Page 118 of Worth Every Risk

Her eyes flicker anxiously over mine, and she must see something in my reaction because a sob breaks through and her shoulders shake. “Please Matt, please…” She digs her head into my shoulder, her hair rippling like she’s shaking her head against me.

“Please what?” I murmur, amazed at how cool my voice sounds, even as some deep part of me splinters right along with her.

“Please fuck me. One last time. Please.”

Her words wrench my heart right out of its resting place, tearing it up my throat. I don’t know what’s happening here. I don’t know how everything got so out of control or why she’s begging me. I don’t know why she’s calling this the last time or why it feels like itiswith a cruel certainty that rings through my bones.

“Please,” she whimpers.

I nod and slide her jeans to the floor so she can step out of them.

I ease my hard, aching cock free from my shorts and slide into her like she’s the only place I’ve ever belonged. I thrust in and out, slow and gentle, and she clings to me, crying against my shoulder.

It’s such a sweet, painful agony to feel pleasure while her heart is breaking. While mine is breaking. We’re together but falling apart all at once, and the pain of it hovers just at the brinkof bearable. I keep going, her hips grinding against mine, her swollen clit finding purchase against me until her orgasm finally explodes, her pussy pulsing around me, her juices running down her thighs, covering my dick.

She’s so warm, so soft, and she smells so fucking good. I want to stay like this forever, holding her against my chest, feeling the swell of her breasts against me as she breathes. But even now, as a violent orgasm rockets along my shaft, spilling through my hips and up my spine, I know this is exactly what’s wrong. I’m taking risks I shouldn’t, lying to people, missing the signs my teenage son is being bullied, and then overreacting like I’m a brute with no self-control.

I press my forehead to hers, the two of us breathing in tandem, her confession of love hovering in the air, and mine unspoken on my tongue, like a pill I’ve yet to swallow. Physically, we’re so close I can’t tell whether the sweat that slicks her skin is hers or mine, but emotionally I’ve never felt further from her.

There’s a canyon between us, and I don’t know how to cross to the other side. I don’t know how to pull her back, or if I even want to.

I slide out of her, fetching tissues from a dispenser on the wall and handing her some. Without meeting my eye, she cleans herself up, throws the tissues in the bin, and tugs on her jeans, all while I ache at the idea that this might be the last time I see her body. The last time I touch her. The last time I spend an intimate moment with her.

“You were right,” she croaks. “We both made a mistake.” She pulls the smartphone out of her pocket and holds it out to me along with the credit card I gave her that day at the Natural History Museum.

“What’s this?” I question.

“I’m resigning. I can’t stay here. There’s no room for me in your life.”

As I take them from her, a tingling numbness swells behind my lower ribs, spreading upwards. Beneath it, a core of pain. You are my life. “Your notice period…”

She shakes her head. “If you need me, I’ll stay until you’ve found a replacement. But don’t hold me to a notice period when we both know it’ll be excruciating for me to stay in this house.”

I don’t contradict her. I can’t.

Because this is already excruciating.

“The party. Stay for the party.”

Aries nods. “Yes. Do you need me to stay longer?”

A lump, thick and heavy, lodges in my throat. I want to say yes. “No. Mrs Minter can get someone new for Monday.”

“All right.” She looks at her toes. Bare. Nails painted yellow like little suns. The sight of them sends a piercing pain right through me, and I clench my jaw to hold it back. Make sure it doesn’t show.

“Where will you go?”

Her eyes are ringed with red, and she wipes at tears, smudging her mascara. Her lips press together, hiding their fullness as she shakes her head and backs out of the door. “Home. I’ll go home.”

35

MATT

Music is blasting from the speakers built into the ceilings. The house is full. A handful of Charlie’s friends, surly teenagers with dubious facial hair and limbs too long for their scrawny bodies, stand awkwardly around the room, mingling with their parents, Charlie’s godparents and our extended family: Nico, Seb, Kate and her brother Jack Lansen and his girlfriend. After I smashed the cake, Gemma, Mark and the twins left so that the staff could clean everything away and set up for the party. Now, Gemma and the twins are back, but not Mark. He, at least, had the decency to stay home.

Alec’s cake is spectacular. Delicious too, but that’s to be expected. Thank goodness he’d made it because what remained of the twins’ cake wasn't salvageable.

Charlie looks miserable, and Lucie is clinging to Aries’ legs like she knows this is their last evening together.

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