NERVOUS DIDN’T BEGIN to describe how Romy felt waiting for Matt to come out of the bathroom.
And when he did emerge, nervous ratcheted right up to terrified at the look on his face. She knew, in that moment, she was about to lose him.
So she decided she might as well go straight for the jugular and said, “I love you.”
Miraculously, a crack appeared in his facade. It was blink-and-you’d-miss-it—just his hand jerking an inch upward—but it convinced her that Teague was right when he’d said the way to reach Matt was to make him hear those words.
“And before we begin this conversation,” she continued, striking while the iron was hot, “I should tell you my parents think you love me, too. Me...and the baby.”
“Don’t, Romy.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too late.”
“It’s not even ten o’clock.”
“I mean it’s twenty-eight years too late.”
“I don’t...understand.”
He sent her a brief, chilling smile, and took his old position on the extreme left end of the couch, waving a hand at her old position on the right. “Then take a seat, Romy, because I’m going to make you.”
She did as he bid her, her heart lurching. “That sounds ominous.”
“I’m just going to tell you the truth,” he said. “It’s time you heard it.” He took a deep breath, waited a moment and then began. “Earlier tonight, I asked you why I’d never met your parents.”
“Y-yes.”
“And you said you and I didn’t have the kind of friendship that would make such a meeting easy.”
“Yes, but I meant—”
“It doesn’t matter, Romy. What really matters is why I didn’t introduce you to mine.”
She said nothing, but she watched him like a hawk.
“You see,” he continued, “the last time I took a girl home to meet my parents, I was seventeen.”
“Seventeen...” she said, as dread worked its way down her spine. “Gail.”
“I should explain that sex was allowed in my parents’ house—they were...permissive—so it was assumed that Gail and I would sleep together. It wasn’t the first time for either of us, but it was the first time in my bedroom at home and it felt...important. The first night, we professed undying love for each other, the next I gave her a promise ring, like the romantic idiot I was.” He laughed suddenly, but it trailed away as he frowned as though trying to recapture a memory. “And then at the end of that week I found her in bed with my father.”
Romy, taken aback by the conversational tone of such an obscene utterance, sucked in a shocked breath, then wanted to kick herself when it made him laugh again.
“Yeah, it took me by surprise, too,” he said.
“What happened?”
“Oh, it wasn’t all that exciting. My father is a charismatic man. He groomed her, seduced her. She was a year older than me, more sophisticated than I was, but she didn’t stand a chance. Not her fault—mine, for not warning her what to expect, not protecting her.”
“No I mean what happened after, Matt. You, Gail, your mother...”
“Well, Romy, my mother was...involved...elsewhere at the time, so she didn’t see the point in taking the moral high ground. I, however, made an embarrassing scene. My father didn’t see the problem because it was DC, where the age of consent is sixteen, and Gail was two years over it. He wasn’t breaking any laws, and it wasn’t like he wanted to date her. But he found the whole thing so tedious, he promised to stay away from my girlfriends after that. Gail was dutifully embarrassed—so much so, she cut ties with me and who could blame her? But I learned my lesson and never took another girl home.”
She reached out a hand to him.
“I knew you’d do that,” he said dismissively. “But I don’t need petting. I’m only telling you so you get the full picture of who I am. So...what fun story should I share next?” He shot her a look that got her heart racing. This was going to be bad. “How about the one starring my mother and Teague Hamilton?”
She couldn’t find enough air to suck in a breath this time. “No,” she whispered. “No, please.”
“Don’t worry, Romy. Our saint comes out of it with his halo intact. It happened the year of the Fourth of July ball. Wanting to repay the favor, I invited Teague home for Thanksgiving. He was at a loose end because his family was sailing the Mediterranean. Veronica had dragged Rafael home to her folks’ in some desperate attempt to get them to accept him, Artie was getting up close and personal with his first-ever electric drill, and you were off at some Cordon Bleu cooking school. My parents were supposed to be in Florida shooting movies—more on that later—but at the last minute Mom changed her mind. I suspect because she’d seen a photo of Teague and was intrigued by his preppy good looks. Long story short, one minute we were eating turkey, next minute Mom was trying to eat him! And I mean eat him. Didn’t succeed, of course—you know Teague, loyal to a fault. Still, it was... I mean, Teague... Oh God, Teague...” He faltered, shook his head as though trying to get something out of it, took a breath. “Teague pretended it wasn’t disgusting, and he...he hugged me.” His voice was hoarse, cracked, hitching. “And he t-told me all m-mothers find him irresistible.” Another breath. “He h-hugged me! Can you believe that?”
