Chapter 20 #2
His thumb brushes my mouth, and I feel myself going into shock. I’m cold. I’m clammy. I lick my lips as subtly as I can, but they feel dry all of a sudden.
“I’m gonna kiss you,” he says out of the clear blue nothing.
My eyelids flutter. I might pass out.
“If you want me to stop, just don’t kiss me back, okay?”
“Okay,” I choke out.
“But I wanna say something first.”
He might actively be trying to kill me. I stare into his mirror eyes.
“I can’t have you not coming back here, or taking space or a break or whatever,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “I know it’s a big joke to you, but I actually need you. Or at least I firmly believe I do, which is more or less the same thing.”
“I’ll come back whether we kiss or not,” I whisper. “I need you, too.”
He gives his head a short shake, like I can’t possibly understand. “It’s not the same. You can go three weeks without seeing me in any meaningful way, and I can’t do that. I’m not asking to be everything to you again, but you’re kinda everything for me.”
If he’s only scared, then… “Fischer, you don’t have to kiss me.”
His thumb presses gently into my chin cleft. “I want to.”
“Oh.”
He lowers his gaze to my lips. “Do you not want me to?”
“No, I do.” I mean, I think I do. I’m also low-key terrified it’s going to be bad, that I’ve totally misread our chemistry, but maybe that’s a good thing? It might knock some sense back into us. Or me at least.
“Why do you keep saying I don’t have to?” he asks.
“Because if you’re only kissing me because you’re scared you’re gonna lose me, then please don’t.”
“I’m terrified I might lose you,” he says, and it chills me, the thought of that. “I won’t risk it. I’ll pull out all the stops. I’ll fight dirty.”
I’m not sure I’m still breathing. I’m torn between wanting to argue his rationale—it’s not a good enough reason to cross this line—and wanting to cross the line so bad I can almost taste it—him.
“What if I freak out?” I ask, because I already am, and maybe he needs to prepare himself.
He frowns.
I mean it, though. “What if this is the worst idea? What if it’s better if we never…”
“Hmm…” He presses his forehead to mine and sighs against my mouth.
Fuck, just the feel of his breath on my lips gets me going. I’m so turned on my heartbeat has a heartbeat.
“It’s a good question.” His thumb leaves my cleft to sweep softly across my lower lip.
We both get hard as we remain like that for a while. Maybe minutes, contemplating the impossible. “I still think I should do it,” he finally says just when the silence fills me to the point of near bursting.
“It feels sort of inevitable, huh?” Which doesn’t make it right.
“Yeah,” he says on another soft exhalation.
I want him too fucking much. The compulsion to have him is too overwhelming to resist. My hand tightens on his waist, and his chin dips.
Our mouths meet in the softest caress. Softer even than when I kissed him goodbye. I take a breath, bracing for what comes next, no clue what to expect.
He wraps his hand around my jaw and moves his lips against mine again, this time capturing my lower one between his for a light tug. “That doesn’t count,” he whispers, sounding nervous.
A not insignificant part of me wants to tell him to stop. We can still come back from this. But I’m too far gone. I’m already painting murals of this moment in my head. Feeling it, but also seeing it like I’m hovering above our bodies, too.
“You sure you wanna do this?” I ask him.
Nodding, he says, “I have no fucking doubt,” which is a strong affirmation.
If that’s the case… I slide my hand from his waist up his back until I have a fistful of his hair in my grip, and I kiss him. His lips part, and my tongue doesn’t hesitate.
Once it finds his, he moans and pulls my head in, sealing our mouths together, and holy shit. His tongue is wet, hot, firm, and still it yields to mine. His lips are as soft as they look, plush and full against mine. I’m instantly obsessed.
I lock his body in place and grind against it.
I work to fill up his mouth, overwhelm it, overtake it.
The need that’s been burning inside me for weeks—years—unleashes itself on him in a kiss I can only describe as aggressively intense.
There’s no room for breathing. There’s no room to escape.
It’s just this now. Just us. Succumbing to the inevitable.
And fuck, it is so good.
I have an oral fixation about as impressive as the Empire State Building, and kissing Fischer satisfies it like nothing else ever has.
I think I knew it would. I think that’s why I tried to warn him away.
Because I know him. I know him better than I know anyone in the world, and I love him, too.
So I knew no one could kiss him better than I could, and, if I’m not mistaken, he feels the same way about me. Or close enough.
His forehead smashes into mine as he pulls his lips away, drawing a deep, jagged breath. “Fuck.”
“Is that it?” I ask.
“Fuck,” he says again, lower, and then we’re right back to kissing. Hard. Slow. Deep.
Somehow, I’ve got his ass in my hand, and I’m using the hold to leverage myself in various ways.
To grind our cocks, to keep our mouths sealed, to feel the thump of his heartbeat against my chest. We get wetter and sloppier, my need surging.
The desire to know him more intimately takes over.
I sink into him the best I can, using my tongue to draw moans and whimpers from his throat.
It’s not long before he’s digging his nails into my neck.
“Matty…” he groans into my mouth, and then his breath catches and his body shudders.
I stop kissing him just long enough to hear him say what I think he’s about to say. I need it.
“I’m gonna come.”
God, yes. I dive back into his mouth, his kiss chaotic as his orgasm rocks his lower body against mine. He grunts helplessly, and I hold him together while he falls completely apart. It’s the hottest thing ever. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m not usually—”
“Shh…”
“Like I’m fucking fourteen…”
“It’s okay.” I kiss his neck while he rambles and recovers, sucking a mark into his skin, showing zero mercy and not giving a fuck who’ll be tasked with covering it up so he can look like a proper anchorman.
“Matty,” he’s gasping. “Matty…oh God… “
I soften my kiss and slow down, loosening my hold on his hair and smoothing it away from his face.
