Page 94 of The Cartographer

He eyes me suspiciously, as if he knows I’m lying through my teeth, and opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. Something I’ve always liked about Matthew; he knows when to shut the hell up.

“Are you ready or is there something you need to finish up?”

“I’m ready if you are, sir.”

“Lead the way.”

I watch Matthew’s slim hips sway slightly as he climbs the stairs, and when we get into my room, I stand in the middle of the floor so he can attend to me. It should be relaxing, Matthew serving me in this familiar and comfortable way. I should be finding pleasure in the elegant way he strips me, almost like a dance, in the economy of his movements. Instead I find myself watching him, studying him. I want to ask him a question, but I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.

As he kneels to unzip my pants, I can’t keep it in anymore. So much for self-control.

“Matthew?”

“Yes, sir?”

He looks up at me, and regret streaks through my body. “Have I… Did I ever…”

“Sir?” Concern creases his forehead, and his gorgeous long lashes flutter against his cheeks in alarm. Poor, sweet boy. Stuttering is not something I do, and it’s distressing him. So I reach out a hand, smooth the springy mat of his hair, and his eyes close. Relief in the form of physical contact even if I can’t get my shit together to complete a fucking sentence.

“If I had—” His eyes blink open, and I want to stop talking, keep petting, keep us both in this place where everything’s the status quo. I don’t. “—asked you to stay. With me. When you told me about Peter. Would you have?”

His pink mouth, not as full as Allie’s but just as sweet, widens into a reluctant grimace.

“No, sir.”

My heart beats harder, faster, and I have to rein in the insult attempting to run away with my voice.You asked the question, asshole. “Why not?”

“Peter is… He’s not perfect. Not like you. But he wants me and he tells me so. I know I’m important to you. You make me feel valued and cared for. I love serving you, and I loved playing with you. You’ve taught me so much, and I have a lot more confidence than when I met you. You’ve always held yourself apart, though. Like you’re up there and everyone else is down here. Which makes sense. You’re a god. I’m not fit for a god. I belong with another mortal. Peter’s human. You need someone who feels they’re worthy of climbing Olympus, and that’s not me.”

“Matthew, I—”

“I don’t feel that way because of anything you’ve said or done. Not on purpose, anyway. It’s how you are, and I wouldn’t want you to be any different. It’s not anyone’s fault. And I’m happy. Peter makes me happy.”

“I’m glad. I am. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Matthew smiles—that lovely beatific smile that still gives my dick ideas—and proceeds with his task, sticking his hand down my pants to deal with the zipper. “So do you, you know.”

I make some gruff noise in response and stand still as Matthew finishes his work. When I lie down on the bed in anticipation of getting massaged, I can’t seem to find a comfortable spot. Nothing hurts, because it can’t, but it doesn’t feel quite right.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

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“Sir?”

Matthews lilting voice cuts like a hot knife through the butter of silence and stillness in my bedroom.

“What?”Walter, you’re a terrible person. Matthew doesn’t deserve this, watch your tone. “I’m sorry, Matthew. What is it?”

“It’s…” I’ve made him fret. I am officially going to hell. Matthew might be able to take a sound beating like a dream, but he doesn’t do well with me being tetchy. “It’s nearly nine, and you have Knight at ten. I thought you might need some time to prepare.”

I sigh and can practically feel Matthew’s tension vibrating from the other side of the room. “Of course. You’re right. Thank you for letting me know. It was the right thing to do, and I appreciate it.”

Which I do. Or rather, I should, and that’s all Matthew needs to know.

“Yes, sir. Can I make you some breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

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