She wanted to reach for him, fold him in, cry for him. But he was already pulling it all together, so she did nothing but sit there, aching for him...waiting for him, as ever.
When he continued, his voice was devoid of life. “So anyway, as you might have guessed, my parents are what you might call highly sexed. If you were a porn aficionado, you’d be aware of their channel, where you’d see all sorts of things that have nothing to do with vanilla sponge cake. Chet and Cherry Carter—real names Kevin and Marsha—why not look them up, expand your repertoire, get a cheap thrill, whatever. It was a popular site when I was a kid, but the appeal has dwindled lately. Dad blames Mom—the MILF thing isn’t working so well for her.”
“MILF?”
“Mothers I’d Like to Fuck.” He made an impatient, chopping movement with his hand. “You understand what I’m saying, Romy?”
“Yes. Your parents like sex—sometimes with people quite a bit younger than they are, and they’re porn stars.”
“They’ve been married as long as your parents have, but they’ve had so many sex partners they’d never remember them all. You can’t approve of that.”
“I doubt they’re seeking my approval.”
“How about if I tell you they didn’t care what I saw when I was a kid? That nudity was a normal thing in the house so I couldn’t bring friends home, that I could watch porn from puberty, that they laughed and told me not to be a prude when I caught them fucking?”
“I know you’re trying to get a reaction from me, Matt—why don’t you just tell me what it is you want me to say?”
“That you want me out of your life. I want you to tell me you won’t let me near your kid.”
And all her bravado crumbled. Her eyes welled. “I’m not saying that. I can’t say that, because I love you and I want you as the father of my child. No, our child. And I wish I could...could tell you what you mean to me. I wish you could understand what a hero you are, to have come through that and still be you.”
“I can’t believe you!” He jumped to his feet, glared down at her. “I’m not a fucking hero. Stop saying it, stop!”
“I’ll keep saying it, Matt, because that’s what you are. A hero. My hero. Better than Captain America because you’re real and you’re here and you’re trying to save me from yourself. That’s what your tower is about—the one with the moat. Not to protect you, but to protect me! To protect all of us. But we love you anyway. And I...I know what you mean when you say we’re twenty-eight years too late, because I feel like I’ve been waiting for you for twenty-eight years and it’s too late to tell me not to wait anymore. I don’t want to be saved, you see. I want to be yours.”
“You can’t be mine! I’m a sex addict, Romy! That’s it! That’s all there is to me.”
“If you were a sex addict, you’d wouldn’t have gone without sex for two weeks after my phone call. You’d never have lasted four weeks after I left San Francisco. And you probably wouldn’t have lasted Monday to Friday this week, either.”
“For all you know I was with another woman last night.”
“I know you weren’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I can, and I do.”
He ran his hands into his hair. “Why won’t you listen?”
“I will if you say something worth listening to.”
“Then hear this, Romy. If you’re pregnant, I don’t want to see you again. I’ll set up the trust fund, and we’re done. Will that prove to you I’m not some fucking hero?”
“No, because setting up a trust fund doesn’t gel with the whole anti-Christ vibe you’re aiming for.”
“I’m not joking.”
“I never joke about the anti-Christ. So move along. And if I’m not pregnant...?”
“If you’re not pregnant, you can consider you’ve had a lucky escape and find a new donor.”
“I don’t want a new donor.”
“You said you did in that email.”
“I lied.”
“You...you must see why I have to back out.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“I’ve just told you!”
“You said things about your parents—that’s all. And I’m sorry they weren’t better role models, but I can’t see what that has to do with you impregnating me.”
“Bad genes,” he said.
“Hmm. I don’t think sexual adventurousness is inherited.”
“Addiction can be.”
“You’re not an addict—we already covered that. And in any case, addictions are treatable. Who’s to say I don’t have a wacky sex gene? I mean, there has to be some reason I want to bite some poor unsuspecting man, right?”