I peek at him, and he’s all flushed cheeks and closed eyes, his brow drawn in an expression that could easily be mistaken for pain, but I know it’s just overwhelm.
I plant one final, soft kiss on his mouth, then hold him close, tucking his head beneath mine to absorb all his aftershocks. Extraordinary.
“Feel better, princess?” I whisper.
He sighs, squeezing my deltoid. I take it as a yes and as permission to fondle him longer—kissing his head, adjusting his leg, perfecting our position.
My cock still aches, but the sense of urgency is gone.
It’s nice just feeling his body against it while he breathes and comes back to me.
“Just in case no one’s ever told you, you’re an incredible kisser,” I say into his disheveled waves.
“Was it a bad idea?” he asks.
“Too soon to say.”
He makes a contented sound and settles against me. “I think it was a great idea.”
“Yeah?”
This side of him fascinates me. So soft.
Sweet. Like he’s had three martinis and is getting sleepy.
It reminds me how delicate he is. How important he is.
And how much his existence and happiness mean to me.
How devastated I’ll be if any of this leads to distance between us.
But now’s not the time to bring that up.
This is one of those things we’ll have to play by ear.
I won’t lie and say I’m not nervous about it—that making him come with a kiss is making me feel all confident that anything like this could or should happen again, but I loved it. I could hold him like this all night.
However…I’m not sure I should stay. This was a lot. We might need time to process it without forcing what might come too naturally to both of us.
I give myself a few more minutes to bask in his afterglow and make sure his jelly-like state solidifies so I don’t have to worry about him tripping and falling while I’m not here.
Eventually, I wiggle myself loose. I make it into a sitting position, leaning back on the arm of the couch, but he’s still draped across me, rubbing the same warm circle over my left pec.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’m trying not to beg,” he says.
“What do you honestly think would happen if I stayed tonight?”
“Whatever we want.”
“You sure you know what that is?” I ask.
“I trust you.”
“Weird answer,” I murmur.
“That’s my answer.” He sighs, using his hand on my chest to push himself up and look at me. He could easily straddle my lap with one shift of his weight, and I wouldn’t stop him. He’s never looked sexier with those hooded eyes and swollen lips. “Fine. You can go. If you want.”
I shake my head. “You don’t play fair.”
“Not playing.”
“You’re not behaving well at all,” I tell him.
Half his mouth quirks in a grin as he glances down at himself. “I need to change my pants...” His words fade as he gets a glimpse of my lap. “Oh, you didn’t…” He smiles instead of finishing his sentence and works his way to standing.
“Fischer…”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I get it. It was weird, right?”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t. It was good.”
“If you say so.”
Fuck, he’s shutting down on me. There’s nothing to do when he gets like this except give him space. Now I really don’t want to leave. But it’s either that or pull him onto my lap and do something probably neither of us are ready for. I take a deep breath full of misgivings and change the subject.
“You should come out to the loft soon,” I say. “I finished the piece.”
“Did you?” he asks, now sounding distracted as he limps to the bedroom. “How do you feel like it turned out?”
“Decent. Maggie took some photos of it. I’m waiting on her to send them to me so I can start pimping it out.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
“Do you want to come see it next weekend?” I ask again.
“I’ll check my schedule.”
I roll my eyes. Great. He and I both know he doesn’t have a single fucking thing to do next weekend, but I’ll play along. I get we’re both dealing with big feelings here.
While he showers and changes, I put my spare clothes on—a t-shirt and sweats. I refuse to walk out on him like this, but with every passing minute I’m less sure what to say. When he finally comes out, he looks surprised to find me still here.
He sits down to pull on a different pair of flannel pants. Then he puts his elbows on his knees, hanging his head.
I wonder if he regrets asking me to stay this morning. Insisting on that kiss. He definitely has a way of begging without opening his mouth, though, and I’m a total sucker for it.
I touch his face, wanting him to look up at me. He does. “Are we all right?”
His jaw is tight, eyes wary. “You tell me.”
The truth is, I’m ready to stay. I’ll keep kissing him, I’ll let myself come in my pants, I’m ready to drop to my knees for him.
But while this might have been inevitable—while it might be the one thing I’ve secretly wanted for eight years—what I need is more important, and that’s having him in my life.
I have to offer him an out while conveying with every cell of my being that the only thing I care about is having a relationship with him.
It doesn’t have to look like my ultimate fantasy—in fact—it probably shouldn’t.
Whatever he decides, I’m okay with. I rest my hand against his neck.
“Try not to overthink this, okay? I’m good. I promise. I want you to be good, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Not overthink it?”
I flinch at his sharpening tone. “Exactly what I said.”
“But which part?”
“Any of it,” I tell him. Honestly I don’t know what the fuck I mean. I just know I hate seeing him like this—unsure of me of all people.
His brow draws, expression baffled. “I don’t understand.”
“This doesn’t have to mean anything,” I say, scared it may already mean too much, and maybe that’s what I should be saying. I feel myself getting desperate for reassurance, too.
But I’m clearly not going to get that. What I do get is the sense that he wants to push my hand away. Instead he leans back, out of my reach. He’s a brick wall.
“Let me know about next weekend?” I ask, not wanting to leave things too open-ended.
I get a silent nod. Zero eye contact.
I’ve been dismissed. When I turn and walk away, I realize it’s the first time in months I’ve left him without a hug goodbye.
Dread and apprehension settle in when I step onto the elevator. What happened tonight wasn’t a mistake. It was a big fucking deal, and there’s no doubt in my mind it’s changed something fundamental about us. But I think I needed that.
I think we both did.
We’ve been at a breaking point for a while now, and either we’ll survive it or we won’t.
I’m not sorry. It’s past time for both of us to move on. One way or another.
All I can do is hope we figure it out together.