But now, it's better. It's better because we're both sober, we can both feel what's going on between us fully and wholeheartedly. We can't run away from this. We can't claim it was a mistake or pretend to forget about it in the morning. This is real. This is intentional. This is not a mistake.
We have to break apart for air, and when I do, I suck it up like I've been underwater for too long and my lungs are screaming for life.
"I am in love with you," he tells me, his voice husky with lust, his eyes dark with it as well. But his tone is genuine. I believe him. I trust him. "You've made me your fool. You've stolen my heart and I don't want it back." He lets out a breath through his nose. "I've wanted to say that for so long…"
"What stopped you?" I ask. I'm breathless and flushed but I don't care because Matt and this moment are all that matter to me. "Why wait?"
His hand has found my collarbone, exposed due to the shifting of my tunic, and his fingers lightly dance across it, leaving goose bumps in its wake.
"Because should you choose to stay here, in this time, I refuse to be the reason," he replies. His eyes follow his fingers and the intensity of the gaze burns in a pleasant way. "I knew I loved you the moment I saw you for the first time, but when I found out who you really were, where you're really from, I didn't want to be the reason you gave up everything. It had to be because you wanted to, not for some romantic notion that everything is going to be perfect and everyone gets their happy ending. Because I can't promise you that." He stops and finds my eyes. "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you even now. But I needed you to know. And I've been wanting to kiss you again - badly."
"I—"I stop, catch my breath. I don't know what to say. No, that's not it. I do. I just need to get the words out. "I love you, too, Matt. I love you, too."
This time, I lean up so I can kiss him, and it's glorious the way our lips fit together, the way our bodies mesh so well and create friction and heat. I like the way his hair feels between my fingers and the way the words “I love you” come out of my mouth.
His hands press flat on my back but that only lasts a minute. He wants to explore me. He wants to touch me in the way only he's allowed to touch me. And he does. His left hand cups the back of my head and his long fingers bury into my hair. His grip on me is tight, with just enough pull to make it hurt. I feel a throb in my pelvis. It's both painful and pleasurable.
God, I want him. I want him so bad.
His other hand is digging into my hip, but I like it. I like when he holds me tight like he's afraid to let me go. I like when he's sure and certain and he knows I won't break. He doesn't see me as fragile; he sees me as strong and capable. He can push me to my breaking point and I'll still be begging him, pleading with him to give me more.
His kisses are violent and territorial. Not soft and tender, though I'm sure they can be. Matt has the ability to be anything he wants, and I would love him for whatever he chooses to be. I'd thank him for whatever he chooses to give to me, but I wouldn't be satisfied, and I would demand more.
I feel his weight bury me deep into the bed and without thinking, I wrap my legs around his waist and push myself into him. He hisses out a groan—it's a satisfied one, I'm sure—so I press myself against him so we're connecting with all body parts through our clothes on a superficial level. I've never felt my pulse pump blood throughout my system before. I've never felt such passion for anyone before, not even with Jim Carrey and he's been my favorite actor since I was seven.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he tells me, breaking apart. He’s trying to catch his breath but he’s trying to speak at the same time, and it’s hard for him to do both things at once. He opens his eyes so they look at me, penetrate me, but not in a way that pins me to my place. It’s a penetration that allows me freedom, if that even makes any sense. I feel comfortable under his gaze. He still sees me so clearly and—well, I’m not sure how he feels about me, but I know he cares about me. I can see it in his eyes.
“What?” I say. I’m not as attractive to him while breathless. I’m almost positive my cheeks are red, and I may be wheezing out my words instead of actually saying them. “Are you okay?”
He smiles at me—a smile that slithers across his face like a snake, crinkles his eyes, and makes them shine and sparkle, and I’m robbed of my breath because the man is so damn beautiful, I can’t stand it—and nods. “I am more than okay,” he says. I’m not sure if they say okay a lot around here; it sounds foreign on his tongue, but not unpleasant.
