20. Rule #20 Hearts never grow old.
Matis
My fingers are soaked when I pull them from Amelia’s warm cunt. My cock is aching behind the zipper of my pants, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge it at the moment. The thought of Amelia seeing or touching my cock is still too forbidden and alarming to even imagine.
Even if my fingers are coated with her arousal.
What have I done?
I’m staring down at my traitorous hand, and it feels as if the world is collapsing around me. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
Amelia, seemingly noticing my panicked expression, grips my hand by the wrist. With her eyes focused on mine, she smiles sweetly, a crooked grin on one side of her mouth as she drags my finger across her pale throat.
My chin drops as I watch her paint her skin with her own cum, and it takes everything in me not to haul her off this dresser and fuck her senseless in her bed.
“What are you doing to me?” I murmur.
Without responding, she presses her lips to mine again, nibbling on my lower lip and pressing her sweet tongue into my mouth. I couldn’t resist her kiss if I wanted to.
And I don’t want to. Not really.
I gather her up in my arms and kiss her deeper, even though the alarm bells going off in my head right now are deafening.
This is Amelia. My sweet, young, naive Amelia.
Why does she want an old man like me? Why does she have to kiss me like this? Why does she have to feel so fucking good in my arms? Like she was made for them. Like we fit together.
A door closes in the distance, and I practically leap across the room. The absence of her mouth against mine is almost unbearable. We both freeze, watching the door and waiting for the telltale footsteps of someone on the stairs. But there is none.
After a few moments go by, we relax.
“I have to go,” I mumble under my breath as I turn toward the door.
Amelia hops down from the dresser and comes toward me. “Don’t go.”
“No,” I bark a little too loudly. “I have to go, Amelia.”
With her hand outstretched toward me, she sends me an expression of concern. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“No,” I snap again. I can’t look her in the eye. What kind of man am I? I’ve never felt so depraved and shameless in my life, and I have done some pretty depraved and shameless things.
She deserves my sincerity, so I take a step toward her, clasping her hands in mine. Then, with a stoic gaze, I give her the world’s weakest apology and the most pathetic excuse I can muster.
“Amelia, I am sorry, but we cannot do this. I should not have done this. This ends here, my treasure. I’m so, so sorry.”
“You don’t mean that,” she pleads, tugging me closer. If she gets those perfect lips on me again, I’ll be helpless against them.
“I do mean it,” I argue. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I should never have…” My gaze dances back toward the dresser as if the scene of the crime is somehow to blame for what I’ve done.
Then I find her eyes again, and the sadness in those deep blue irises crushes me.
Taking her cheeks in my hands, I level my eyes with hers. “Listen to me, Trouble. I wish I could stay with you, but I can’t. Don’t you see? Your father is right downstairs, and he would kill me if he found us together. Or it would kill him. Either way, it’s not a risk I can take.”
Then my sweet girl puts on a brave face and stands up a little straighter. “I understand.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow, d’accord?”
Looking at me through those thick, full lashes, she nods. “Okay.”
I kiss her forehead, but I can’t bring myself to come anywhere near those sinful lips. As she climbs into bed, I linger near the door.
For a moment, I imagine myself crawling in next to her. I feel her warm body against mine. I kiss her lips and breathe the same air as her. I feel her head on my chest as I stroke her back tenderly.
I’ve never been a relationship man, but for the first time in my life, I imagine how blissful that would feel. With her, if I truly let myself be with her, I know it would feel like heaven.
But I can’t.
“Good night, Trouble,” I whisper as I open her bedroom door.
“Good night, old man,” she replies with a hint of humor in her voice.
As I step out into the hallway of the second floor, it is so quiet that it feels almost impossible that her parents didn’t hear what we just did. The sound of her moans as she came on my hand were so loud in my ear that I’m certain it echoed through the silent halls of this house.
But there’s not a peep as I creep down the stairs and out the door like a criminal.
The club is busy tonight. Familiar faces around every corner, either people I’ve slept with or people I’ve wanted to sleep with, hover around me like honeybees, tempting me with something I thought I needed.
The glass of wine in my hands doesn’t taste as warm and strong as it normally does. The flavor pales in comparison to her lips. Everything pales now.
Fuck, what have I done?
What happened tonight means nothing. It was a one-time slip, and it will never happen again. Amelia will just have to understand and move on. Her father will never find out.
No one will ever find out.
Things will go back to normal. I’ll just have to give up on this search for a partner because that’s not my style anyway, is it? Long-term commitment and crawling into bed with the same person every night.
That is a dream for men who are allowed to want the people they want.
Not me.
“Everything all right?” The young bartender, Weston, lingers around me as I sip my wine with a melancholy radiating from beneath the surface of my skin.
Of course, I can’t reveal anything to him. He’s one of Amelia’s best friends.
He probably already knows.
“Tout va bien,” I mutter while raking a hand over my overgrown stubble.
Weston sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I don’t speak very much French, but judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing that everything is not all right.”
My brow furrows as I look up at him. For some reason, I just hear Amelia’s voice and her perfect French.
She is as native to this city as I am although English was her first language.
When she speaks French, the sounds roll off of her tongue like music, more beautiful than anyone else I’ve ever heard speak my language.
God, why can’t I get her out of my head?
I down the rest of my wine and shove my empty glass toward Weston. “Another please.”
Dutifully, he picks up the bottle from under the bar, pops off the cork, and fills the glass, a little higher than normal. Good boy.
When he turns his back to help another patron, I run my finger along the rim of the glass. Why am I here? I walked through those doors an hour ago with the intention of proving to myself that I am not attached to Amelia.
