Page 113 of Deep In Love
She nods frantically, her head banging against my shoulder as she shatters around my cock, tumbling into oblivion. I pump my hips upward, and then I’m falling with her, ecstasy barreling into my chest with such force stars flicker along my vision.
Charlie returns to earth before I do, flopping against my chest as I soften inside her. My cum leaks out and coats our thighs. I’ve never seen anything hotter than her splayed out on top of me, flushed from her orgasm.
I kiss her temple, and she sighs. It’s soft and content, and it flares the kernel of happiness lodged beneath my diaphragm.
She rises and disappears into the bathroom while I catch my breath.
It’s the moment of silence that allows the memory to slam into me.
I’m pretty sure she was going to tell me she loves me.
And I told her to tell me later.
I might be an idiot.
Chapter 32
Charlie
He fucking stopped me.
I was going to tell him I love him, and the annoying asshole stopped me.
I know why.
He wants to say it first.
If I know one thing, it’s that Mateo likes to win, and there’s no bigger win in a relationship than being the first one to say I love you.
Mateo is shit out of luck, though, because it’s going to be me. He can’t woo me out of my panties, make me feel seen and adored,andbe the first one to say the three little words.
Nope. Not happening.
You could say I’m a woman on a mission—I am Darwin searching for his finches—as I stomp through the vessel, searching for my cariño so I can make sure I beat him to the punch. I don’t know why it matters so much that I say it first, butit does.
I want Mateo to know how I feel about him—that he’s worth breaking down the walls I’ve constructed around my heart, and with him, I’m starting to find the pieces of myself I’ve lost.
“Blondie!”
I halt my expedition, spinning on my heels as Jett chases me down. My stomach twists. I might have been avoiding him after my meltdown yesterday.
It’s one thing for Mateo and Amy to see me crumble. For Jett to witness my breakdown isunprofessional, and I haven’t worked up the courage to face him after how I reacted to the comments.
Being upset is an appropriate response. Running away in tears is based on trauma. It’s not something I’m proud of, and after Mateo fell asleep last night, I booked an appointment with a therapist. It’s not a solution for my trauma or internalized issues, but it’s a step. A baby step toward becoming a person I’m confident in—of finding my shine and the woman I lost somewhere along the way.
“You’re a hard woman to find,” he says with a toothy grin. “I wanted to show you this.”
He holds out his phone.
Last time I had his device in my hand, I was reading horrible comments about myself on a video meant to shine light on my research. Needless to say, I do not want to see what’s on that screen.
“I’m good.”
I’ve had enough with social media in this lifetime. If Darwin didn’t need it, neither do I. Except nightly videos with Mateo. But if we watch on his phone, then it’s not me using social media, it’s him.
“Please,” he presses. I make no move to take his phone, and the interaction grows awkward. When he realizes I am not going to look, he adds, “I went through them all. Every last comment. I want you to see the good.”
“What?”