“Romy, I’m serious. No more sperm.”
She stood, faced him. “Okay then, when we have sex tonight, we’ll use a condom. Or I’ll use my hands...or my mouth.”
He did a double take that would have been funny if she hadn’t been so desperate. “I’m not touching you, Romy,” he said.
“Now you see, a real sex addict would let me take advantage of him.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Then do it as a favor. It won’t be easy finding a casual sex partner once I’m pregnant, so I’d be grateful if you’d fuck me while I’m still a viable option.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re too vanilla sponge, okay? I’ve been with women who want it harder than you do, rougher, wilder. What makes you think you can keep me interested even for one night?”
“I don’t know if I can keep you interested, Matt. But I’m happy to take the dare.”
“I’m not daring you, Romy.”
She shook her head at him, as though disgusted. “You talk about vanilla sponge. You rave about your sexual escapades. You throw out words like addiction. But it seems to me you’re the tame one. If we’ve barely moved past the missionary position, it’s not my fault, it’s yours—you’ve been directing almost all the action. Maybe I should choose Teague! Maybe I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“You do that, Romy,” he said, and the blaze in his eyes as he grabbed her hand and yanked her in was electrifying.
He lifted the hand he held, wrenched off her pinky ring and threw it. Romy heard it ping off a wall but she refused to let her eyes follow its trajectory.
“Okay—here’s a choice for you,” he said. “Go and find the ring...or have sex with me.” He released her hand, spun her to face the room, gave her a push. “Where could it be, hmm? I know you want to find it—it’s the right choice, so go do it.”
She wrenched herself out from under his hands and faced him again. “I know what you’re doing, Matt. Trying to make me choose Teague over you because of some stupid idea that Teague’s better than you. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
“Yes! Yes! I’m jealous of Teague because he’s better than me! Everything about him is better. Better looking, richer, kinder. He’s got a family to be proud of. He’s a better man, better father material.”
“If you really feel that, Matt, then be better for me yourself. Be the man I know you are. The man I love more tonight, knowing what I know, than I loved ten years ago, knowing nothing except that you were made for me.”
“I don’t know how to be better. God, I hope you’re not pregnant—I hope it with every breath in my body.”
“I saw the cradle, Matt. I know you want the baby.”
One of his hands came up, shielding his eyes—but not before she saw the flash of devastation. His breaths were heaving—one, two, three, four. His mouth tightened—long moment—and then the hand dropped from his eyes to reveal blankness again. “That was...boredom. I had to do something while you were at work.”
“I know, Matt. I know you.”
“Go find the ring,” he said through gritted teeth. “Choose Teague. You were always meant for someone like him, not me. Never me. You know that.”
“I’m choosing you.”
“If you choose me, it really will be only one night, Romy—that’s all, no more.”
“So shut up and give it to me,” she said, and reached her arms up around his neck, nestling against him.
For a moment, his arms closed around her, tightened...but then he pushed her away. “Not like that,” he said. “If you really want to do this, not like that. Not now, I can’t stand it.”
“Then how?”
“Like this,” he said, and grabbed her hard by the upper arms. He shove-shove-shoved her over to the wall until she was backed against it. For one fraught moment he stared down at her, and then he kissed her so hard the corner of her lip split. She thought he’d stop then, and he did. He stepped back, looked at her mouth and then very deliberately leaned down again to lick at the bead of blood. “Now stop me. Tell me you made a mistake choosing me. Tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
“No.”
“I’m going to be rough with you.”
“Then I’ll be rough back.”
That seemed to make him furious—so furious, he reached for her dress and ripped it down the middle. He flicked a glance at her body as though what was on display wasn’t important, despite the fact she was wearing her best underwear and sheer stay-up stockings. But then, of course he’d seen every kind of underwear on a woman, all degrees of nakedness, stockings in every color and every style.
“Tell me you love me,” he demanded.
“Why?”
“So I can remind you that I don’t love you. It took me ten years to be interested enough to fuck you. What does that tell you?”
“That you were scared to lose me.”
He flinched, but quickly rallied. “Yeah, well, I did do it in the end because it’s what I’m good for and it’s all I need. Now get that through your head and leave me the hell alone before I hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“I split your lip.”