I could still fuck anyone I want in this place. Glancing back at the booths around the dance floor, I remember my younger days when this club was my playground. When I had men and women fawning and grappling for me, and even I’ll admit, I was a smooth talker back then.
Still am, really. If I’m in the mood to put in the effort.
I remember the night Ronan brought Amelia’s mother here. The first time I saw real love in his eyes. And I still tried to seduce her away from him.
Why? To prove a point? That sex was more powerful than love. That I was still desirable even without the emotional intimacy?
I failed. And thank God I did. Because just a few years later, Amelia came into the world.
I am not the same man I was back then. If that’s any saving grace for my position now.
The man who first met those children, Ronan’s children, is not the same man who sits here today.
He was feckless and wild. He left for months at a time, treated the world like a playground, committed to no feelings or people.
Fifty-three is a pathetic age for an existential crisis. But that seems to be what I’m in the middle of.
Who am I now? What do I want out of this life?
Part of me has written off living altogether, convinced I’ve done the bulk of it already. I have partied and fucked and worked and traveled. What more could I really expect?
Then I picture that bed, her curled up on the pillow, giving me a look like she wanted to invite me in. I have no business wanting the dreams of a man in his twenties. That ship has sailed. I am too old for these dreams.
A soft hand trails across my back, pulling me from my thoughts. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”
I glance up from my wine as Geo takes a seat on the barstool next to me. One look in those warm green eyes and I can tell what brought my old friend over.
Geo is my age, or near it at forty-nine. He’s one of many friends with benefits I have kept over the years. When he first moved out to Paris nearly fifteen years ago, he flocked instantly to my side, out of both sexual interest and a desire for a sort of promiscuous mentorship.
The man probably could have settled down a decade ago if he hadn’t spent so much time trying to be like me. Now he owns a bar of his own and has grown into a bit of a Dom. Nothing like me anymore, really.
I know why he’s here now. He’s bored or lonely, and I’m a sure thing.
Pasting a fake smile on my face, I sit upright and turn toward him. “What makes you ask that?”
He chuckles, leaning backward against the bar with his elbows propped on the surface. There has never been any romantic chemistry between Geo and me. It was always just sex, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes not.
“You can’t fool me,” he says with charm. “That smile is faker than the tits at table three.”
My lips stretch across my teeth in a grin as I peer over my shoulder and see the busty woman leaning over the table with her large, definitely fake breasts out.
“You know me well.”
“So what’s wrong?” he asks.
Swirling the dry red in my glass, I heave a sigh. If there’s anyone here to really confide in—without details of course—Geo would be the one. He’s paved much the same course that I have.
Glancing up at him, I ask, “Are we going to do this forever?”
His brows shoot upward. “By this…you mean drink alone at a sex club?”
With that, he turns around and waves down the young bartender. When Weston scurries over, Geo mutters his order in a cool, crisp command.
“Yes, sir,” West replies before rushing to grab his drink.
Something about it makes me laugh. “Yes, this exactly.”
Geo grins, less out of happiness and more out of mischief because he does seem to understand exactly what I’m saying.
We’re both reaching an age where it should be harder to get the same response out of people that we did twenty years ago.
But he does this, dominantly ordering his younger counterpart around to prove a point. He’s still got it.
And as long as we’ve still got it…there’s no reason to stop. Right?
“But for how much longer?” I ask. “I’m scared I’m going to wake up one day and be alone and eighty years old and no one will sit next to me at the bar or accompany me to a room or even want to be near me. Will all this be worth it?”
Lifting his cocktail to his lips, he considers my question. “We could make a pact. I’ll still suck your dick when your eighty if that’s what you want.”
My laugh is hearty, straight from my chest. “I know you would.”
“But let me ask you this,” he says as he turns his barstool toward me. “Are you afraid of being lonely at eighty…or are you already feeling lonely now?”
Something in his eyes tells me that he’s asked himself the same question. And I’m willing to bet he’s also leaning toward the latter.
I keep my voice low. “Aren’t you worried it’s too late for us?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His fierce eyes stay glued on mine, and it gnaws at me. Because I expected him to tell me no, it’s not too late. It’s never too late. But he seems to be as concerned as I’m feeling.
Finally, after a moment, he leans back and takes another drink. “Doesn’t hurt to try, I guess.”
“I guess.”
As I finish off the rest of my glass, I think about Amelia again. It can’t be her. I know it can’t be her, no matter how lonely I am or how much I’m ready to hang up my hat and settle down.
Settling down with her simply isn’t an option.
Regardless, I realize something slightly harrowing. It’s that I’m no longer thinking about Amelia’s lips or her warm cunt or her soft, sweet hips. I’m not thinking about how much I’d like to sink my cock inside her or fill her with my cum.
I’m thinking about how brilliant her smile was the night we ate macarons under the moon. Or the way she clutched me when the club overwhelmed her to the point of rage. Or how sweetly she dotes on me when no one else does.
It’s all very important to me because I realize that I am not just attracted to Amelia in a raw, sexual way. I am not fawning over a twentysomething-year-old because of her body.
I am falling in love with her.
In a very different way than I loved her before.
In a way that won’t be easy to walk away from.
Geo drags in a slow breath, and I wait for him to speak, already knowing what’s about to come out of his mouth.
“Let’s grab a room. Distract each other for the night.”
The corner of my lip curls upward. I love the invitation, and honestly, it’s pretty tempting. Any other night, I would quickly jump on the chance. Sex with Geo is easy. Just two friends indulging in the things that feel good.
But if I had sex with him tonight, it wouldn’t feel good.
And that’s more telling than anything.
I still have to let Amelia go. Nothing will change that.
But at least now I know, as I gently let down my friend and thank him for the invitation, that my heart is still capable of pounding to a new beat.
At least I know…it’s not too late.