ass with my hands, but she’s unwilling to wait, and uses the position to take control.
It’s hard to care when she kisses the tip of my nose and impales herself on my rigid cock.
I thrust up into her, deep, hard, and slow. Her tight pussy still quivers around me from her orgasm, and her hands splay on my chest, nails slightly digging in, giving the pleasure a new edge.
Late afternoon sunlight streams in through the slats of her windows, making her skin glow, highlighting the dips and swells of her curves and muscles, and lighting up her hair so it turns to liquid flame.
She glides up and down, undulating her hips, looking like a goddess is riding me.
A goddess is riding me.
I take a thousand pictures in my mind, capturing her from this angle, burning in the sun, scorching my eyes with her beauty.
Sitting up, I flip her again and drive into her over and over with everything I have, wanting to prolong her pleasure, leave her with one good memory of me.
Something unspoiled to remember me by.
WE MAKE LOVE ALL NIGHT, stopping only to doze and snack on things we can eat with one hand in her kitchen, unable to take our hands off each other.
Andy wakes with a start at four in the morning, turning frantically when she feels the spot next to her is empty.
“Hey, I’m here.”
She blinks hard and turns, taking in my sketchbook. “You had that with you the whole time?”
“It was in my truck.”
“You’ve taken to drawing monsters? I’m hideous when I sleep.”
I grin and draw another line. “You’re hideous to race against. You’re beautiful when you sleep.”
“Let me see.”
“You can’t see yourself sleep, silly.”
“Matt.”
“It’s not finished.”
She sits up and the sheets fall back, exposing more of her form, raising more than my artistic interest.
I pass the book to her.
She covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head. “I can’t believe anyone could ever see me like this—even with soft lighting. I look beautiful.”
I say nothing, only take the book out of her hands, gently set it on the floor, and make love to her again.
This time when she falls asleep, I ease my way out of her apartment and out of her life, leaving my sketchbook on the bed. It’s mostly full of sketches of her anyways.
The last page has five words.
I love you. I’m sorry.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Andy
Three weeks later
Sunday, promptly at five-thirty, I show up to the pre-trial detention center for another no-contact visit.
The first time I wore a tank top and was turned back at security even though it didn’t show cleavage, not realizing the strict dress code for visitors required sleeves reach at least halfway to the elbows. I’ve erred on the side of caution this time, and made it through security, taking my seat in front of the Plexiglas, waiting for him to arrive.
We’re not expecting his probation hearing next week to go well. The very least he’ll get is a huge fine and longer probation time. He’s being very cooperative with the investigators, but since he inconveniently can’t remember what was in the packages, where he got them, or who he sold them to, it’s more likely he’s facing jail time. Nothing near his dad, who I hope gets shanked, but the fact he didn’t actually do anything is a bitter pill for Matt and I to swallow.
It’s ridiculous that he’s here at all, but the patriarch of the Mercy family made good on his threats and sang like a canary, gleefully telling the cops everything he knew.
My heart broke when I woke up and Matt wasn’t in bed with me.
Things got worse in the next few days.
I tap my driver’s licence against the counter, fidgeting in the hard seat. It’s my third visit, but it never gets easier.
Finally, he walks up to the glass, flashes me a pale smile, and sits. I pick up my black receiver first, hoping it’s not crappy and static-filled like the one last time—I could barely hear what he said.
“Hey, Andy.” His voice is clear.
“Hi, Luke.”
“Gee, we’re going to make Matt jealous, meeting up like this all the time.”
I laugh, though tears fill my eyes.
“Hey, no more of that. I thought you got those out of your system on Friday.”
I sniffle. “I did. Matt loves you and says hello.”
He smiles. “Tell him I say hi.”
I choke on a thousand things I want to say but can’t, words of gratitude and praise to Matt’s brother for taking the rap for the drug running Matt did one night for Samson. Words of anger and regret that he felt the need to do it when we know he was innocent.
But Luke knows. As closed off as his family is, I’ve blubbered and grinned and cried some more in front of this glass with him.
/>
“How is he?”
I nod. “Good. He’s been working with Garth doing more custom paint.”
