34. MATT
34
MATT
T he cake sits high and proud on the dining room table. A catastrophic three-tier leaning tower of vanilla icing. It looks like a lump of wax that’s been attacked with a blow torch. The twins stand either side of it, grinning like a pair of fucking idiots. I can barely take it in because my thoughts keep returning to Aries.
Is this… is this over ?
“Isn’t it great?” Gemma says, waving at the iced monstrosity, her gaze flicking between me and the cake, waiting for some kind of reaction.
I say nothing, and Gemma brushes past me, calling up the stairs. “Charlie, get down here. Come and see the cake the twins made for you.”
There’s no response from upstairs, and as we wait for Charlie, my attention settles on Mark Charlton, who’s standing with his sons, staring at me. Why the fuck are they here so early?
Mark has this look on his face that makes bile rise up my throat… It’s like he’s secretly delighted by something he knows I won’t like and is bursting to talk about it.
“You brought the whole family?” I query, displeasure evident in my tone. “The party’s not for hours.”
“Of course. We wanted to bring the cake in person,” Gemma replies. “The boys were keen to be here to witness Charlie’s reaction.”
The silence that follows crackles with tension. Unfortunately, it’s Mark Charlton who breaks it.
“Hear you gave the boys an eyeful,” he says, all friendly jocularity, but I know there’s a viper beneath the words. Fucking arsehole . I scowl at him, warning him to stop, but Mark can’t read the room for shit. “Lost all sense of decorum in the presence of a good pair of tits, did you?” He chortles like we’re all in on a good joke. This is why the prick is here. This is the reaction he’s been wanting to see. Nothing to do with Charlie and the fucking birthday cake. “Not that I blame you. She’s quite the looker, that nanny of yours. Where can I get one for the boys?”
There’s a leery smile on his face. The twins chuckle too, their awful laughs and smarmy smiles replicas of their dad’s. The three of them standing there grinning at me like skittles waiting to be knocked down.
Anger rushes through me so violently that a pulse starts beating just above my left cheekbone. An irritating twitch in my peripheral vision.
Footsteps distract me from the Charltons. I turn to find Aries standing in the doorway. Did she hear what they said? My stomach tightens at the thought.
“Here she is,” Mark announces, eyes brightening as he looks over my shoulder. “How much extra do you charge for a hand job? Or is it an all-inclusive package?”
Charlie appears in the doorway, but none of us acknowledge him hovering there like a ghost.
“Mark,” Gemma exclaims, feigning shock, but I know she’s amused. Enjoying the spectacle, even. “Do behave.”
Mark laughs aloud, and the rage I’ve been struggling to control bursts through me. Before I know it, I’m on the other side of the table, grabbing the grey-haired arsehole round the neck.
I push him against the wall and his hands flap, his face a caricature of alarm. “Apologise to her, Charlton. Or you’ll lose your teeth.” My voice is hard and raw; unfamiliar.
My fingers are crushing the man’s windpipe. He’s turning red, eyes popping, little red veins spreading over the whites, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s satisfying to see the prick frightened like this.
“Matthew!” Gemma’s sharp cry has me digging my fingers tighter into his throat. “Get off him. Let go.”
I’m lost to the fucking rage, the frustration, the idea that this man’s kids have hurt mine. He deserves it.
“Matt.” Aries’s voice is calm, her small hand daring to rest on my forearm. I don't know how or when she got so close to me. I glance down at her tiny fingers against my sleeve, then up to my own large ones, still wrapped around Mark’s throat. “That’s enough.”
Her presence soothes me like nothing else in the world could. My body softens and I step back, flexing my fingers and wiping my palm on my trousers.
Mark lurches forward, spluttering, a hand to his neck.
The twins close in on either side of their father, propping him up. I know my anger should be directed at them too, but they’re teenagers. Barely older than Charlie, although they look like men.
“What the hell are you doing?” Gemma squeaks. “You lunatic.”
“He was being disrespectful.” I glare at Mark, who’s still coughing, hand still resting on his throat. Between his fingers, the skin is red, and I feel a disturbing flush of satisfaction at the sight. “Did you know your sons have been attacking Charlie at school? Beating him up? Bullying him?” I snarl at Mark.
He coughs, bent over, and looks up at me. “What are you talking about?”
“He came home at the end of term covered in bruises. They did it.” I nod at the twins.
Charlie’s probably furious that I’m raising all this so publicly, but I don’t look at him to check. I should, I know I should. I ought to have consulted him before I started spouting off, but it’s too fucking late now.
“Dad—” he begins.
“Cut the cake,” I say, jerking my chin at the cake.
“What? Matthew, no. Don’t be crazy about this,” Gemma says. “The cake is fine. Don’t cut it yet. The party— ”
“Cut the fucking cake,” I roar, and somehow Alec is scuttling forward with a cake knife, holding it out but he doesn’t know who to give it to and I don’t know either.