“Then what’s up?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
He furrows his brow, unsure of my diction, but seems to understand enough that he explains his thought process. “I want you,” he says. “And not just now, in this moment. I want to be with you. With only you. I want to know you—all about you. I want to be yours. I want you to trust me with your heart. I want to be with you always.”
I feel myself blushing. A smart retort is dancing on my bottom lip, but I bite it back. I don’t care that what he says is cheesy. I don’t care that it’s more romantic than I’m comfortable with. I don’t think he’s trying to manipulate my feelings or trying to get something from me. I allow myself to believe his words because I deserve this. And Matt does, too.
I smile back at him—a big one. I feel my eyes soften, shift, while looking at him, and I know my feelings are reflected in my irises. I hope he can read them there.
“I want you, too,” I say, and I mean it. “In exactly the way you’re talking about. I want you, too.”
He seems especially pleased at this revelation, as though he can’t quite believe it, but won’t deny it. Won’t question me. He believes me, too.
Before I can blink, his lips are back on mine and my eyes slip close. Time fades away and all I can think about, all I can taste, smell, breathe, hear, and see—even with my eyes closed—is Matt. Matt surrounds every part of me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Chapter 18
Bliss.
This is bliss.
I am in love and I'm not scared. Well, actually, I'm terrified, but I'm not guarded anymore. I'm my true self. I'm…happy.
It must be the early hours of the next morning. I'm on my back, trying to stare up at the ceiling above me, but it's hard to make anything out in the darkness. My eyes are at half-mast and I think I'm dozing because every now and then, I'll open my eyes and more light will seep through the window, even though the curtains are drawn. I have a slight ache in my pelvis from last night, which makes me smile because sex has never made me blissfully happy before. It's made me feel confident and secure in myself, but never happy like it did with Matt. Now I get why they call it making love.
Before, I thought it was so dumb, too cheesy to label something as fun as sex as that. But I didn't get it. I didn't get that it could feel like this. Now, I do. Now I know.
It's something I want to feel for the rest of my life. And that's the scary part. Because now that I get it, now that I know what love is and, more than that, now that I've admitted to Matt and to myself that I'm in love with him, there's no going back. I now have something to lose. And I honestly don't know who I would be if I don't have Matt around me, in my life, in some capacity.
I turn on my side to face him. He's sound asleep, his perfect nostrils flaring every time he takes a breath. Short, shaggy brown hair has fallen into his face, so I brush it away with a sweep of my fingers. It falls right back where it was, causing me to smile at my futile attempt.
He's so beautiful, which is weird to think about a guy. But no other word fits. Of course, you could say he's handsome and attractive and sexy and cute and adorable and gorgeous and all those other words. They're not a lie. But to me, Matt is beautiful because he exceeds all beauty in every way. He is all of those words to the extreme. I can't not stare at him, and I'm sure I'm not the only girl who feels this way. Hell, maybe a few of the men do as well. I certainly can't blame them for it.
Because of Matt's beauty, I'm sure he's approached a lot for sex an
d other things. He's also charming when he wants to be, which is the worst combination because that just screams great sex and a gentleman, so even if no relationship stems from this, at least he'll be nice in the morning.
But with me, Matt's more than that. I'm his and he's mine and that's it. There's no reason to overthink things.
"Isla?"
My eyes find Matt's and he's looking at me with those warm brown eyes through heavy lids. His hand reaches out to cup my cheek and I immediately lean into his touch. Somehow, my cheek fits perfectly in his palm—they're rough but warm—and his thumb is long enough to trace the line of my jaw with the pad of his thumb.
It's such an intimate gesture, a gesture I would have otherwise been afraid of, run away from, closed myself off from. I used to be afraid because I didn't know. And that's okay. I'm not mad at myself. I don't regret anything. Because everything and everyone led me to Matt. And Matt is the only one who matters.
"Hmm?"
