“Angel,” he whispered into my ear, “you’re okay. It’s just me.”
And then he was making his way over to my brother, who seemed to be having an out of body experience like the rest of us. Matthew stood stock still, his injured hand clutched in the other, staring at the damage he’d created on my wall. He actually jumped when Chris placed his hand on his chest, pushing him against the door.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” Chris said calmly, as if he was ordering a pizza, or saying a casual goodbye.
Fact of the matter was that Chris had experienced Matthew’s temper tantrums all too often, usually brought about by drugs or drinking. And he was reverting back to the tactics that had worked to control him then. Never before had the cause of his rage been me, but Chris wasn’t focusing on that right now. His goal was to diffuse the situation and get him out of here before things became even uglier.
It worked. Matthew snapped out of his trance, removed Chris’s hand from his shirt, and threw open the door. Granted, he did slam it behind himself upon exiting, but other than that, the retreat was peaceful. The Mustang’s engine roared to life, then accelerated down the street until he was far enough away that it could no longer be heard.
I made it into the kitchen, grabbed a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, and returned to the living room before the tears streaked across my face. Undeterred, I knelt down before the dented wall and began scrubbing, removing the blood that my brother had left behind. I didn’t get very far before the sobs consumed my body.
Then Chris was there beside me, taking the sponge from my trembling hand. He paused long enough to deposit it back in the bucket - because he knew when I calmed down, I would have lit into him for dropping it on the floor - and then he took me into his arms, rocking me back and forth.
“It’s okay, angel,” he soothed, his cheek pressed against the top of my head. He tightened me against his chest, protecting me from the world. The world, which now included the only other man I’d ever told I loved.
I shook my head. “I’ve lost him, Chris. He’s gone.”
He let me cry into his shirt, not prompting me for more explanation until my tears had subsided and my breathing had returned to somewhat normal. I was prepared when the question came, ready to voice my biggest fear.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked softly, totally insinuating that the choice was mine. He knew well enough not to pry.
“I was too spoiled for too long,” I whispered. “I’m not meant to have both of you at the same time.”
Chapter Ten
Lauren
The second Matthew entered the kitchen through our garage, I knew something was up. I stood at the range, preparing our dinner, a greeting fixed on my lips. When I raised my head to provide it, I realized he’d already passed me by.
I took the spoon out of the homemade spaghetti sauce, laid it on the counter, and turned off the heat. Our meal could wait. I’d already delayed things in anticipation of him going over to Blake’s. Obviously, that hadn’t gone well and the knowledge of that ruined my appetite anyway.
He’d made a beeline to Sadie’s room, which I predicted correctly. By the time I reached him, he’d already lifted our sleeping daughter from her crib and retreated to the rocking chair in the corner of the room.
Since he’d accomplished this without waking her up, I hesitated to turn on the overhead light. Instead, I leaned up against the doorjamb, watching him for clues. The rocking chair moved gently back and forth, his silhouette casting shadows across the artfully painted walls. If there hadn’t been a sinister undercurrent to the whole scene, it would have been a touching tableau.
I loved watching him with Sadie. Even now, it was no different. The pure adoration he had for that child was evident in everything he did. Gracie had once proclaimed that Matthew would have gladly opened a vein to protect me from harm, and if that statement was anywhere accurate, that sentiment would have been multiplied tenfold in regards to Sadie.
So I let him have the opportunity to gain the composure that he needed. He knew I was there, waiting. I could feel it; I knew it as much as I knew my own name. And I watched, fascinated, as I heard his ragged breathing even out as he stared into his daughter’s cherubic face. His paternal instincts had kicked into overdrive. She had that effect on me, too. I understood.
It was several minutes before he ceased rocking, then a few more before he stood and returned her to the crib. She barely made a sound as he lowered her onto the mattress, a content baby sigh the only noise filling the room. He paused, hands on the railing, as he determined she was going to stay asleep. Satisfied, he turned and finally addressed me.
His blue eyes squinted as they adjusted to the light in the hallway. Without saying anything, he closed Sadie’s door as quietly as possible. I followed his lead and moved out of the way, only to have him pull me back possessively.
Then his lips were crashing into mine, claiming them as his. He pinned me, not unpleasantly, against the wall. His knee came up between my legs, parting them so he could lower his erection there and press it against me.
I moaned into his mouth, the sound turning into a protest as he pulled away. His hands raised to either side of my head as his lips lowered to my neck.
“I need to fuck you,” he said between kisses.
I tensed slightly at his verbiage. During the course of our relationship, I couldn’t remember a time that he’d ever made that request. Not like we were celibate, or that I was a prude, but even the skinny-dipping incident had been considered sex, not fucking. Matthew had always been careful to classify our coupling as something more meaningful than a hookup.
And then I saw the blood smeared across his knuckles. I grabbed the wrist of the offending hand. Either he didn’t notice, or he was ignoring the fact that I had.
“What happened to your hand?”