For answer, she grabbed his shirt and tore it the way he’d done to her dress, buttons flying in every direction. “There, are we even? Now will you shut up and do this?”
He grabbed her hands then, wrenched them up, slammed them against the wall, imprisoned them in one large hand.
She surged against his hold—not to break it but to strain her face toward his. “Kiss me, Matt. Hard as you want.”
Keeping her hands imprisoned, he put his mouth on hers and savaged it, sucking and licking and biting. She savaged him right back, tugging against his grip.
“I need my hands,” she begged. “I need to touch you.”
“I want you to do something very specific, Romy. Say yes, and I’ll let go.”
“Yes...yes...” she panted. “I’ll do anything for you...everything...all the things.”
He let her wrists go, and instantly her hands went to his fly.
He stopped her. “Not that, this,” he said, and grabbed the back of Romy’s head, bringing her face to his naked chest. “Bite me, Romy. Through the skin until you draw blood. Your deepest, darkest fantasy.”
“Why do you want me to do it?”
He laughed—a taunt in it. “Because you won’t, vanilla girl.”
“I will!”
“All you have to do is tell me you’ve changed your mind and I’ll let you go. And you go find the ring and we’ll be done.”
But she shook her head, fierce, and lowered her head to lick across his left nipple. She was not done. She would do this.
His chest muscles tensed. He drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. “You can’t do it, Romy. Admit it.”
Her answer was to suck his nipple into her mouth. One of her hands came up, palm resting then rubbing over his right nipple. He started to tremble, and she took courage from that, trailing her tongue up to his pectoral muscle to choose a spot. She measured it with her teeth, and then started licking there. He stiffened—he knew she was preparing him. But a half moment later he relaxed—he’d forced that, she knew he’d forced it.
“Do it, Romy,” he urged. “Do it. I need it. This pain to cancel out the other.”
She stopped, looked up at him. “What other pain?”
“The pain of wanting...” He paused there, closed his eyes. “Wanting what I can’t have, what I won’t have. Do it. I need it.”
She was blinking again, but the tears came anyway, unstoppable. She dipped her head to lick again and her tears dripped onto his chest, mixing with the dampness from her tongue. She switched to sucking him, increasing the pressure. Suck, suck, suck, drawing his blood to the surface. And as she did that, she unzipped his jeans, delved a hand into his underwear, gripped him. One, two, three pumps, and he was gasping, then groaning, thrusting himself into her hand. She kept going, urging him with her hand, alternately licking and kissing and sucking his chest to distract him, forcing his words into her mind—Do it. I need it. This pain to cancel out the other. The pain of wanting what I can’t have, what I won’t have.
Oh God, oh God, she had to do it now, because he’d be ready to come in just a few thrusts and she wanted to give him a more intense pleasure to replace the pain she was about to inflict. Do it—get it over with, and before she could talk herself out of it she closed her eyes and bit down as hard as she could bear to.
Matt stiffened, a strangled “Fuck” erupting from him as she felt the give, the infinitesimal crunch of skin, a metallic tang. Blood—a tiny drop, no more. Enough, it was enough. She dropped to her knees, pulled his jeans and underwear down, took him in her hand again but only to hold him steady for her mouth.
“Don’t,” he said.
She licked all the way up the shaft, then looked up. “You said you wanted me to suck your cock. And here I am...on my knees for you...ready. I’m not stopping, Matt.”
And with that, she slid her mouth over the tip of his cock, rejoicing when his legs went rigid and a cry gargled up from his throat. She started with tiny sucks, just over the tip, as her free hand delved between his legs to cup and press his balls, gently squeezing and releasing. She soon lost herself to the rhythm, to the male smell of him, the velvety feel, playing with speed and pressure until one deeper, harder suck caused him to cry out again, his head flinging back.
He was going to come. She could feel it building. Powerful, glorious. Do it—let go, she begged in her mind and next second his hands tightened painfully in her hair and he shouted her name: “Romy! Jesus God, Romy, Romy, arrrgggghh!”
A long, long moment later, when Matt’s violent thrusts had stopped and his head was slumped forward against the wall above her, Romy sat back on her heels and looked up at him, licking her lips, tasting him still. Musk, salt, a little hit of lime.
He reached down for her, pulled her to her feet. “Your turn,” he said.