I can't formulate words right now. I'm too lazy, too tired, but that's okay because I don't have to impress Matt. I don't have to pretend to be anyone else but me. And more than that, I don't have to be ashamed of who I am. Like, I've realized I'm someone worth loving. I suppose the fact that it takes a man for me to realize that fact about myself is a little disappointing and typically cliché, but sometimes it takes someone loving you in spite of your ignorance to make you realize just how much you're worth.
His fingers move from my jaw and trace the outline of my lips, the tips of my cheeks, the bridge of my nose. He's touching me, caressing me, everywhere, like he's trying to memorize my face, like he's trying to memorize me.
His lips curl up in a smile, a tired one, and he closes his eyes, almost as though he's ready to fall back asleep. His hands are holding my waist now, one arm thrown over me while another is on my hip. It's like he has to touch me, he has to connect with me physically in some way.
"This isn't a dream?" he asks, his voice mumbled with sleep. His eyes stay closed, but his brow is pushed up, like he's trying to open his eyes but just can't quite seem to do it.
"This isn't a dream," I tell him, and now it's my turn to play with the scruff on his chin. I'm flat on my stomach, my weight on one elbow so my arm can hold him in the same way he can hold me. "Thank God this isn't a dream."
"Thank God," he agrees.
I smile at his words and close my eyes again. This is what bliss must feel like, a contentment that feels complete. Like there's nothing else for me to search for anymore because everything I could ever want is right here, within my grasp. I didn't realize it before but that's a big deal. It's something I don't take for granted.
My thoughts drift to last night. To early this morning. The way we made love—I don't even roll my eyes at the phrase—the way he showered my body with pleasure. The way he said my name over and over again. The way his eyes penetrated through to my very soul the way they always have, from the first moment we met. The way our bodies connected, like we're two shoes of the same pair. Like we belong together.
Sex is sex. Sex feels good for the most part, no matter who you're with. But there's something special and rare when you have sex with someone you love, someone you care about and you absolutely know who cares about you. I can't put it into words, and I can't even explain it to myself, but there's almost a magic that seems to accompany our bodies when we have sex… It just makes it all the better. It takes it to a level I didn't know existed.
Matt and I didn't use any protection. I didn't even think about it, which was partly on me. I'm going to have to ask Sarah for whatever birth control they use down here so I won't get pregnant before the two of us actually plan for it. Yes, I want to have a family with Matt. Definitely not quite yet, but in the future for sure. I refuse to analyze that complete one-eighty change in my belief system just because I don't want to taint this moment we're both in.
There's something special and even sexy about connecting with someone without barriers protecting you. It indicates complete and thorough trust in your partner and there is a difference in sex that can't be there with condoms. I'm glad I didn't know this until now, though. I'm glad it's Matt who taught me these things and who will continue to teach me things I didn't know. I'll never have to protect myself from him; there will never be anything between us, both literally and figuratively.
I turn my body and curl into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He's so warm and comfortable that it isn't long before I feel myself fall asleep again.
I wake up again some time later. The sun is setting, and my stomach is so loud it sounds like a lion. I see Matt is still asleep, his mouth ajar, soft snores coming from that perfect nose. My heart bursts at the sight of him and I'm tempted to wake him up so we can do it again and again and again because, my God, he's that good, but I stop myself.
I need to talk to Sarah. I need to tell her about Billy.
I crawl out of bed, which is a struggle, and pull on the least amount of clothes I can while still looking decent. Instead of even brushing my hair, I throw my hair into a messy bun and slip on some boots before I sneak out of the room without waking up Matt. I head to Sarah’s room. It's an effort for me to even walk right now, which sounds so dumb and lazy, but to be honest, that's exactly how I'm feeling. My legs are numb, jelly, and they shake when I take a step. In fact, as I walk, I grip the wall tight because I don't trust myself not to lose my balance and buckle down.
I yawn and knock on her door, half-hoping she isn't there. I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head to the side. I want nothing more than to get another hour of sleep, maybe two, before having more sex and eating a lot of food. I feel very egotistical right now, craving my basic needs over anything more mental and spiritual.
At that moment, the door pops open and Sarah's standing in a pretty green dress, her hair in a tight braid.