His lips stilled against my throat, right in the place I was certain he could feel my pulse racing beneath them. Once pounding with arousal, it now beat frantically with concern. I wondered if he could tell the difference. He’d been off ever since he walked in the door.
I focused on my attempt to keep from hyperventilating as I waited for him to reply. Just when I thought that I wouldn’t get a response, he answered.
“Blake’s wall,” he said simply.
So at least the blood was his own. If that made things better. I’d no doubt that my husband was capable of inflicting serious harm upon someone. His encounter with Stalker Jeff reigned supreme in my mind as a testament to why mere mortals did not want to be on the receiving end of his wrath. And though I seriously discounted the fact that he’d ever turn violent towards Blake or even Chris, no matter how badly things disintegrated, the possibility had still been there.
“Let me take a look at it,” I pressed, careful of my wording. Sure, I wanted to ask him what the hell happened, but I wasn’t about to scare him off. Better to tend solely to the consequences now and let him divulge the reasons later.
“Fine.” He sighed deeply, the sexual predator part of him disappearing as quickly as it had shown up.
I took him by the other hand, which was thankfully unscathed, and led him into our master bathroom. With a look, I convinced him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. I opened up the cabinet above him to extract the first aid kit, then got to work. He winced as I cleaned the abrasions with hydrogen peroxide, and a tiny part of me felt like he deserved at least that small amount of discomfort.
“If your hand looks like this,” I said as I bandaged it, “I’d hate to see her wall.”
That got a small laugh, as I had intended. Whatever this was, I had to show him I was on his side. I couldn’t let him see that I was the least bit upset that whatever conversation they’d had had nearly come to blows.
I finished wrapping the injury. He flexed the hand a little bit, staring at the evidence. With any luck, he could remove the bandage in the morning to hopefully keep questions from his coworkers to a min
imum.
“Feel okay?” I asked.
“No,” he admitted.
He wasn’t talking about the hand.
I turned away from him, busying myself with putting away the medical supplies. Though I didn’t expect for him to burst out into a monologue, I was still slightly disappointed that he didn’t say anything at all. Throughout our relationship, I’d never pushed him to provide details about the things that haunted him, and whatever had happened tonight was clearly being added to that list. He’d tell me when and if he was ready to, and I needed to wait for his lead.
Of course, it helped that Gracie worked with Blake. As much as it burned me sometimes that my bestie seemed to be closer to her boss than to me now, at least I could potentially use this to my advantage. Certainly my sister-in-law would confide in someone regarding what had been said. And even if it was only Chris, he and Gracie were getting to be thick as thieves also. Somehow, someway, the news of what had gone down would circle back to me.
I’d just have to be patient. I was used to putting on the kid gloves when it came to dealing with Matthew’s issues. He was one to internalize, and my tendency to avoid conflict at all costs only aided and abetted his natural instincts.
So I did my best to provide him with the comfort that he couldn’t bring himself to ask me for. His need to be intimate was his way of dealing with pain. And though he would hate me making the comparison - especially now - it reminded me of his sister’s trained response to numb her frazzled emotions with sex.
My fingers combed through his messy blond hair, bending his head forward so that it rested against my breasts. In his seated position, he was only slightly taller than I was at my full height. Symbolically, though, I towered above him. And he leaned into me, allowing me to support him.
My lips brushed against the top of his head, my hands trailing down his smooth cheeks. I sank down to my knees before him, taking the opportunity to study him closely. It was as if he’d regressed physically right in front of my eyes. Clean shaven, glasses off, he was almost too perfect, an exact replica of what he’d been during his supposed high school glory days.
The attraction factor from long ago was clearly evident, but I wasn’t convinced that I didn’t like my version of him better. This was the plastic Matthew, son of the equally plastic Patricia. Hell bent on pleasing her, he’d gone back to old habits in an attempt to impress. But what I’d intended to bring about wasn’t him stepping back into the past, but rather bringing his mother into the present and accepting the newer, better man in front of me.
Baby steps. If I could make his mother see, maybe one day his father could do the same.
“You’re not who you used to be,” I whispered, dropping my eyes so I wouldn’t lose my nerve.
Even those words made him tense, and I knew I had pushed too far, too soon.
I rested one trembling hand upon his knee, then moved forward with my plan. The fingers of my right hand found their way to the fly of his pants, undoing the button, taking the zipper and coaxing it downward. Though I heard his breath catch in his lungs, he didn’t attempt to stop me. And really, why would he?
My other hand reached forward and exposed his length from his boxers, the weight of him heavy against my fingers. Even as conflicted as he was, he was certainly aroused, and before I could convince myself not to, that this wouldn’t help anything, I lowered my head between his legs and took him into my mouth.
“God, Lauren,” he moaned. The fingers of his uninjured hand fisted as best they could in my short hair.
I didn’t do oral, ever, but his encouragement emboldened me. And since he’d clearly stated he wanted more than the usual vanilla variety of sex, I was willing to experiment. For him, I’d do anything. I’d proven it time and again, and this was just one more aspect of it.