“Matt, please,” Aries hisses, tugging on my arm. “Let’s talk about this.”
Somehow the cake knife is in Charlie’s hand and he’s stepping up to cut the world’s ugliest cake. He glances at me and I nod. Cut the damn thing .
“He’s lost his fucking mind,” one of the twins mutters, and I know he’s speaking about me, but I’m too enraged to even bother acknowledging it.
Charlie angles the cake knife over the cake; the blade trembles in his shaking grip.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask Gemma. “You’re sure you trust those two little cunts?”
Gemma draws in a quick, fast breath. Then she nods.
Charlie grimaces, but he doesn't look at me again. He keeps his gaze on the cake. My heart is racing and my mind conjures memories of TV shows where bomb disposal units attempt to dismantle explosives, because that’s exactly what this feels like. We’re all waiting for disaster.
Charlie lowers the cake knife, letting it hover over the icing. It’s only seconds, but it feels like eras go by before he presses it into the cake, digging through the mess of the icing, the metal disappearing into the sponge.
We’re all holding our breaths, not a sound in the room but the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.
Charlie raises the knife and makes another incision. He pulls the first slice out, revealing the interior of the cake. There isn’t a hint of strawberry. Not anywhere. No jam at all.
It’s a fucking sponge cake. Pale yellow butter-cream between the layers. There’s nothing wrong with it.
Charlie breathes a sigh of relief, his upper body slumping as if the only thing keeping him upright was fear.
“Told you he’d lost his mind,” one of the twins says in a stage whisper.
Gemma’s jaw clenches, and she stares me down. “I think you owe the boys an apology.”
All eyes are on me. Expectant. Waiting. “The fuck I do.”
I slam my fist so hard into the cake the whole thing splits in half and icing splatters over everyone.
I storm out of the room and head to the basement. Raw fury fuels my every moment, burning through my veins like lit petrol. I don’t even know who I’m angry at. Mostly myself, for going off like an idiot upstairs. I’d half hoped a shit ton of strawberries would pour out of the cake, just so my bout of madness might have been justified.
The self-hatred that’s rolling around my head right now is unbearable. Mark Charlton’s an arse, but I lost it over a cake because Aries put the idea in my head.
I check the time. I have three hours to cool off before I have to pretend to be the happy father of a newly seventeen-year-old. I don’t know if Charlie will ever forgive me for making a scene like that. I can’t think about it now, though.
I slam open the door to the gym and rip off my cake-covered t-shirt, throwing it to the floor. I go to the sink and wash the cake off my hand, my forearm, and scrub myself dry with a towel. I’m not dressed for a workout, but I kick off my loafers and turn on the treadmill, running in my bare feet and shorts. All I need right now is to blast away my anger, my frustration, and this is as good a way as any.
I’ve broken a sweat when I hear a knock on the door. I can see Aries’s red hair through the glass. What the fuck does she want? I beckon her in and she pushes the door open, lingering on the threshold. She’s so fucking beautiful, her face so full of remorse, that a deep soulful rage comes over me.
This woman… she’s the reason everything’s coming apart at the seams. Her hair, her face, her lips… God, the curves of her. Her smell, her taste…
I’m losing myself in her.
I slow down the treadmill and push my hair off my face. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk. I’m sorry. I panicked. I thought they’d try to hurt Charlie. I didn’t want to fuck up again. I thought—”
“Don’t fucking talk.” I get off the treadmill, pacing towards her, reaching her in seconds. I pull her into the room, slamming the door behind her. “I’ve had enough of you talking.” She gasps, but before she can speak I’ve pushed her against the wall. “Do you know how fucking angry I am?”
She shakes her head, blinking rapidly. “No,” she whispers.
I press my body against hers and my cock begins to harden, desire pooling through the pit of rage that threatens to suck me up and spit me out. “Do you want me to show you how fucking angry I am?”
She nods, the tiniest whimper sliding out from between those full, pink lips. On her next breath, I press my lips to hers, kissing her hard, invading her mouth with my tongue, not giving her a second to rethink her answer. I fist a hand in her hair, gripping it tight, tugging so hard it must hurt, but she doesn’t make a sound.
I force the kiss, deepen it, ravage her mouth with mine. The stubble on my jaw will make her skin raw, but I’m past caring. If I can take what I need from her, it might kill this obsession that’s turning me into a monster.
She pulls back, speaking against my mouth. “You said it was over. You said—”
“How can it be over? You’re in my fucking bloodstream, Aries. Every passing moment, you’re there. In my mind, my head, my heart. Fuck . I can’t get rid of you.”