Luke shines a proud smile at me. “He always was amazing at that shit.”
“I know. Bastard won me over with a sketch.”
“We can be charming when the mood strikes. I’m glad he has you, Andy.”
I’m going to cry the freckles right off my face. When I woke up that night and Matt was gone, I panicked, sure he’d gone to Aaron. Lucky for us both, he’d gone to talk to Luke first, only to find a short note his brother had left.
As soon as their dad was arrested, Luke decided to own up to all the shit their dad told the cops Matt had done. Their Dad tried to take Matt down by selling out Samson, which would have gotten Matt in trouble, but Luke looked close enough like Matt in the blurry security footage to pass as Matt—and his confession sealed it—but he didn’t implicate Samson.
On his way to the police station, Luke called me and told me everything—the real truth, backing up Matt’s story before, since he wanted to do something for his brother—not that it mattered, I’d already forgiven Matt. Luke wanted to turn his life around and he said this was step one. Luckily the cops believed him when he lied about being the one on camera.
He had no reason to lie—why would anyone want to go to jail?
Matt was livid, but admitting the truth would have gotten Luke in even more shit, so he honored Luke’s wishes that this was the way it needed to be. It’s a guilt we share. So far it’s brought us closer together instead of hurting us.
We decided Matt shouldn’t visit until the dust settles a bit. Maybe it’s for the best. These guys are still learning how to open up—this way they can both laugh at my freak outs.
Luke’s actually happy to do this for Matt. Filled to the brim with feelings, I press my hand to the glass and he laughs and does the same.
“You’re too much.”
I sniff. “I know you guys aren’t used to all this emotion, but you’re stuck with me.”
I offered Chug’s lawyer girlfriend all the money in my Duc fund to help Luke. She turned me down, insisting on helping him for free.
Good friends are priceless.
MATT GREETS ME AT THE door with a huge hug and I decompress in his arms.
“He looked okay, like he’s gotten more sleep.”
He sighs. “Good. I hate that I can’t go with you.”
“I know. But we know I’m way more interesting than you are, so really this is doing him a favor.”
He pokes my ribs and I squeal, pleased I put a grin on his face.
He hugs me hard, dropping tiny kisses across my cheeks and walking us farther into my apartment—now ours. I never offered and he never asked; it was an unspoken decision we both made the night after we got back together, unable to be apart one more night.
“You ready?” He pulls back and grins down at me.
“For what?”
“Sunday dinner.”
“Ugh.” I grimace. “You know it’s going to be just as awkward this week, right?” Dad and Patch have been less wary since Luke admitted to everything—they don’t know the truth and I’ll never tell them—but it’s still not the cozy, light-hearted event I’d like it to be. At least they’re coming around to the idea that Matt and I are an item.
“Hey, your family are good people.”
“I know. I still wish they’d give you a break.”
His hands spread across my lower back, pulling me closer. “They’re giving me a chance—and I feel lucky to get that much.”
I grind my hips against his. “How lucky are you feeling?”
“Do we have time?”
I laugh. “Do I care?”
His grin warms my heart. His kiss warms everywhere else.
The future may be uncertain, but I know damn well Matthew Mercy will always be a part of mine.
THE END
Tamara Mataya is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, and a musician with synesthesia. As a former librarian, armed with a name tag and a thin veneer of credibility, she took great delight in recommending books and shushing people. She puts the 'she' in TWSS and the B in LGBTQIA+. She’s the co-creator of Pitchmas, a bi-annual pitch contest for writers, a Pitchwars mentor, and as a freelance editor has worked with New York Times Bestselling authors.
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Acknowledgments
I want to thank all my CPs and Beta readers who helped me with this one when I wrote it years ago. You know who you are <3
But I especially want to thank Jessa Russo for being an amazing person, author (seriously, check out her books) and friend. This industry is filled with the best and worst of the world. From dizzying heights to crushing lows, you’ve been at my side through it all as we’ve laughed, cried, and cursed our way through it together. Here’s to seven more year
s as CPs and friends in this ridiculous journey. I love you!
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