Page 88 of Deep In Love
“You don’t have to change in the bathroom,” I blurt out. "Or wear clothes. You don’t need to do that, either."
Fucking cool it, Charlie.
Mateo laughs deeply, quirking a brow.
“Is that so?”
My cheeks flame, but I double down on my comment and nod, stepping toward him.
“Why are you hobbling?”
I wave him off, wrapping my arms around his waist to try to climb him like a tree. I’ve never been this horny in my life, and if he doesn’t take his clothes off in the next thirty seconds, I may scream.
Mateo leans into the embrace, his cheek falling onto mine.
No!
This is not an emotional moment, this is a “tear each other’s clothes off like horny animals” moment. Mateo needs to catch up.
“You’re supposed to kiss me,” I say, directing him. “That’s how it goes.”
His hands trail down my back, palming the globes of my ass. It ignites a fire in my veins, and lust settles in my lower stomach. Mateo’s tongue darts out as his pupils dilate. I shiver, and based on his hoarse laugh, he knows the effect he has but is choosing to do nothing about it.
“Have you ever heard of buildup, bruja?”
He squeezes my ass, and I yelp.
“You’ve built me up. Nowtear my clothes off.”
I pull at the hem of his shirt to get the party going, but my hip locks up and I stumble into his chest.
“Whyare you hobbling?”
“It’s my joints. I’m fine.” I tug at his shirt again, but he stands firm, so I add, “I just need to oil up the ole hinges, and then we can get this party started.” His eyebrows pull down in confusion.Neptune on a cracker. “Sex, Mateo. The party I’m referring to is sex.”
Taking his hand, I drag him to the bed.
“Charlie.” His voice is full of laughter as I push him onto the mattress.
He hauls me with him so I’m lying flush against his chest. The green of his irises is deeper in the cabin’s dim light, like looking up from the forest floor before the first rays of dawn. Dozens of small freckles pepper his nose, something I’ve never noticed before.
I’m counting them when he trails a hand down my cheek.
“Why do your joints ache?”
“Chronic post-traumatic arthritis.” I shiver as Mateo traces my scar. “The scars, pins, and spleen removal weren’t enough. The universe gave me chronic pain on top of it. Really, I’m fine.”
“You say that a lot.” He hums. “I’m fine. You don’t need to be ‘fine.’ Not with me.” It’s hard to look at him, but even more difficult to look away. “I’m not afraid.”
He may not be, but I still am.
Every day, I’m taking another step. They’re small and unsure, and more often than not, I’m freaking the fuck out, but I’m putting one foot in front of the other—for him, for myself, and for the future that’s forming in my mind’s eye.
“How do you really feel?” he asks.
Well, Iwasincredibly horny, which hasn’t entirely disappeared, considering his erection is digging into my lower stomach, but beneath it all, I’m tired.
“My joints are on fire,” I admit.