"Yes?" she asks, raising her brow. As always, she's her usual direct self.
"I need to talk to you," I tell her and then my eyes are forced shut as a yawn overtakes my mouth and I'm paralyzed for those seconds.
"You need a nap," Sarah says, though I do detect a sparkle of amusement in her brown eyes.
I nod enthusiastically. "I do," I agree. "But really, we need to talk. It's important."
"Oh?" She raises a curious brow. She opens her mouth, ready to ask me another question but her eyes narrow in on something on my person. I'm just too tired to try and figure out what. "What are those marks on your neck?"
Until she says that.
My face immediately turns crimson because I know she's referring to my hickeys, hickeys I didn't even know I had until right now. I knew Matt was enthusiastic last night, but I didn't know his enthusiasm was this public, so to speak.
“I, uh…”
At that moment, Matt appears next to me. For some strange reason, the only thing he’s wearing is pants. I have no idea why he doesn’t think to maybe run a brush through his hair to get rid of the obvious sex that reeks from its formation, and God forbid the man throw a shirt on that body. Even though his chest is a magnificent work of art and needs to be kept in a museum.
Ahem.
“Where’d you get off to?” Matt asks me, either ignoring the fact that his sister is standing right there, interrogating me about the hickeys that he gave to me, or he’s simply not aware of what’s going on. Honestly, I think it legitimately could be both.
“Is something going on between the two of you?” Sarah asks, her eyes already narrowed and shifting between me and Matt with obvious suspicion in them. “Are you guys fucking?”
“Sarah!” Matt says, his eyes wide with surprise. “That’s a bit crude, isn’t it?”
Sarah gives him a look, crossing her arms over her chest. “You always were the romantic,” she says, but it comes out like it’s a bad thing. Her eyes look back at me. “All right, girl sleeping with my brother, what did you want to talk to me about? That you guys are fucking?”
“No,” I say.
&n
bsp; “You left me to talk to Sarah?” Matt asks, clearly offended that I think talking to Sarah is more important than literal sleeping with him. “Why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Sarah says, exasperated.
“I came to talk to Sarah because I know—”
“Who came to talk to Sarah?” a voice behind her asks.
Before I can blink, Billy appears from Sarah’s room, wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist and pulling her back closer to him. He looks like he just woke up—we probably woke him up, to be honest—and suddenly, my lips clamp together and I can’t speak, not now, not when he’s right here, holding on to Sarah the way a husband should hold on to his wife.
Billy’s eyes find mine and he looks at me like he knows, like he knows what I’m going to tell Sarah. I can’t explain how, I can’t explain why or anything like that; all I know is that it’s this gut feeling that twists my gut in a vise grip and makes it hard for me to breathe. He knows. Billy knows I know.
“I, uh, yes, you’re right,” I say, my face turning an unattractive shade of red. I can feel it creeping up my skin, like dread, like the cold. I need to get out of here with Matt. I’ll tell Sarah another way. Not now. Not with Billy right here. “I came to tell you that Matt and I are, you know, together, and I’m very happy about it. Ecstatic. I can’t even stay in bed because I’m so excited that he’s with me and I’m with him. And you’re his sister so you should be, too. Not with us, no! What I mean to say is, I know you’re important to him so it’s only right that you know, you know? About us, I mean.”
“How sweet,” Billy says. For some reason, my ears pick up a dark undertone because he knows I’m lying, he knows I’m hiding something.
“So, um, yeah." I spread my arms out, because why not? I'm already making myself look like a spectacle, why not emphasize the weirdness even more? "Me and Matt, Matt and me, we…" I don't even think I'm being grammatically coherent right now, which is terrible all by itself, but whatever. I turned my eyes to Matt, who is looking at me with a quirked brow and a cocked head. "I'm in love with your brother, Sarah. And I wanted to come and tell you personally because you deserve to know directly, not, you know, by stumbling upon us in the throes of passion."
To Ruin a Rogue: Page 15