I kiss her again, hard. It’s not romantic. Not careful. My hand fumbles at her jeans, hauling them halfway down her thighs with a rough yank. Every movement I make is full of rage. I slide my fingers between her legs, where she’s already so wet, so slick, that I drive two fingers, three, into her with ease.
She wants me even when I hate her, even when I’m so mad I can’t think straight.
I finger-fuck her, thrusting into her like I could tear her pussy apart.
Small moans burrow from her mouth into my shoulder, and I can’t be sure they’re pleasurable. I could be hurting her.
I freeze, Aries still between my arms, caged against the wall. My breathing is heavy, laboured from the run, from Aries, from not knowing if I want to fuck her or hurt her.
I pull back, watching her as I slowly slide my fingers out of her cunt, the slick sucking sounds of her wetness filling the gym. My dick is painfully hard, just as desperate for her as I am.
There are tears in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. Her eyelashes are wet with them and mascara makes slippery tracks over her cheekbones.
“Did I hurt you?” I whisper, my voice sounding dangerously close to breaking.
She shakes her head, then strikes her heart with her fist. “Only here. I love you. I fucking love you.”
Turmoil thrashes through my chest; a torment of feeling that blazes the rage right out of me. How could I ever want to hurt this woman?
I fucking love you.
Her eyes flicker anxiously over mine, and she must see something in my reaction because a sob breaks through and her shoulders shake. “Please Matt, please…” She digs her head into my shoulder, her hair rippling like she’s shaking her head against me.
“Please what?” I murmur, amazed at how cool my voice sounds, even as some deep part of me splinters right along with her.
“Please fuck me. One last time. Please.”
Her words wrench my heart right out of its resting place, tearing it up my throat. I don’t know what’s happening here. I don’t know how everything got so out of control or why she’s begging me. I don’t know why she’s calling this the last time or why it feels like it is with a cruel certainty that rings through my bones.
“Please,” she whimpers.
I nod and slide her jeans to the floor so she can step out of them.
I ease my hard, aching cock free from my shorts and slide into her like she’s the only place I’ve ever belonged. I thrust in and out, slow and gentle, and she clings to me, crying against my shoulder.
It’s such a sweet, painful agony to feel pleasure while her heart is breaking. While mine is breaking. We’re together but falling apart all at once, and the pain of it hovers just at the brink of bearable. I keep going, her hips grinding against mine, her swollen clit finding purchase against me until her orgasm finally explodes, her pussy pulsing around me, her juices running down her thighs, covering my dick.
She’s so warm, so soft, and she smells so fucking good. I want to stay like this forever, holding her against my chest, feeling the swell of her breasts against me as she breathes. But even now, as a violent orgasm rockets along my shaft, spilling through my hips and up my spine, I know this is exactly what’s wrong. I’m taking risks I shouldn’t, lying to people, missing the signs my teenage son is being bullied, and then overreacting like I’m a brute with no self-control.
I press my forehead to hers, the two of us breathing in tandem, her confession of love hovering in the air, and mine unspoken on my tongue, like a pill I’ve yet to swallow. Physically, we’re so close I can’t tell whether the sweat that slicks her skin is hers or mine, but emotionally I’ve never felt further from her.
There’s a canyon between us, and I don’t know how to cross to the other side. I don’t know how to pull her back, or if I even want to.
I slide out of her, fetching tissues from a dispenser on the wall and handing her some. Without meeting my eye, she cleans herself up, throws the tissues in the bin, and tugs on her jeans, all while I ache at the idea that this might be the last time I see her body. The last time I touch her. The last time I spend an intimate moment with her.
“You were right,” she croaks. “We both made a mistake.” She pulls the smartphone out of her pocket and holds it out to me along with the credit card I gave her that day at the Natural History Museum.
“What’s this?” I question.
“I’m resigning. I can’t stay here. There’s no room for me in your life.”
As I take them from her, a tingling numbness swells behind my lower ribs, spreading upwards. Beneath it, a core of pain . You are my life . “Your notice period…”
She shakes her head. “If you need me, I’ll stay until you’ve found a replacement. But don’t hold me to a notice period when we both know it’ll be excruciating for me to stay in this house.”
I don’t contradict her. I can’t.
Because this is already excruciating.
“The party. Stay for the party.”
Aries nods. “Yes. Do you need me to stay longer?”
A lump, thick and heavy, lodges in my throat. I want to say yes. “No. Mrs Minter can get someone new for Monday.”
“All right.” She looks at her toes. Bare. Nails painted yellow like little suns. The sight of them sends a piercing pain right through me, and I clench my jaw to hold it back. Make sure it doesn’t show.
“Where will you go?”
Her eyes are ringed with red, and she wipes at tears, smudging her mascara. Her lips press together, hiding their fullness as she shakes her head and backs out of the door. “Home. I’ll go home.”