Before I could totally embarrass myself, he pushed me backwards gently, my lips releasing him with a pop. I played along, pretending that his actions weren’t a review of my technique.
“Are you ready to fuck?” I asked, making sure I got the terminology right.
Something changed in those eyes of his, and it wasn’t altogether a bad thing. The reflection of love that I was accustomed to seeing in their depths turned primal. If possible, the blue pools intensified in color with his desire. Never before had he looked at me in that way, like he could absolutely rip off my clothing and it wouldn’t be quick enough for him.
Since he was in obvious discomfort - and maybe even pain - from his knuckles, I helped him along a bit with things. I shrugged my arms out of my t-shirt on the way from the bathroom to our king sized bed, gasping when he grabbed the fabric and pulled it over my head. With a practiced move, the shirt was tossed to the floor without another thought.
Then his body was pressed roughly against mine, pushing me to a stop against the side of the bed. His hands found my shoulders, forcing me to the mattress. My face buried in the cotton of our sheets, I turned my head to one side to try to ease my breathing. A mixture of passion and more than a little fear made that a futile effort. I squeezed my eyes shut as the air refused to fill my lungs, focusing on the blood coursing through my veins.
With me bent over the bed, I couldn’t see what Matthew was doing. Instead, I visualized him undressing, the pants I’d already unfastened dropping around his ankles, him stepping out of them. The boxers came next, pooling to the floor and being kicked away. Then the shirt, exposing his chest and the six pack that I knew like the back of my hand.
My heart rate, which had already picked up speed thanks to my overactive imagination, kicked into overdrive when firm hands grabbed both my yoga pants and my underwear and yanked them down in one fell swoop.
“I need you,” I moaned.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he assessed at the same time.
I shivered in anticipation, though it was mere seconds before he entered me from behind. The unexpected rush of sensation made me cry out with pleasure, his voice joining mine in ecstasy.
Our shared release came quickly, my body pulsing around his as he stilled inside me. We stayed connected, him rolling me to the side so he could rest beside me while we caught our breath. The silence in our bedroom was broken only by our ragged gasps for air, the roar of my blood in my ears, the answering thuds of his heartbeat that I swore I not only felt but also heard.
Matthew pressed me firmly into his body, his fingers desperately searching for my hand, threading between mine and holding tightly to the point of almost hurting. Even as my fingers grew numb from the lack of circulation, I still let him cling to me, afraid to break the connection.
Something had shifted yet again in our existence, our relationship bending and contorting in response to outside forces. I could feel it, taste it, in the air between us even before he announced it with the following cryptic statement:
“You are so much more than just a piece of ass.”
Chapter Eleven
Gracie
The chimes on the front door of the design studio announced Blake’s arrival shortly after nine. I barely looked up as the whirlwind otherwise known as my boss headed past me, leaving a gust of air in her wake. As ritual would have it, she went straight to her desk to deposit her purse in the bottom drawer. I heard the requisite slam announcing the deed was done, then nothing more.
When she didn’t immediately come back over to the worktable to take her usual seat and brief me for the day ahead or inquire if I’d gotten lucky the previous night, I knew something was off. And I had an overwhelming feeling that I knew exactly what that something was.
My stomach lowered itself into my feet as I turned to confirm my suspicions. Sure enough, Blake had slumped into her office chair, no intent of moving from her current position. So I went to her instead.
“You look like shit,” I began.
She jumped, as if just now realizing that she wasn’t alone. She pushed a stray length of hair that had escaped her messy bun back behind her ear. Doing this disturbed the glasses that
she never ever wore in public, and she adjusted the thick black frames reflexively.
Granted, her looking like shit still put her head and shoulders above ninety percent of the female population, but I for one was feeling overdressed. And firmly in the ten percent, thank you.
She stared up at me, but still made no move to defend herself. I met her gaze head on and plopped onto the corner of her desk. She watched my legs cross, her eyes drawn to my platform boot as it dangled in the air in front of me.
“I know these shoes are dead sexy, but that’s not why you’re speechless, or running around Fort Wayne like a zombie in your pajamas.”
She looked down at herself, taking an inventory of her appearance. Maybe slightly more effort had been put into getting dressed this morning than I implied, but her attire wasn’t on par with how she normally looked. A baggy sweater over a pair of leggings that looked like they needed to see the inside of a dumpster wasn’t her usual style.
“Look,” I said abruptly, trying a different tactic, “I know what’s up.”
This brought her to attention. She opened her mouth to say something, but I cut her off.
“I also know that I don’t want anything to do with it.”
Her face fell.
“I refuse to pick sides. This is family drama, and I’m not a part of that. It’s obvious that you and Lauren disagree on things, and you can’t ask me to choose between the two of you. She’s the reason that I’m here in the first place, and you’re the reason that I can be. As difficult as this is for you, it’s something else entirely for me.”
Her lower lip trembled, and she brushed away an errant tear, but took her cue to stay silent from my expression.
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