Page 65 of Deep In Love
I’m not used to people touching me how Mateo does—like I’m art, meant to be admired. It’s not inherently sexual in its nature. Rather, it’s appreciative, and I’m trying to believe the unspoken words in his actions.
I don’t want to self-destruct and take him with me.
“Will you tell me if you do?” he asks. I nod, tugging at the hem of his shirt until his chest is bare, rising and falling. I lay my palm over his heart, and he moves to rest his hand atop mine. “It’s always like this,” he whispers, pushing my hand against his skin. “When I look at you, it always beats like this.”
It’s not a steady beat but an erratic pounding, identical to mine, thanks to his confession.
If his possessive touch wasn’t proof enough of the truth lacing his words, the beating in his chest would give him away. My cheeks heat, this moment more intimate than any other I’ve ever experienced, and my nerves skyrocket as I move our palms to cover my own heart.
Words have never been my strong suit, but this I can offer him. He leans in, and this kiss differs from the prior as he takes control, nipping at my lower lip until I gasp.
Mateo’s hands drop, playing with the bottom of my shirt.
“Can I take this off?” he asks, breaking the kiss and clearing the fog from my mind. He holds my top in his grip, and with one nod or a single word, I would be bare in front of him.
“Lights off,” I demand, my voice cracking.
His features soften in understanding, and it’s like a punch to the gut, but he refuses to surrender.
“I want to see you, Charlie. All of you.”
He waits, chin raised, and I coil in on myself. To allow him to see everything…it’s too exposing.
“I-I…” The words fizzle off my tongue.
Be brave, Charlie.
The thought is the only thing stopping me from denying him outright.
Mateo waits, leaning back on his palms as I rise to stand in the middle of the tiny cabin, at war with myself. I’ve been battling for so long, with myself, my body, how society perceives me. I’ve spentso much time hiding in the darkness, I don’t know how to step back into the light.
“It’s okay,” he says, rising to pull me against his chest. “We won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
I’m limp within his arms, fighting back the tears his reassurance brings to the surface. There’s a sense of freedom in the safety he’s creating. He told me what he wanted, but he’s also respecting the boundary I’m struggling to verbalize, and the one small action speaks a thousand words.
All of them telling me if I show Mateo my scars, he’s not going to disappoint me.
The sea-salt scent of his cologne envelops me, and I wrap my arms around his waist, sinking into the hug. My Charles Darwin bobblehead catches my eye, and I break from the embrace to turn him around to face the wall.
He’s not allowed to witness what’s about to happen.
“What would Darwin do?” I whisper, before responding to my question. “He would be courageous.”
When I spin around, Mateo is watching me with a goofy grin and a raised brow. “What was that?”
Before I can lose my nerve, I take the hem of my top with my shaky hands and lift it over my head. It flutters out of my grip, and I fight the urge to fidget as Mateo’s jaw slackens.
“I’ve never allowed anyone to see all my scars,” I whisper. He’ll never be able to see them all—the worst of them invisible—but the longer I stand, the greater my confidence builds. Not because he’s looking at me like he might drop to his knees in worship, but because I’m facing something that’s been holding me back.
This is not for him, but for me—the woman who has spent years in a body she’s struggled to accept as her own. I still have to force my shoulders back and calm the tremor in my hand, but I’m standing, and tomorrow morning, I’m going to call Amy and tell her about this because I want her to be proud of me.
Because I’m proud of myself.
Mateo reaches me in a single step, and then I’m flying through the air, a surprised squeal escaping as I collide with the mattress.
“Mateo, what are you—”
“Estás regia, Charlie,” he says, his palms splayed on both sides of my head.
